“Fine,” Jethro murmured, playing with a diamond cufflink. He looked resplendent in a grey cashmere suit and open-necked white shirt. His salt and pepper hair caught the light with distinguished old-world wealth and his shiny Gucci shoes were pristine.
The sun streamed in through the windows, stencilling the carpet with happiness I didn’t feel.
I was cold. Aching. Confused.
Once again, my fingers returned to the bruise on my arm. I flinched remembering the pain of the needle piercing my flesh. The skin still stung from the contraceptive as if he’d only just done it—not a few hours ago.
How could he do that?
How could he obey Cut and dismiss me from his heart?
He’d shattered my dreams so damn quickly.
Why oh why did I come back here?
You know why.
To save Jethro, kill the Hawk bastards, and end this.
George’s eyes darted around the lounge. Jethro and I rested on a loveseat with silver swans gilded on white satin. Purple velvet-flocked chairs encircled the seating area, lending a richness to the oriental charm of the day parlour.
The décor was feminine with its intricate jewelled music boxes enclosed in glass-domed cases and ancient grandfather clocks chiming the hour. I would’ve liked to relax in this room and I guessed Jasmine used it, too—judging by the faint wheel marks in the thick lavender carpet.
I was tired. Terribly tired.
For three months, my life had been anything but normal and I needed to rest. I needed to stop and get my bearings, because I no longer knew where I was. I thought I understood Jethro.
How wrong was I?
A vertigo wave danced in my brain. I moaned, pressing my fingertips against my temples.
Jethro inched closer, resting his cool hand on my thigh.
My skin reacted instantly, craving him, seeking more. I cursed myself for reacting that way. It took everything in me not to shove him away and sprint from the room.
What a traitor.
What a bastard.
“Ms. Weaver, you don’t look entirely well.” George looked at his wristwatch. “We can postpone for an hour or so if you wish. To rest?”
“No.” Jethro’s eyes locked on George’s. “She’ll be fine.” His fingers tightened on my knee, biting uncomfortably. “Won’t you, Nila?”
Once upon a time, my heart would’ve fluttered if he used my first name. Now, it tore off those wings and plummeted to hell.
Leaning into me, Jethro whispered in my ear, “You know what’s expected of you. Behave and everything will remain cordial, got it?” Pulling away, he put on a show for the reporters. “I’m so worried about you, darling. For days, you’ve been saying how excited you are to reveal the truth to the world. You don’t want to ruin your chance now, do you?”
George clapped his hands. “Yes, please don’t let us down, Ms. Weaver. We are so excited to hear your tale.” He picked up an expensive camera with a zoom lens. “If you feel restricted sitting down, we could always conduct the questions by the window over there. Be a great spot for some pictures.”
“Oh, yes,” Sylvie said. “It would be such a romantic shot with the two of you. Our readers would love it.”
Another vertigo spell teased my vision. I didn’t trust my legs to stand and shook my head. “Perhaps in a little bit. I’m happy to answer whatever you want here.” I stretched my face into a smile, but it felt heavy, sad, fake.
George and Sylvie didn’t notice.
But of course, Jethro did. Pinching my knee again, Jethro cleared his throat. “My apologies. My love has been rather overworked the past few weeks.” He leaned forward with a conspirer’s smile. “She went home to her family, you see. A bit of a disaster—as you might’ve heard.”
Sylvie giggled, completely buying the lies Jethro spilled. “We did hear a rumour or two.”
His commanding fingers stroked my thigh, looking like a caress but feeling like a punishment. “Those rumours were started to thwart our love. Her family doesn’t approve of mine. They think she can do better than me and never approved—even though we were born for each other.”
My heart thudded to a stop. The words could’ve been so perfect. So full of promise. Instead, they reeked with deceit and dripped with lies.
We were born for each other, that’s true. But only for him to kill me in his quest for whatever Cut promised.
I sank further into the loveseat, wishing the swans on the fabric would come alive and fly me away from there. I missed the sanctuary of the Weaver quarters. After the awful injection, Jethro had left me to reacquaint myself with the space. I’d showered and tried not to cry over my gullible heart or naïve hopes smashing to dust in the face of Jethro's new behaviour.
