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!"
