First Debt (Indebted #2)(58)

Her sanity quickly unravelled with every syllable.

I stood stiff, frantically clutching at my beloved ice. But in that moment, I felt her pain. I tasted her tears. I lived her grief.

My hands balled. The title I’d given it had been flippant at the time, but now I could see how it could shatter her.

Don’t say it.

The air in the office turned stagnant, waiting for me to speak.

Finally, I admitted, “Sacramental Pledge.”

She half-cackled, half-giggled, before everything seemed to fold in and crush her. “You made this our vows?! Sacramental, holy matrimony vows?”

Before I could answer, she shook her head and collapsed to her knees before me. Rocking, hot tears splashed onto the contract, mixing with ink and staining it with large swirls of black.

She was the one who gave me the idea. After all, we were technically married. Groomed for one another, destined to drive each other to insanity. This was our fate. Our motherf*cking destiny.

Her laughs interspersed with sobs. The sound was utterly heart-crushing. I locked my body from moving as she curled tighter on the floor.

“This is real. This…it’s not a nightmare. This is real!”

Tears rivered from her eyes, tracking faster and faster as her breath caught and she choked. She choked and sobbed and choked again. “It’s not fair. I w—want to go h—home.”

I’d never seen anyone come apart so completely.

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 f*cking 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 f*cking 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.