Third Debt
Page 37

Unlike him, I didn’t care about money or ancient rubble. If it meant I could be free, so be it. But no amount of drugs could stop me from caring about my siblings.
And Cut knew that.
He showed me his trump card.
Along with Jasmine’s imprisonment in a disabled rest home—her power of attorney stripped away—and Kes’s renouncement, I would become a ward of the crown, placed in a straitjacket, and thrown into a padded room.
He had authentic documents stating my mental wellbeing. A sworn oath bullet-pointing testimonies and histories, proving I was legally unfit to represent myself. All decision-making was to be at the discretion of my enlisted doctors—doctors who’d been bribed and coerced for years and knew my past. I would have no power—no room to argue.
The documents were submitted with a letter to his lawyer, stating if anything unseemly happened to him, to look no further for the smoking gun, because all fingers pointed to me.
I would be thrown in an asylum—one I could never escape.
Needing fresh air, I threw down my pen and crossed my office.
There has to be another way.
“Fuck!” I hissed, stepping onto the Juliette balcony the same way I’d done countless of times before. The cool breeze whistled down my back, and the ache in my chest deepened.
Yet, unlike countless of times before, my heart fucking shattered into a trillion pieces.
Below me, with her hair streaming behind her and the happiest, slightly terrified smile on her face was Nila.
She was a grey comet. A thundering silver-shooting star.
She couldn’t have been more majestic or sublime.
Moth’s elegant legs chewed up the lawn, heading toward the paddock I’d galloped over many times on my own.
Horse and rider merged in utmost perfection.
Only, she wasn’t alone.
The ring of male laughter came over the breeze as Kestrel shot past her on Black Plague, his hand in the air and a grin plastered to his motherfucking face.
The picture they presented tore out my heart, turning it to dust.
All this time, I’d worked my ass off to protect Nila, Kes, and Jaz. All this time, I’d distanced myself and done what was required.
And how was I fucking repaid?
By being forgotten.
Nila hunched further over Moth’s withers, galloping faster. Together, they tore off into the distance, leaving me stricken…hollow.
No amount of pills could stop me feeling the wave of crashing desolation.
The numbing fog couldn’t help me.
This was my breaking point.
My utter grief.
I’d wanted to experience that with her.
I’d wanted to make her smile and laugh and slide inside her in the dark, secretive world of the stables.
I’d wanted to grant her the gift better than any material thing.
But that’d been stolen from me.
By the one man I thought had my back forever.
Betrayer. Stealer. Forsaker.
I turned around and went back into my office.
But I returned empty.
My heart was left tagging along like a kite, its strings tied to Nila as she galloped further away beneath the cloud-filled sky.
IT WAS FINISHED.
The centrepiece of my Rainbow Diamond collection.
I stepped back to inspect the gown, making sure it hung just right.
The mannequin presented the crinoline dress as if I’d stepped through time and created something my great-great-grandmother would wear.
The hoop in the thick petticoats forced the rich grey dress to flare in an elegant bell-like swish. There were no layers or feathers or tulle—not like the corset highlight of my Fire and Coal show in Milan. This was understated and sleek—like a smoky waterfall shimmering with secrets and mystery.
Around the cuffs, I’d sewn cream lace that I’d found in a rusted-shut cupboard in my quarters. The lace held the W sigil. My ancestors must’ve painstakingly created it decades ago; it was fitting to adorn a gown such as this.
The bodice gleamed with panels of midnight silk, creating a prismatic effect. Tiny black beads decorated from décolletage to hem in a glittering asymmetrical pattern, just like the black diamond Jethro had shown me at the warehouse.
There were no rainbows on this dress.
Only darkness.
But it filled me with terrible pride, along with immense sadness. This might be the last headline piece I make before leaving this world.
Instead of becoming more optimistic as my time continued unmolested, I became less and less sure. Jethro couldn’t hide his frustration. Breakfast, he barely talked. Dinner, he barely ate. He watched Cut with a mixture of obedience and feral rage. But beneath it all was helplessness.
