Eliana Carter POV

The guards at the Little Estate let me in because they didn't realize I was already a ghost.

To them, I was still the future Don's wife, a fixture of this world.

I walked through the marble foyer, my sodden dress clinging to my skin, leaving dark, watery accusations on the pristine floor.

Jax's mother, Karen, emerged from the sitting room. She took in my state—shivering, dripping, broken—and sighed.

But it wasn't a sigh of sympathy.

It was the sigh of a woman calculating the cost of water damage to her antique Persian rugs.

"Go get changed, Eliana," she said, her voice clipped. "Jax will be home soon."

I didn't answer her.

I walked past her, ascending the grand staircase toward Jax's penthouse suite. My footsteps were heavy, wet squelches against the plush runner.

I didn't knock.

I pushed the double doors open.

Jax was there.

He was dry now, dressed in fresh clothes, looking every bit the untouchable king.

And Catalina was there, too.

She was wearing his football jersey, the oversized fabric swallowing her small frame. It wasn't just clothing; it was a flag planted on conquered soil. She was marking her territory in what was supposed to be my future home.

They stopped talking the moment they saw me.

I didn't say a word. I walked straight to the mahogany table near the door, my hands trembling not from cold, but from adrenaline.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the small velvet box I had carried with me for three years. It held every memento, every note, every small token of the alliance that had bound our families together.

I dumped it upside down on the table.

The engagement ring hit the wood with a heavy, final thud. It spun wildly before settling, the massive diamond catching the light with a cold, mocking glint.

"What are you doing?" Jax asked.

His voice was low—a warning rumble that usually made rooms fall silent.

"Pick it up."

I looked at him, meeting his gaze.

"No."

His jaw tightened. A muscle feathered in his cheek. He wasn't used to the word *no*.

He took a step toward me, his presence looming. "I said pick it up, Eliana. You don't get to throw tantrums."

"I'm not throwing a tantrum," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I'm returning your property."

Catalina laughed.

It was a sharp, grating sound that scraped against my nerves. Emboldened by his silence, she walked toward me.

"You heard him," she sneered. "Pick it up and get out."

She reached out and shoved my shoulder.

I was still weak from the cold, my limbs heavy and slow. I wasn't ready for it.

I stumbled back.

My heel caught on the edge of the top step. I reached for the railing, desperate, but my hands were slick with rain.

I missed.

I fell.

The world tumbled violently.

My shoulder slammed into the wall, a sickening crunch echoing in my ears. My head cracked against the hard wood of the steps.

I landed at the bottom of the landing, a heap of wet silk and blinding pain. A sharp, throbbing agony radiated from my ankle, stealing the air from my lungs.

I gasped, choking on a sob.

Jax appeared at the top of the stairs. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

Then, he looked at Catalina.

She was feigning shock, her hand pressed theatrically over her mouth.

"Are you okay, Cat?" he asked her, his voice laced with concern. "Did she hurt you?"

I lay there on the floor, blinking back the black spots dancing in my vision. The realization hit me harder than the fall.

He wasn't coming down.

He wasn't checking to see if I had broken my neck.

He was comforting the woman who had pushed me.

"Get out, Eliana," Jax called down, his voice cold and distant. "Before you actually hurt someone."

I dragged myself up, gritting my teeth against the scream threatening to tear from my throat. My ankle shrieked in protest with every movement.

I limped to the door, using the wall for support, leaving a smear of dampness on the wallpaper.

I didn't look back.

I walked out into the biting night air, the physical pain nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

It was an Instagram notification.

Catalina had just posted a photo.

It was a selfie in his jersey, taken in his bedroom—*our* future bedroom.

The caption read: The Queen stays Queen.

Eliana Carter POV:

I bound my ankle in an ace bandage, pulling it tight enough to numb the throbbing, and stepped into my highest heels.

Pain was just a signal to the brain, and I had learned to sever those connections a long time ago.

I walked into Tyler's estate for the after-party.

The music was thumping, a heavy bass that vibrated against my ribs, masking the erratic rhythm of my own heart.

I saw the looks.

Whispers traveled faster than bullets in our world.

Everyone knew about the pool.

Everyone knew about the stairs.

They were vultures, waiting for me to break.

Mason Riley intercepted me near the bar.

He was Jax's Consigliere, and the only man Jax even half-listened to.

"Eliana," Mason said.

He looked down at my ankle, noticing the slight limp I couldn't fully hide.

"You shouldn't be here."

I picked up a glass of champagne, the crystal cool against my palm.

"I'm fine, Mason."

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper.

"Jax is out of control."

"He's breaking the code, Eliana."

"You need to go home."

