They watched the Prince of the City hold the mistress while the fiancée dripped muddy water onto the pristine limestone patio.

Jax climbed out, setting Catalina down gently. He stripped off his jacket and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders.

Only then did he look at me.

His eyes were devoid of warmth. There was no apology. There was only irritation.

"You're making a scene, Eliana," he said, his voice smooth, low, and lethal.

I shivered, my teeth chattering so hard I thought they might crack. "She pushed me, Jax."

Catalina sobbed into his shirt, burying her face against the silk. "I slipped! I tried to grab her hand to steady myself!"

It was a lie so transparent it was insulting. But Jax didn't care about the truth. He cared about what he wanted. And right now, he didn't want me.

"Go home," Jax ordered me, dismissing me like a disobedient servant. "Clean yourself up."

"You're supposed to be my partner," I whispered, the words tasting like chlorine and bile. "You just left me there."

Jax stepped closer. The menace radiating off him was palpable. He was the son of the Underboss, a man who had killed for the Family, a man who terrified grown men.

"Your reputation is not my problem, Eliana," he said, loud enough for the inner circle to hear. "Grow up."

Something inside my chest snapped.

It wasn't a loud crack. It was a silent, final severance. The tether that had bound me to him for eighteen years didn't just break; it dissolved.

I didn't cry. I didn't scream.

I turned around and walked away.

I walked past the staring faces of the people I had grown up with-people who were now witnessing my social execution. I walked out of the estate gates and into the dark street.

I pulled out my phone. My fingers were numb, but I dialed the number I had saved for an emergency I never thought would happen.

"Uncle Sal," I said when the voice answered. "I need a favor. The favor you promised my mother. The transfer to UCLA... cancel it. Put me in the NYU system. Tonight."

"Eliana?" His voice was rough with sleep and confusion. "Does your father know?"

"No one knows," I said, staring at the lights of the city that was no longer my home. "And if you tell them, I'm dead."

I hung up before he could argue.

I went home to my empty room. I didn't sleep.

I took a box from my closet. I moved like a robot, programmed only for survival.

I took down the photos. The ticket stubs. The dried corsage from junior prom. The silver locket he gave me when I turned sixteen.

I packed his lies into the cardboard coffin.

I was done being the Thorny Rose of the Chicago Outfit. I was done being the canary in his gilded cage.

Jax thought he had just disciplined me. He thought he had put me in my place.

He was right. He had put me exactly where I needed to be.

Out of his life.

Eliana Carter POV

The Little estate loomed over the neighborhood like a feudal fortress. It was a compound of iron gates, armed guards, and manicured lawns that smelled of old money and fresh blood.

I drove my car right up to the front entrance. The guards waved me through, their expressions deferential. They still thought I was the future lady of the house.

I snatched the box from the passenger seat, my grip tightening until the cardboard buckled.

Karen, Jax's mother, met me in the foyer. She was the quintessential Mafia wife-blind to the sins, focused entirely on the appearances.

"Eliana, darling," she said, reaching for my cheek with a perfectly manicured hand. "I heard there was a little accident at the gala. Are you alright?"

"Is he upstairs?" I asked, ignoring her touch.

Karen blinked, sensing the radiating tension. "Yes, but-"

I walked past her. I climbed the grand staircase, my footsteps heavy and deliberate on the marble.

I didn't bother to knock on the door to his suite. I shoved it open.

Jax was lounging on his leather sofa, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand.

But he wasn't alone.

Catalina was there. She was sitting on the edge of his desk, swinging her legs playfully.

She was wearing his football jersey. The one with 'LITTLE' emblazoned on the back.

In our world, wearing a man's jersey wasn't just a fashion choice; it was a claim. It was a territory marker.

She saw me and smirked, taking a slow sip from her own glass.

Jax looked up. He didn't look guilty. He looked bored.

"I told you to go home," he said, his voice flat.

I walked to the center of the room. I didn't look at Catalina. I refused to give her the satisfaction of an audience.

"I brought you something," I said.

I dumped the box onto the coffee table. The lid popped open. The photos spilled out like dirty secrets. The locket slid across the wood. The diamond engagement ring, a promise made by our fathers before we could speak, clattered loudly against the glass.

Jax stared at the ring. His jaw tightened.

"What is this drama, Eliana?"

"It's a return policy," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "I'm returning the goods. They're defective."

Catalina laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. "God, you're pathetic. Do you think he cares about your little scrapbook?"

"Shut up," I said calmly.

Jax stood up. He towered over me. He used his size to intimidate, a tactic that used to work when I still had a heart to break.

"Pick it up," he commanded.

"No."

"I said, pick it up."

"Trash it," I said. "Burn it. I don't care. It means nothing to me."

I turned to leave.

"You don't walk away from me!" Jax roared. He grabbed the box and hurled it toward the mezzanine railing.

It smashed against the banister, raining memories down into the foyer below in a shower of paper and metal.

"You are mine, Eliana! You don't get to decide when this is over!"