I’d bumped into Bonnie twice since being back. Each time she stretched thin red lips into a smile so cold my blood iced over. She hadn’t summoned me. She didn’t want anything to do with me. However, I had a horrible feeling that would soon change.
Moving away from the mannequin, I stretched my lower back. My hands were pinpricked and sore. My eyes achy and tired.
I’d worked nonstop for four days—ever since Kestrel took me for my first ride.
I still had bruises on my inner thighs from gripping so hard, but I hadn’t fallen off. I hadn’t had a vertigo attack. And I hadn’t thought of Jethro once as I soared over the fields and escaped everything that hounded me.
And that made me absolutely wretched.
I didn’t think of him. Not once.
Kestrel had given me so much that day, and I’d taken it with no thought as to how it would affect my relationship with Jethro. I was guilty, full of shame.
I felt as if I’d betrayed him.
And the longer he stayed away from me, the worse it became.
The next night, I entered the dining room and bumped into the firmest, most delectable chest in Hawksridge Hall.
The moment I touched him, I melted into his body. The tears and guilt I’d been storing inside sprung up to strangle me.
“Jethro…” My fingers swooped to bunch in his t-shirt. “God, it’s been days. Such long, awful days.”
I looked into his golden eyes, seeking the love I’d witnessed when I’d sneaked into his chambers. However, I recoiled at the angry agony glowing in them.
My skin prickled.
He swallowed and for an enchanted moment, we stood together. Breathing, touching, living. Then his mask slipped into place, the emotions in his eyes vanished, and his hands captured mine, tearing them away from his chest.
“Hello, Ms. Weaver.”
Was his coolness because of the low murmur of voices of Black Diamond brothers eating behind him? Or was it the drugs he’d once again befriended?
“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t keep doing—”
He took a step back. “I can imagine you’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
“Excuse me?”
“Then again, I would think now that you have your own horse, you’d be out more often—yet you haven’t left your quarters since.”
My heart fell through the floor.
Freedom. Laughter. Friendship with Kestrel.
“You saw that?”
He sneered. “You mean did I see you riding the horse I wanted to give you? Did I see you laughing the way I planned with my brother? And did I see the way you revelled in the freedom I wanted to show you—then yes.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw all of it.”
Before I could say a word, he left.
Needle&Thread: This was a mistake, V. I don’t know what possessed me to come back here without a thought-out plan. I need to think of another.
I did have a plan: get pregnant with his child and nullify the debt.
And look how that turned out.
Last night, Jethro showed me just how much I’d hurt him by living the best I could within the parameters he’d set. I’d found happiness with Kes. I’d proven I wasn’t broken and still found joy in simple things.
I wanted to find happiness with Jethro. I wanted to runaway together. To prove that our love transcended duty and family honour—but Jethro wasn’t prepared. How could one person be so committed to finding another way, when the other was stuck in the same warped trap from his childhood?
I was angry, upset. But most of all, stricken for the way I’d made him feel. It wasn’t logical, but I felt responsible for his pain.
And until we’d talked and made amends, I couldn’t rest.
The moment the Hall retired to slumber, I tiptoed to his chambers and tried to enter. But the private door in the parlour leading to the bachelor wing was locked. And no matter how much I poked and prodded, I was no expert on lock-picking.
I’d returned, mournful and frustrated, to welcome the sunrise of a new day.
All I could think about was the mistakes upon mistakes I’d made. With my brother, father…my lover.
What power did I have if I cut myself off from everybody? What hope of survival could I wish for if I was all alone?
Sitting in the silk upholstered loveseat beside my window, I drowned in dysphoria.
I didn’t want to eat or sew or read.
I just wanted to…exist.
To pretend I had a simpler life and one not so tangled in treachery.
My phone remained silent in my hands, the screen glowing with invitation to mend bridges between Threads and Kite.