For two weeks, the Bennet household was filled with a rare, fragile light. Jane and Charles Bingley were the city’s new "It Couple." They were seen at gallery openings, quiet coffee shops, and late-night walks through the park. Even Eliza began to hope that perhaps the world of glass and steel wasn't entirely soulless.
Then, the light went out.
Eliza returned to the bookstore one Tuesday afternoon to find Jane sitting in the darkened breakroom, her phone clutched in her hand. She wasn't crying; she just looked hollow.
"He’s gone," Jane said, her voice a ghost of itself. "Charles moved the entire Sky-Bound headquarters to London this morning. No phone call. No goodbye. Just a text from his assistant saying his 'priorities had shifted' and the lease on Netherfield had been terminated."
Eliza felt the air leave her lungs. "Jane, that’s impossible. He was in love with you. Anyone with eyes could see it."
"Apparently," Jane whispered, "someone with more influence than me convinced him otherwise."
The Smoking Gun
Eliza didn't need to be a law student to solve this mystery. She knew only one person had the power to move Charles Bingley like a chess piece.
She took the subway to the Pemberley Tech Tower. She didn't have an appointment. She didn't have a badge. But she had the kind of fury that made security guards step aside. She bypassed the lobby and took the private elevator to the top floor—a space of white marble and silent, high-speed servers.
She found William Darcy in the boardroom, staring at a holographic map of the London market.
"You're a monster," she said, her voice vibrating with cold rage as she slammed the door behind her.
Darcy didn't startle. He turned slowly, his face as unreadable as a blank screen. "Miss Bennet. I assume you’re here about Charles."
"You forced him to leave," she accused, stepping into the center of the room. "He loved her. And because you decided she wasn't 'polished' enough, or because our mother is too loud, or because we don't own a private jet, you whispered in his ear until he broke her heart. You didn't just sabotage a relationship, Darcy. You destroyed a person."
The Ice King’s Defense
Darcy set his tablet down on the glass table. "I didn't force him to do anything. I gave him my professional and personal counsel. Charles is impulsive. He mistakes 'kindness' for 'compatibility.' I merely pointed out that your family’s... social trajectory... did not align with the stability his board of directors requires."
"Stability?" Eliza laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "You mean money. You mean status. You mean the fact that Jane is a nurse and not a debutante."
"I mean," Darcy said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous level, "that your sister showed no signs of actual affection. She was pleasant. She was polite. But in my world, Miss Bennet, that is often the mask of someone looking for a lifestyle, not a life. I protected my friend from a mistake."
"You protected him from happiness!" Eliza shouted. "Jane is the most genuine person I know. She hides her feelings because she’s modest, not because she’s a gold-digger. But you wouldn't know the difference, would you? You’ve spent so much time looking down on everyone that you've forgotten how to look anyone in the eye."
The Declaration of War
Darcy’s jaw tightened. A vein pulsed in his temple—the only sign that her words were hitting home.
"I have done my duty to my friend," he said stiffly. "If that makes me a monster in your eyes, then I will accept the title."
"Oh, you’re more than a monster, Darcy," Eliza said, her voice becoming terrifyingly calm. "You're a target. You think you've won because you've sent him away? I’m going to spend every waking hour making sure your 'stability' is a lie. I’m going to find every crack in your empire, every lie you've told, and I’m going to burn your reputation until you're as lonely as you've made my sister."
Darcy looked at her then—really looked at her. There was a flicker of something in his eyes. It wasn't fear. It was a strange, twisted kind of admiration, buried under layers of pride.
"You have a very high opinion of your own abilities, Eliza," he said, using her name for the first time.
"And I have a very low opinion of yours," she snapped.
She turned and walked out, the heels of her boots clicking like a countdown on the marble floor.
As the elevator doors closed, Eliza pulled out her phone. She didn't call Jane. She called George Wickham.
"George? It’s Eliza. That story you wanted to run about Pemberley Tech? The one with the internal documents? I'm in. Let’s finish him."
ns216.73.216.134da2
and then Add to home screen.