Kite007: I’m not that man anymore. There’s nothing to tell.

My heart fell out of my chest.

Needle&Thread: Don’t do this, Jethro.

Kite007: It’s not up to me, Threads.

My world screeched to a halt. That nickname. It wasn’t his to use.

Needle&Thread: How do you know that name?

Kite007: Come on, silly girl. You think I don’t know everything about you? You think the past month you’ve been free of me? That I’m not there…watching you?

Goosebumps splattered across my arms. If his tone was nicer, I would’ve been thrilled to know he’d been watching me. That he missed me and had to stay close.

But his tone was sinister—reminding me all too much of Milan.

I tried to reply, but I had nothing left.

My silence encouraged another text from him.

The phone came alive in my hands.

Kite007: Your time is almost up, Nila Weaver. Enjoy it. I’m coming for you.

I’m coming for you.

I couldn’t think of anything else.

I’m coming for you.

But when?

Work the next day did nothing to ease my state of mind.

I suffered three vertigo incidents before lunch, and when I finally had time to eat, I threw it all up again.

Please. Please…don’t let my sickness be what I think it is.

I pressed my forehead against the cool porcelain of my private toilet in my office as more nausea tore through my system.

I couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Dreadful horror crept over me.

I had unprotected sex.

Jethro came in me.

Twice.

I moaned as the room spun again.

I can’t be pregnant. I can’t!

Doctors had always told me I ran too much. My periods had stopped coming a year ago, and they said I’d tricked my body into believing it was in starvation mode; therefore, it wasn’t strong enough to have children.

I’d been careless.

I’d been fucking stupid.

Why did I think I could ignore it?

Stumbling to my feet, I grabbed my purse and charged out of the warehouse with its steampunk vibe and countless cubicles all with private sewing machines. My bodyguards that Tex had commissioned were somewhere close by, but I didn’t want them following me.

Not for this.

I didn’t take a breath until I’d run down the stairs and dashed down the road to a local pharmacy. I didn’t think people might witness me buying a pregnancy test, and I definitely didn’t think I would bump into my twin as I came out with a little paper bag clutched in my hands. All I focused on was getting answers. Answers I should’ve learned weeks ago.

I can’t be pregnant!

I slammed into his hard bulk.

V’s dark eyes widened, his arms automatically coming out to catch me. “Threads! Been looking for you. I have a new idea for the backlog and—” His gaze dropped to my fingers, concern etching his brow. “Eh, you okay?”

My cheeks heated.

No, I’m not okay.

I nodded, backing away from him and hiding the test behind me. “Yes, I’m fine. I have to return to work. See you later, alright?”

Pushing past, I bolted across the road, summoned the lift, and flew into my office in record speed.

The moment I was safe, I locked the door and charged into the bathroom.

“Please. Please don’t let me be pregnant.”

The mantra wouldn’t stop echoing in my head. There was no logical way I could be pregnant. Surely!

It was explainable. I’m not pregnant.

My hands trembled as I ripped open the baby-blue box and read the instructions. I’d never had to do this before. It was almost as embarrassing peeing on the testing strip as it was making myself come by a showerhead.

My head pounded.

Was that only last month? Had I gone from writhing with fantasies of Jethro Hawk to spiralling into panic thinking he’d knocked me up?

Oh, God.

“Please, don’t let me be pregnant!”

Shaking, I fumbled with what I had to do. Once done, I placed the cap back on the wet strip and tossed the test into the sink. I couldn’t touch it any longer. I couldn’t look.

Oh, God.

Oh, God!

I stepped away.

I stepped so far away.

I backed up against the wall, bracing myself against the cool grey tile.

I’m not pregnant.

I would know if I was pregnant.

You’ve been throwing up a lot.

That’s explainable.

You suffer from vertigo.

You. Are. Not. Pregnant.

My inner thoughts henpecked and argued, swinging between screaming for being so stupid, to planning how to kill myself just to get this nightmare over with.

Five minutes ticked past, and I still didn’t have the courage to look.

Go on.

Get it over with.

“Nila?”

Oh, my God, this couldn’t get any worse. What was my brother doing in my office? I locked the bloody door!

He has a key.

Two seconds later, he rapped his knuckles on the bathroom. “Threads? You okay?”

My throat closed up. I wanted the ground to fissure and swallow me.

“Nila, answer me. I’m worried about you.”

Swallowing back a sudden avalanche of tears, I pushed off from the wall to open the door.

Only the door swung wide, presenting my perfect brother in jeans and a white t-shirt. He looked as if he’d stepped off a runway, while I looked like a homeless ragamuffin.

His eyes went first to the damn pregnancy test in the vanity, then swung to me.