How could they print such heresy?

Upon Nila Weaver’s return to London High Society, she’s been repeatedly asked to tell her story, but has remained silent on the matter. However, here at Elle, we have an exclusive interview with one of her employees.

Elle: Thank you for meeting with us, Daphne. Care to tell us what you know?

Daphne: Well, all I know is she returned to work last month. She’s always been rather quiet. Too work focused and always stumbling into things. But now, she’s even worse.

Elle: You mentioned she seems different? Can you elaborate?

Daphne: It’s common knowledge about the collar. She never takes it off. She’s constantly touching it. The staff room is a buzz with conspiracies that she suffers that problem when a captive falls for her kidnapper…you know what I mean?

Elle: You’re saying she’s in love with the man who collared her?

Daphne: Yep. For sure. My theory is the debt stuff is just a cover up. I reckon she’s into that freaky business…you know like S&M? Not to mention the diamond collar is an obvious ode to belonging to a master when in those types of relationships. She’s changed.

Elle: How do you mean?

Daphne: Well… she used to be sweet, shy. It’s a family company, so we see the Weavers interact a lot. But now she’s shut down around her brother. Her love for the industry has gone.

Elle: And you believe this is due to a Sadomasochistic relationship?

Daphne: I believe she’s changed too much to fit in anymore. Mark my words. She won’t be in London long.

And there you have it; our very own textile heiress has returned bearing a collar, bruises, and a history of intolerable cruelty. I suppose we won’t get answers or know the full story until justice has been served.

“So, tell us,” George said. “Is any of that true? Are you in an S&M relationship?”

Jethro sat taller, chuckling under his breath. “You honestly expect us to answer questions about our sex life?”

Sylvie laughed. “Sorry if it sounds like we’re prying, but our readers love to know that stuff.”

Stroking my collar, I smiled coyly. “All your readers need to know is Jethro completes me both in and out of the bedroom.”

George laughed, slapping his thigh. “Now, that’s a politically correct reply, if I ever heard one.”

Jethro reclined, spreading his arm over the back of the loveseat. “The rumours about death and debts are complete lies. However, some parts are indeed true.”

I didn’t know how he did it, but in a few short sentences, he’d enraptured George and Sylvie.

“Oh, how so?”

“People no longer accept the idea of arranged marriages. They like to think we’re all free to do what we like, when we like, but realistically, we are all still governed by class, income, our family tree.” He ran a hand through his hair. “My family has known the Weavers for six hundred years. We’ve effectively grown up together, crossing paths and healing feuds, and ultimately agreeing to come together to form a strong alliance.”

George frowned. “So you’re saying this so-called Debt Inheritance is what? A marriage contract?”

Jethro shook his head. “Not quite. It’s an agreement of debts between two houses that strive to support each other with payments in different forms throughout the years.”

I blinked stupidly, unable to believe the way Jethro spun three weeks of rumours. It made people seem ridiculous—clutching at straws and jumping onto a witch-hunt they knew nothing about.

He sounded so reasonable, so justifiable.

His speech was too perfect not to be scripted…perhaps by Bonnie.

Bonnie.

Did she tell Jethro to come and collect me, or was she against this development? After all, she’d kicked me out. She was the one who wanted me gone.

“And you, Ms. Weaver. That’s how your family sees this Debt Inheritance, too?” George pinned his baby-blues on me.

“Yes, of course. What else could it be? To think that one family owns another is completely ludicrous. We support one another. Sure, at times there’s some unrest and rivalry, but for the most part, we’re one big happy family.”

Maids arrived with fresh tea and a three-tier cake stand with cucumber sandwiches and éclairs.

George grabbed one, jotting down a few notes. “So really…it’s the age-old ‘mountain out of a mole hill’ kinda thing.”

Jethro crossed his ankles, ignoring the finger food. “Yes. Not that it’s anyone’s business, but our two influential families have always prospered by linking our history. It’s such a shame that after centuries of friendship, it’s come down to Mr. Weaver spreading such terrible lies.”

I sucked in a breath. I wanted to tell the truth but what good would it do? Would it stop the Hawks from breaking countless laws—would it save my life?

Vaughn had told the world, yet even with so much gossip, it was still his word against the Hawks. And they sounded so much more believable than him. A sure way to disband the Twitter posters and bury old Facebook shout-outs under new intrigue.

George swallowed a bite of cucumber sandwich. “Are you happy to be back? After the time away?”

This was it. My turn to lie as spectacularly as Jethro.

Swooning into Jethro’s side, I snuggled against his chest and sighed dramatically. “Oh, yes. Every night we messaged each other. And every night we professed our belonging and knowledge that we wouldn’t let lies come between us.”