I’d dressed in a blood-red A-line skirt that I’d made while here previously and shrugged into a slouchy jumper with a rose hand-stitched on the front. I hadn’t bothered with makeup or my hair. The damp strands hung down my back adding to the chill in my soul that I doubted would ever thaw.
Sitting beside Jethro in his immaculate attire, I truly did feel sick. Dying cell by cell until I would be nothing but a corpse.
“Sounds like an awful predicament to love a man your family doesn’t approve of, Ms. Weaver,” George prompted.
This is it then.
The interview had officially begun.
Placing my hands in my lap, I struggled to think up an approved reply. When Cut came to collect me for the reporters, he’d given me strict instructions:
“Act heartbroken but happy. Paint your family as the bad guys and us as the victims. Make the Hawks shine, Ms. Weaver, or else.”
I’m so sorry, Vaughn.
After everything he’d done to save me, I was about to undo it all with a few awful sentences.
Jethro suddenly wrapped an arm around my shoulders, crushing me into his body. His lips landed on my ear in a whisper-kiss. “Play the damn role. It’s not hard.”
Pulling away, his eyes burned into mine. You wanted to come back. You invited me to take you. Now you have to play along if you want to survive.
Looking away, I answered George’s question. “It is hard. I love my father and brother so much, but when I met Jethro…I just knew. He was it for me, and no matter what they say or do, I can’t change something that’s written by fate.”
My voice hovered in the room, quiet, unsure, but resonating in just the right frequency to melt George and Sylvie. Their postures changed, their interest flared, and Jethro relaxed a smidgen. “Good girl,” he murmured into my hair.
I shivered as his breath warmed my nape. I wanted my words to be real. I wanted it so much.
Then make it real.
Just because Jethro was damaged again, didn’t mean I couldn’t win him back.
Where was my strength? My conviction? I’d come back not to wallow in misery but to end this.
Power shot into my blood; I sat straighter. Pinching my cheeks, I willed colour to paint my skin and dispel any sign of weakness. “True love is a curse, don’t you think?” I smiled for the first time, shoving aside my worries and throwing myself into this new challenge.
You want me to play my part, Jethro Hawk?
Fine.
I would play it so well, I would have the press eating out of my hand—not the Hawks’.
“I agree. Falling in love can be the most dangerous thing anyone can do.” Sylvie smiled.
Stealing Jethro’s hand, I looped my fingers with his and brought his large palm to my lips. I kissed him. I breathed in his scent of leather and money. I grew strong again.
He didn’t move. Didn’t inhale or twitch.
It doesn’t matter.
I’ll get him back.
“So your brother felt so strongly that the Hawk family wasn’t good enough for you, he spread vile rumours of debts and deaths…all to break you up?” George asked, his eyes gleaming.
Jethro faded into the background.
Please forgive me, Vaughn.
“Yes. V and I were very close growing up. I would tell him everything. But then I met Jethro, and I didn’t want to share my secret. I kept our affair hidden. I suppose that was a betrayal in my brother’s eyes. He felt like he lost me. And took it out on my love.”
Jethro smiled like the doting partner. “I will admit, it’s been hard.”
“I can imagine.” George grinned. Conferring to his notes, he perched higher. “How about, before we discuss other topics, we clear the confusion about those rumours. Would you mind?”
Jethro answered before I could. “By all means. We have nothing to hide.” His lips stretched over his teeth in a cool smile. “It would be beneficial to clear the air on the disgusting rumours Vaughn Weaver spread.”
My shoulders rolled at my twin’s name. I should’ve listened to him—not about running away, but arming myself with weapons and fighting the Hawks with violence rather than my idiotic idea of getting pregnant.
That’s over anyway.
I didn’t know how long the contraceptive would work, but I remembered a staff member having the injection and saying it lasted anywhere from three to six months.
I won’t be alive in six months.
Sylvie pulled an Elle magazine from her satchel beside her. Passing it to me, she asked, “Have you seen this particular article?”
I leaned forward, taking the glossy weight and forcing myself to remain detached as I stared at the cover. The model pouted for the camera, eerily close to my dusky colouring and black eyes. However, where I had long hair, hers was cut short—a sleek bob revealing the full impact of the heavy stones around her neck. The intricate design of the choker was missing the barely noticeable W’s hidden in the rows of diamonds, and the filigree work around the stones was ordinary compared to the workmanship in mine. Plus, my diamonds were bigger.