"I'm not the one breaking codes," I said coolly.

Suddenly, the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

Jax walked in.

Catalina was on his arm, wearing a dress that cost more than my entire college tuition.

She saw me and smiled, a sharp, predatory thing.

Jax saw me and frowned.

He pulled Catalina toward the sunken lounge where the inner circle sat.

He sank onto the leather sofa, spreading his legs, taking up space like a king on a throne.

Catalina sat on his lap.

It was a public declaration.

In our world, you didn't parade the mistress in front of the wife.

It was a rule written in blood and honor.

Jax was burning the rulebook just to watch me choke on the smoke.

"Come join us, Eliana!" Catalina called out, her voice shrill over the music.

"We're playing Truth or Dare."

I didn't move.

I stood by the pillar, watching like a statue.

Someone spun the bottle.

It landed on Catalina.

"Truth or Dare?" a soldier asked.

"Dare," she said, her eyes locked on mine.

"I dare you to kiss the King of the Night."

She turned to Jax.

He didn't hesitate.

He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her.

It wasn't a soft kiss.

It was aggressive, messy, and loud.

He bit her lip.

She moaned.

The room went silent.

People looked at me, expecting tears.

Expecting a scene.

I felt nothing.

The part of me that used to care about Jax Little had died at the bottom of his stairs.

Jax broke the kiss and looked at me, challenging me.

He wanted a reaction.

He wanted me to scream, to fight, to show that I still belonged to him.

I took a slow sip of my champagne.

"Your lipstick is smeared," I said to Catalina.

My voice was steady, cutting through the quiet room.

"And Jax, you have cheap glitter on your face."

I turned to Mason.

"I'm leaving."

Jax stood up, pushing Catalina aside roughly.

"Where do you think you're going?" he demanded, his voice booming.

"Away from the smell," I said, meeting his gaze without flinching.

"Desperation is a very strong cologne, Jax."

Eliana Carter POV

I didn't go home.

Instead, I circled back to the library window of the Riley estate.

The window was cracked open just enough to ventilate the heavy stench of cigar smoke.

I heard Mason's voice drifting out into the night.

"You can't keep doing this, Jax. The Carters are going to pull the alliance."

"Let them try," Jax replied, his voice low and unbothered.

I heard the distinct clink of glass against glass.

"Eliana isn't going anywhere," Jax continued. "She's mine. She's been mine since we were five."

"You're humiliating her," Mason argued.

"I'm breaking her," Jax corrected him, the words sharp and precise.

I felt a chill settle into my marrow that had nothing to do with the night air.

"She needs to learn her place," Jax went on. "She thinks she's a partner. She thinks she has a say. Once I break that pride, she'll be the perfect wife."

He paused, likely taking a drink.

"Silent. Obedient."

"And Catalina?" Mason asked.

"Catalina is just a tool, Mason. A fun distraction until Eliana learns to heel."

I backed away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He didn't love me.

He didn't even hate me.

He viewed me as a mare that needed to be broken.

I walked the two miles back to my parents' house in a daze. My ankle was throbbing with a rhythm that matched the painful beat of my heart, but I barely felt it.

Jax was already waiting on my front porch.

He was leaning against the railing, casual and arrogant, holding a thick envelope.

I recognized the logo immediately.

NYU.

My acceptance letter.

He must have intercepted it from the mailbox before I even arrived.

"Thinking of running?" he asked, his tone mocking.

He held the letter up to the light.

"New York is Tran territory. You think you can just walk into the enemy's city?"

I snatched the letter from his hand.

He let me take it.

He was smiling, as if my resistance was adorable.

"You're not going anywhere, Eliana. My father already agreed to move the wedding up."

My blood ran cold.

"Two weeks," he said, stepping closer. "You'll be in my bed in two weeks, and this..."

He pointed to the letter in my hand.

"This will be ashes."

His phone rang, cutting through the tension.

He glanced at the screen. It was Catalina.

He answered it, his voice shifting to irritation. "What?"

He listened for a moment, his jaw tightening.

"I'm coming," he said.

He hung up and looked at me, his eyes dark.

"She thinks someone is following her."

"Probably a cat," I said, my voice flat.

He stepped into my personal space, smelling of whiskey and the cloying perfume I had smelled on him earlier.

"Don't leave the house, Eliana. I'll deal with you later."

He turned and walked to his car.

He drove away to save the damsel who was lying to him.

He left the real threat standing on the porch with a ticket to freedom in her hand.

He thought he had time.

He thought he owned the clock.

I went inside and locked the door.

I didn't pack clothes.

I packed the letter.

I packed my passport.

And finally, I packed the gun Uncle Sal had given me for my sixteenth birthday.