Nila #3
My heart fluttered, falling in love—just like I always did—with the garment I’d adoringly, intimately created.
Wrapped around the girl’s zero-size frame and shimmering in the low lights of the packed room, the dress was revolutionary.
My career would reach new heights. It wasn’t pride glowing in my heart—it was relief.
Relief that I hadn’t let anyone down—including myself.
I’d done it.
Despite my nerves, I’d done what I’d always needed and carved a name for myself despite the huge inheritance of the Weaver name and empire.
My collection was mine.
Every item from handbags to shoes and scarfs was mine.
Nila.
Just my first name. I hadn’t wanted to use the power of our legacy. I hadn’t wanted to let anyone down in case I failed. But now I wanted to sequester my success and hoard it.
The room hushed with anticipation as the music changed from Latin to symphony. A large spotlight drenched us in golden rays.
My heart rate exploded as I took the model’s hand, flashing her a quick smile. Her cascading blonde hair glittered with gold plaited in the strands.
We matched perfectly in height—deliberately placed together for ultimate impact. Gliding forward in thousand dollar shoes, we walked the final stretch.
My black ensemble set off the gold, yellow, and burnt orange of her layers upon layers. She looked like crackling embers and fire where I was the coal from which she sprang. We were the sunset of the show. The darlings of Milan.
Hushed silence. Bright lights. Immense concentration to stay on my feet.
The rest became a blur. There were no trips, or wobbles, or rushes of horror. Cameras clicked, praise murmured, and then it was over.
A year of hard work wrapped up in a two hour runway show.
The end of the platform became a sea of petals and strewn flowers full of accolades. Our coal and fire presence swallowed camera flashes, welcoming greedy eyes to stare.
Ten minutes I stood and drowned in praise. Vertigo hobbled my body as my gaze landed on my father and brother. They knew this part was the hardest for me. They knew my heart strummed fast and sickness rolled. Stress never sat well with my system.
Vertigo was hard to diagnose, but moments like these—where the madness of the past year culminated with yet more deadlines on the horizon—I recognised every symptom of wobbliness and fading vision. I felt drunk...I wanted to be drunk—even though I hadn’t had liquor in seven years.
Swallowing the lightheadedness, I waved and bowed before hitting my limit. Gritting my teeth, I almost fell down the steps at the front of the runway right into Vaughn’s arms.
He scooped me up, giving me a firm balanced form to clutch to. “Breathe through it. It’ll pass.”
Shaking my head, I blinked, chasing away the fear in my blood and weakness of an incurable illness. “I’m okay. Just let me go for a second.”
He did as I asked, giving me space. The crowd stayed behind their small barricade letting me suck in much needed oxygen. My phone buzzed again and this time...I couldn’t ignore it.
Pulling it from my ruffled, feathered cleavage, I unlocked the screen and indulged.
Kite007: Haven’t had a message from you in a couple of days. If you don’t send one immediately, I might have to track down your name and location and come and spank you.
My stomach flipped at the threat. He’d never insinuated a meeting...not after my bungle of asking him out and his blatant refusal.
Kite007: Still no reply. If threats of physical harm won’t make you respond, perhaps the mental visualisation of me stroking myself while reading some of your old messages will persuade you to.
My core clenched. He’d pleasured himself while thinking of me? A stranger touching himself shouldn’t give me such a thrill.
Kite007: My Naughty Nun, I don’t know what you’re doing, but I’ve disgraced myself by coming all over my hand at the thought of you naked and smeared in chocolate. Hope you’re happy.
“What are you reading?” Vaughn peered over my shoulder.
My cheeks flamed and I wiped the screen of evidence that despite his and my father’s best intentions, I’d managed to find a man interested in talking sex with me. I couldn’t wait to be in private to respond. Kite seemed more...open. Maybe we could talk about real things and not just dirt.
“Nothing.”
Vaughn scowled, then a large grin brightened his face. “Guess how many orders?”
My brain couldn’t switch from wanting desperately to respond to Kite to normal conversation. “Orders?”
He threw his hands up. “Seriously! Your collection. Sometimes I worry about you, Threads.” Still grinning, he added, “Your Fire and Coal collection has orders from all major retail chains in Europe and America, and the couture line is currently in a bidding war for exclusivity between a London boutique and Paris.” He bounced with happiness—infecting me with energy.
“I told you this was your break. You’ve cemented your name.
Nila will be worn by celebrities around the world at their red-carpet premieres. ”
He lowered his voice. “You’re your own, sister. You’re more than just a Weaver. You’re you, and I’m so damn proud of what you’ve achieved.” Twin intuition had always been strong—showing just how much he understood without me ever having to voice it.
Tears sprang to my eyes. Vaughn didn’t get sentimental often, so his praise was a well-placed dagger in my self-control. This time I couldn’t stop the smile breaking through my defences or my heart glowing with accomplishment. “Thank you, V. That means—”
“Nila.”
I spun around to face my father. Instead of the grin and look of love I expected, he stood cold and fierce. My stomach tensed, sensing something was wrong. So, so wrong. It was the same look he got whenever he thought of Mum. The same look I’d grown accustomed to hating and running from.
“Dad...what—” He wasn’t alone. My eyes trailed from my father’s pressed tux toward the tall, svelte man beside him.
Holy hell, who on earth...
Thoughts died like windless kites, littering my mind with silent dumbness. He was a stranger. But I felt as if I’d seen him before. He was a mystery. But I sensed I already knew everything about him. Two extremes...two confusions.
