Darcy's phone buzzed. He looked at the screen and hissed, declining the call. "That was work. It can wait. I’ve set my phone to Do Not Disturb."
He met her eyes again. "George was like a brother to me. To Georgiana. My father raised us both. His own father was our gardener, but also one of the most decent men I ever knew. He taught me the value of working with your hands."
Elizabeth didn’t speak.
"But George changed in his teens. After my father died, he refused university. He bounced from one business idea to another. I funded as many as I could. We're talking millions. Every single venture failed. Not because they were bad ideas, but because George gambled the money away. Sports betting. Casinos in Vegas. You name it."
He shook his head. "I tolerated it for years. Until I couldn’t. So I stopped."
Elizabeth watched him carefully, her pulse a little louder than it should’ve been. His voice held just enough restraint to feel rehearsed, and something in her hesitated—because this sounded true, yes, but it also sounded like the version he was willing to tell.
She spoke softly, not quite totally convinced. "What about the items in the will?"
Darcy frowned. "What will?"
"My source said he was supposed to inherit properties—but they disappeared. That you and your lawyers erased him from it."
Darcy's face was unreadable. "He inherited a stake in a fashion business my father launched, and a house in New Jersey. He didn’t want either. Said fashion wasn’t his thing and Jersey was too far. After appraisal, I bought both from him. Paid in full."
Elizabeth's stomach twisted.
"He blew through that money and still came back, asking for the properties. I said no. I had given him more since—loans, even handouts. Nothing helped."
She could barely breathe.
Darcy's voice softened, but it darkened too. "That’s not all. What I’m about to tell you is... difficult. I only ask that you keep it private. Not as a journalist, but as someone I trusted."
Elizabeth swallowed, her palms damp. "You have my word."
He nodded. "Two years ago, Georgiana was sixteen. She became distant. At first, I thought it was just adolescence, but something felt wrong. I hired a PI. What he uncovered..."
Darcy stood and walked toward the window, his voice growing colder.
"George was grooming her. My sister. Messaging her, telling her they could get married and be together when she turned eighteen. Promising her freedom from my ‘overprotectiveness.’"
Elizabeth gasped. Her hand flew to her chest.
"She was a child," Darcy said, his jaw tight. "Thankfully, nothing physical happened. I confronted them. Georgiana washorrified—she hadn’t realised how calculated it all was. She thought it was something real. I mean, she was just a confused teenager, barely beginning to make sense of anything. He should have guided her, not tried to use her."
He exhaled through his nose, the tension still wound tight in his posture.
"Based on the whole thing, Georgiana asked to be pulled off social media. We erased everything. Her digital footprint, gone. She wanted a clean start."
He turned back. "As for George, I had him removed. I didn’t want the police, because it would force Georgiana to testify. I didn’t want her dragged through the mud. But I made sure he knew never to come near us again. My security has orders to detain him on sight if he ever comes near Georgiana or me."
Elizabeth felt sick. Her own face burned with the heat of shame.
"Still, I’ve had to repay loans he took from acquaintances who believed he still had access to me. I finally told them to ask me first before loaning him any amount, or risk losing their money."
Darcy shook his head, his voice tight with restrained frustration. "I haven’t heard from him since then, except through that anonymous account he uses to troll my companies and tries to sabotage anything I’m involved in. It’s one of the reasons I keep my online life private. Then tonight, during that call—I found out from my PI that he’s currently training to become an officer in the New York National Guard."
He paused, the disbelief still catching in his throat.
"I don’t know if they did their due diligence, or if he slipped through using false documents, but I intend to write to that facility. They deserve to know the kind of man they’re handing authority to. I’ve protected him long enough, and now I see howfoolish that was. Not just because I won’t stand by while he drags my name through the mud or hurts someone I care about—but because putting a man like him in uniform, in a position of trust, empowers him to do far more harm. I won’t be part of that."
Elizabeth whispered, "Jesus."
"As for if what I said is the truth, I have documentation. Everything. Chats. Bank records. Screenshots. I kept it all. For moments like this. For the truth. I am even willing to show you a copy of that will."
