I was dying without him.
But it wasn’t finished.
The debts weren’t done.
Vaughn wanted me to fly to Asia and hide. Father wanted me to enter witness protection and escape.
I didn’t want to do any of those things and worried about all of us—about what this had done to my family. But despite my worries, my clothing brand exploded overnight.
Nila went from exclusive couture to being the most wanted garments in all major department stores. Vaughn became the face of menswear and even dabbled in design himself.
And me…
I went from Weaver Whore to a slave for the Weaver Empire. I didn’t have the drive I once did but didn’t have the heart to tell my family.
The only time I had to stand still was to wobble with a vertigo attack.
I was paraded before media.
I was the centre of a worldwide scandal.
I was a marionette.
All I could do was clutch my brother as my life spiralled out of control.
I missed the tranquillity of Hawksridge.
I missed the lavender-scented breeze when I sat out in the gardens and sketched.
But most of all, I missed the soul-deep connection with Jethro.
I’d continued to bombard him with messages, but he didn’t text back.
Not once.
Not a single time.
My gut churned as the world laughed. Questions followed me wherever I went:
How could they get away with that?
Why didn’t they tell someone?
Why didn’t they run?
Even I felt that way.
Yes, the Debt Inheritance was used as a tool to wield power. Yes, it granted certain privileges to our pain. But none of that was the real reason.
There was nothing to stop Jethro or his family setting up a sniper rifle on the building opposite our home and firing rounds of ammo through our windows, slicing our lifespan in a blink.
They didn’t need the Debt Inheritance to kill us.
This was something more.
A game.
Something I felt was more to do with Jethro than with me. I was just the unlucky target. Just like any employee had to prove their loyalty and skills before a promotion, I had a horrible feeling I was Jethro’s final test.
Needle&Thread: I don’t know why I keep messaging you. You’ve cut me out of your life completely. Three weeks, Kite. Three long weeks of nothing. You’ve hurt me worse than anyone. I miss talking. I miss our messages. I miss…
I pressed send before I could delete it.
I shouldn’t miss him—not when he obviously felt nothing for me.
Try telling my stupid heart that.
My stupid heart fed me worry. I feared for his life. I had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead.
Waiting for a new message reminded me of the very beginning when I first started messaging him. I’d hang on a thread for one tiny response—waiting for a sliver of his attention. It seemed I’d gone full circle.
I leaned over to dump the phone into my bedside drawer when something miraculous happened.
It vibrated.
Oh, my God!
Fumbling with the lock screen, I swiped it on and stared greedily at the first text from Jethro in almost a month.
Kite007: That’s cruel, leaving the message unfinished.
My heart thundered. Resting against my pillows, I replied:
Needle&Thread: You’re cruel, not replying to any of them.
Kite007: Cruel is my middle name.
I glanced at my fingertip tattoo and its inked JKH.
Needle&Thread: No, it’s not.
Kite007: Believe what you want to believe.
Needle&Thread: What happened to you? Tell me. You seem different.
Kite007: I am different.
My chest deflated, sorrow drowning my veins. He’d let them win. He’d changed.
Needle&Thread: You might believe you’re different, but I know what happened between us. It’s not over because you care for me.
Kite007: That’s in the past. But you’re right. What happened between us isn’t finished.
My spine whipped straight. What did he mean?
Needle&Thread: The world knows. I heard they questioned your father. It’s only a matter of time before he’s convicted. The debts are over. It means we can be together—truly with no horrible ending hovering over us.
Kite007: Still such a naïve little Weaver.
Tears bruised my eyes. In a few words, he’d successfully tarnished my memories of him and made me doubt.
My hands shook as I responded.
Needle&Thread: You said you’d tell me everything—who you are…what you suffer. I’m asking you…tell me. Don’t let them win.
I couldn’t stand the thought of Jethro going to jail for what he’d done. Even though he deserved punishing—he’d been under the control of Cut. If he let me help him…he could stop his family and finally be happy…with me.
Kite007: I’m not that man anymore. There’s nothing to tell.
My heart fell out of my chest.
Needle&Thread: Don’t do this, Jethro.
Kite007: It’s not up to me, Threads.
My world screeched to a halt. That nickname. It wasn’t his to use.
Needle&Thread: How do you know that name?
Kite007: Come on, silly girl. You think I don’t know everything about you? You think the past month you’ve been free of me? That I’m not there…watching you?
Goosebumps splattered across my arms. If his tone was nicer, I would’ve been thrilled to know he’d been watching me. That he missed me and had to stay close.
But his tone was sinister—reminding me all too much of Milan.
I tried to reply, but I had nothing left.
My silence encouraged another text from him.
The phone came alive in my hands.
Kite007: Your time is almost up, Nila Weaver. Enjoy it. I’m coming for you.
I’m coming for you.
I couldn’t think of anything else.
I’m coming for you.
But when?
Work the next day did nothing to ease my state of mind.
I suffered three vertigo incidents before lunch, and when I finally had time to eat, I threw it all up again.
Please. Please…don’t let my sickness be what I think it is.
I pressed my forehead against the cool porcelain of my private toilet in my office as more nausea tore through my system.
I couldn’t ignore it any longer.
Dreadful horror crept over me.
I had unprotected sex.
Jethro came in me.
Twice.
I moaned as the room spun again.
I can’t be pregnant. I can’t!
Doctors had always told me I ran too much. My periods had stopped coming a year ago, and they said I’d tricked my body into believing it was in starvation mode; therefore, it wasn’t strong enough to have children.
I’d been careless.
I’d been fucking stupid.
Why did I think I could ignore it?
Stumbling to my feet, I grabbed my purse and charged out of the warehouse with its steampunk vibe and countless cubicles all with private sewing machines. My bodyguards that Tex had commissioned were somewhere close by, but I didn’t want them following me.
Not for this.
I didn’t take a breath until I’d run down the stairs and dashed down the road to a local pharmacy. I didn’t think people might witness me buying a pregnancy test, and I definitely didn’t think I would bump into my twin as I came out with a little paper bag clutched in my hands. All I focused on was getting answers. Answers I should’ve learned weeks ago.
I can’t be pregnant!
I slammed into his hard bulk.
V’s dark eyes widened, his arms automatically coming out to catch me. “Threads! Been looking for you. I have a new idea for the backlog and—” His gaze dropped to my fingers, concern etching his brow. “Eh, you okay?”
My cheeks heated.
No, I’m not okay.
I nodded, backing away from him and hiding the test behind me. “Yes, I’m fine. I have to return to work. See you later, alright?”
Pushing past, I bolted across the road, summoned the lift, and flew into my office in record speed.
The moment I was safe, I locked the door and charged into the bathroom.
“Please. Please don’t let me be pregnant.”
The mantra wouldn’t stop echoing in my head. There was no logical way I could be pregnant. Surely!
It was explainable. I’m not pregnant.
My hands trembled as I ripped open the baby-blue box and read the instructions. I’d never had to do this before. It was almost as embarrassing peeing on the testing strip as it was making myself come by a showerhead.
My head pounded.
Was that only last month? Had I gone from writhing with fantasies of Jethro Hawk to spiralling into panic thinking he’d knocked me up?
Oh, God.
“Please, don’t let me be pregnant!”
Shaking, I fumbled with what I had to do. Once done, I placed the cap back on the wet strip and tossed the test into the sink. I couldn’t touch it any longer. I couldn’t look.
Oh, God.
Oh, God!
I stepped away.
I stepped so far away.
I backed up against the wall, bracing myself against the cool grey tile.
I’m not pregnant.