“Nila, I want to introduce you to someone.” My father’s jaw ticked, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. “This is Jethro Hawk. He’s a big fan of your work and would like to take you out tonight to celebrate your success.”
I wanted to rub my eyes and have my hearing checked.
Since the day of my birth, my father had never introduced me to a man.
Never. And he’d never lied so obviously.
This man wasn’t a fan of my work—although he did have incredible fashion sense.
He had to be a male model with his height, envious cheekbones, and perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair.
His white skin was flawless—no wrinkles or blemishes.
He looked ageless, but I guessed he was late twenties despite his greying hair speaking of wisdom far beyond his years.
His hands were concealed in pockets of a dark charcoal suit with a cream shirt open at the throat and a diamond pin piercing his jacket lapel.
“Tex, what are you—” Vaughn’s voice was quiet but possessive. Eyeing up Jethro, he stayed polite by offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hawk. I appreciate your interest in my sister’s talent, but my father has it wrong. Tonight she is unavailable due to a family commitment.”
I would’ve smiled if my stomach wasn’t knotted as the two men assessed each other.
Jethro slowly took my brother’s hand, shaking once.
“Pleasure, I’m sure. And I, in turn, can appreciate your interest in keeping your prior agreement with your sister, but alas.
Your generous father has allowed me the enjoyment of ruining your plans and stealing her away.
” His voice whispered through my gown, sending goosebumps down my spine.
His accent was English, same as mine, but slightly more clipped.
He sounded posh but rogue at the same time. Refined but uncouth.
My brother wasn’t impressed. His forehead furrowed.
“I hope that isn’t going to be an issue, Mr. Weaver.
I’ve heard a lot about you and your family and would hate to upset you.
” Mr. Hawk’s eyes landed on mine, capturing me in a cage of golden irises and effortless power.
“However, I’ve heard the most about your sister.
And I have no doubt it will be a pleasure knowing her. ”
I gulped. No one had spoken to me like that—especially in front of my father. Who was this man? Why did his very existence fill me with hot and cold and awareness and fear?
“Listen here,” my father blustered. I tensed, ready for the outrage I knew he was capable of, but his lips snapped closed and the fire in his gaze didn’t erupt. Swallowing hard, he finished, “I presume my obligations are complete?”
Jethro nodded, a lock of hair brushing his forehead. “You presume correctly.”
Fear evolved to panic. Obligations? My God, is my father in some sort of trouble? I clutched his sleeve. “Dad. The show’s over. Let’s go for that drink.” I glanced at Vaughn, cursing my fluttering heart and the mix-match of emotions colliding inside.
My father pulled me close, pressing a single kiss on my cheek. “I love you, Nila, but I’ve kept you to myself for long enough. Mr. Hawk has asked if he can take you out tonight. I agreed. Vaughn and I can wait till another time.”
He didn’t say—only if you want to, of course. It sounded more like a sentencing rather than freedom to date. Why this man? Why now?
Vaughn moved closer. “Tex, we already had plans. We can’t just—”
My father glared at my brother, his gaze weighty with unsaid anger. “Plans change, V. Now give your sister a kiss goodbye. She’s leaving.”
“I am?” I took a step backward, clutching my phone. There was no denying Jethro Hawk was good looking and seemed to be successful judging by his attire, but if I was allowed to date, I wanted Kite007, not this cold outlander.
“You are.” Jethro held out his hand, his gaze noosing me tighter in their golden cage. “I’m taking you somewhere special.”
“She isn’t going anywhere with you unless she wants to, dickhead.” Vaughn puffed out his chest, placing a hand on my lower back. “Tex—tell him.”
My eyes flew to my father. What existed in his gaze sent frost crackling through my blood. His lips were tight, eyes bright and slightly glassy. But his cheeks were dark with rage. He glowered at Mr. Hawk. “I’ve changed my mind. Not tonight.”
Vaughn huffed, nodding in agreement. The thick soup of male testosterone choked my lungs.
Jethro smiled coolly. “You’ve given me your word, Mr. Weaver. There are no rain checks.” Aiming his sharp smile my way, he purred, “Besides, Ms. Weaver and I have a lot to discuss. It’s time we got acquainted and tonight is the night.”
“Excuse me while you all fight over me. But what about what I want?” I crossed my arms. “I’m tired, overworked, and not in the mood to entertain. Thank you for your interest, but—”
“No buts, Ms. Weaver. It’s been arranged and discussed.
You will come with me because it’s the only way your night will end.
” Jethro lowered his head, watching me from beneath his brow.
“I promise you’ll have a good time. And I mean you no harm.
..do you really think your father would permit me to take you out otherwise? ”
Coldness etched his gaze.
Aloofness whispered from his posture.
Calculation radiated from his every pore.
I’d never been so intimidated or so intimately challenged.
My father might have permitted this, but he didn’t condone it. Somehow Jethro had achieved the unachievable and convinced my father he was dateable material. If he could manipulate Archibald ‘Tex’ Weaver, I didn’t stand a chance...and yet...despite the arrogance and chilly facade, he intrigued me.
My father had kept me captive my whole life. This was the first man to stand up to him and grant a glimmer of freedom.
The fear disappeared, leaving a flicker of interest. If this was the only man I could spend an evening alone with, I would take it. I would practice my non-existent flirting skills and grow my confidence so I could ask Kite007 out again. And next time, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Sucking in a gulp, I placed my hand gently into Mr. Hawk’s. His touch was as cold as his demeanour and just as strong. I froze as his fingers tightened around mine, tugging me forward. “Good decision, Ms. Weaver. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
My lungs dragged in his scent of leather and woods. Words deserted me.
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.