This wasn’t just about the deed. This was about everything she hadn’t let herself feel. She hadn’t let go of her past. She hadn’t faced the reality that this was her future, and there would be no going back—no matter how much she thought it was possible.
Was this how she’d survived—by pretending it wasn’t real, that everything would somehow disappear?
Everything crested and breached, shuddering her small frame with grief.
I stood over her, hating to see such weakness. Despising that I’d driven her to break. But at the same time, I stood protective over her vulnerability, standing guard, making sure she had the peace in which to purge.
In a way, I knew exactly how she felt. We were both chained to a future we didn’t want, and there was no way out—for either of us.
I didn’t touch her. I didn’t torment her.
I let her spew her worries and cleanse herself.
I just let her cry.
As each droplet splashed onto the carpet, I found myself growing fucking jealous. I was jealous that finding a release was so easy for her. So easy to come undone, knowing she’d have the power to stitch herself together again.
Half an hour passed, or maybe it was only ten minutes, but slowly Nila’s tears stopped, and her wracking frame fell into a deep, eternal silence.
The night was entirely tainted. I had no drive to make her sign anymore or to wage war. And I definitely had no more energy to be cruel.
There was no need. I didn’t have to break her—not after she’d broken herself.
I sighed heavily. “Get up.”
Slowly, quietly, and obediently, she climbed to her feet. She stood swaying, white as a fucking ghost. In her hands, she still clutched the quill and parchment having drenched it in her tears.
Without a word, she placed the soggy document onto the desk, dipped the swan feather into the ink well, and signed her name.
My stomach swooped in the wrong direction. I should’ve been happy, but instead my joy was filthy oil, corrupting my insides.
Avoiding eye contact, she whispered, “I want to go back to my room. If you have any soul inside you, Jethro, you will do this one thing for me.”
My heart squeezed, cracking its glacier frost, melting drop by drop.
My hands itched to touch her, to grant solace…comfort.
She hates you, you arsehole.
There was no way she would want to be touched. Especially by me.
The least I could do was release her.
With infinitesimal slowness, I turned to the desk and retrieved her phone. “Here.” I pressed it into her lax palm.
She didn’t even acknowledge me.
With nothing else to say, I guided her back to her room.
NEEDLE&THREAD: I wish you’d answer me, Vaughn. Please tell me you’re not about to blow something up, charge in here with God knows what, and get yourself arrested or worse… killed. Please…reply. I miss you.
I swiped at the sticky salt on my cheeks. My heart hung heavy like a charred piece of meat. Last night was a distant memory, rather foggy and blurred. I remembered the fireworks, I recalled the relaxed day of reading and helping the staff set up the garden buffet, but I struggled to remember what happened in Jethro’s office.
All I knew was I’d finally snapped.
The cry I’d had in the kennels the day I arrived was nothing to how undone I’d become.
I should care that Jethro had seen me at my absolute weakest, but I couldn’t get up the energy. I felt strangely aloof, removed from everything.
He let you cry.
He didn’t torment me or make it worse by delivering yet more horror. He’d stood like an ice statue, completely unyielding and not melting at all, towering over me while I wept into his carpet.
But in that arctic silence, there’d been something…something different.
His silence had throbbed with regret…of understanding and even mutual anguish.
The moon and stars had given way to another stunning day, miraculously cancelling the horrible ending to a nice party.
The best thing? I’d slept like the dead after Jethro had left me alone. The cry had drained me of everything, leaving me with a thick headache that sent me slamming into unconsciousness.
My phone buzzed.
Shaking my head, I dispelled last night and looked at the glowing screen. I wanted a reply from my twin. But what I got was better.
My heart soared as I read the first message from Kite007 in two weeks.
Kite007: Don’t know why I keep hoping you’ll reply, seeing as you’ve been quiet for two weeks, but I had a shit of a night and need to talk to someone who won’t judge.
He’d been trying to message me?
I quickly scrolled through the inbox but found nothing. My stomach rolled at the thought of Jethro deleting Kite’s messages. What an arsehole.
I’d gone from a secluded seamstress, whose only contact was her father and brother, to being torn in three directions. As much as I wanted to deny it, I had feelings for Kite. He’d been a bastard to me, but he’d granted me the strength to stand up to him, which then led me to develop feelings for Kestrel. Because he’s the same person; I know it.
I still hadn’t gotten up the guts to ask him, but sometimes I’d catch him watching me with secrets in his eyes.
I didn’t care that it might all be a ruse to get inside my head. I didn’t care I was nothing more than a marionette being told what to think and who to trust. I had to forget about all that and follow my heart—because, ultimately, that was the only thing that might save me.
Then, of course, there was Jethro. He confused me, perplexed me, and completely befuddled me. One minute I would gladly pour gasoline over his wintry shell and see if I could burn him into the person I saw rare glimpses of, the next he did things like last night and ruined all the softness I had for him.
How could I understand someone who didn’t even understand himself?
You can’t talk. One second you’re trying to seduce him, the next you’re trying to make him bleed.
We were as bad as each other.