The show disappeared along with my worry and thoughts of Kite007. Gone was the urge to return to an empty hotel room. This man was pure danger, and I’d never sampled anything but safety. “And you, Mr. Hawk,” I murmured.
My date smiled, transforming his face from handsome to ruthless. “Please, call me Jethro.” Changing our grip from handshake to handhold, he pulled me forward—away from my family, away from the men I’d known all my life, and toward a future I had no understanding of.
Vaughn’s hand fell from my lower back.
I didn’t look back.
I should’ve looked back.
I should never have placed my hand into that of a monster’s.
That was the last day of freedom. The last day that was my own.
Individuality and uniqueness—those two words were so precious once upon a time. I’d been brought up with a gruff but fair father and a brother who I would marry if it wasn’t incest, believing I was unique, different, never before created.
I hated being lied to.
I hated even more believing those lies until the truth decided to come for me.
Turned out, I was never an individual; I was a possession to trade.
I was never unique; someone had lived my life many times before, never free, never whole.
My life was never mine.
My destiny was already written.
My story began the night he came for me.
IT WAS TOO easy.
I’d stolen her right before her father and brother. I’d taken her with no blood shed or bones broken.
Power wasn’t threats or uncivilised fighting. It wasn’t brawn or hard-won arguments.
Power was holding something so absolute, a man would do what he was told—all the while cursing your very soul. True power wasn’t wielded by gangs or even loudly-spoken governments.
True power. Limitless power—only graced a fair few. It gave those lucky few the ability—the nobility, to be courteous and polite. All while holding their fucking balls in their hands.
Archibald Weaver was one such example.
I shook my head, disbelieving how the so-called enemy of my family handed over his only daughter. The same daughter I’d seen in tabloids as a rising star of designers. The same offspring who was never photographed with a man on her arm or seen sneaking out of a restaurant with a hidden lover. He’d wanted to kill me. I had no doubt he would try to kill me.
But he would fail.
Just like he failed to protect her.
Because he had no fucking power.
All it had taken was two sentences and Nila went from his to mine. A thrill ran down my spine, remembering the rush when I’d tapped him on the shoulder. His dark eyes had been cool but welcoming, believing I was a stranger there to congratulate. That all changed when I handed over a black-flocked business card and said, “The time is nigh to pay your debts. Your past has found you, and there will be no peace until she’s ours.”
His eyes went from cool to glinting with horror and rebellion. He knew everything I did. He knew there was only one thing he could do—no matter that it would break his heart.
This was his fate. Her fate. Their fate. It’d been written and understood the moment he’d knocked up his wife.
He knew the consequences, and he also knew the power we controlled. No matter his unwillingness and terror, there was no other course of action.
Without a single word, he’d marched me to his daughter and placed her life in my hands. I hadn’t believed my father when he said it would go so smoothly. After all—none of this made sense. But it had. And it did. And now…it was all on me.