CHAPTER 2

The university hallway felt three miles long when you were trying to be invisible.

Milo clutched his bag to his chest, the heavy canvas acting as a shield against the eyes he felt boring into him. He could hear them before he saw them. Miller and his group of friends—guys who spent more time in the gym than the library and seemed to have a personal vendetta against anything they couldn't understand.

"Look at that," Miller’s voice rang out, dripping with a mock-sweetness that made Milo’s stomach turn. "If it isn't the campus doll. Hey, Milo! Where’d you get those pants? Do they even make them in the men's section, or did you shop in your sister’s closet again?"

Milo kept his head down, his fluffy brown hair falling over his eyes. "Please," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I just want to go to lab."

"Oh, he wants to go to lab!" Miller laughed, stepping into Milo’s path and forcing him to stop. He leaned in close, looming over Milo’s 5'5" frame. "You know, with a face that pretty and a walk that... distractingly soft... you really shouldn't be wandering around alone. People might get the wrong idea."

He reached out, his hand gripping Milo’s shoulder. His fingers dug into the soft skin beneath the hoodie, and Milo flinched, a small, involuntary whimper escaping his lips. It was a sound of pure vulnerability, and it only seemed to egg them on.

"Look at him, he’s shaking," another boy jeered. "Are you gonna cry, Milo? Give us those big doe eyes."

Milo felt the heat of humiliation rising to his porcelain cheeks. He felt small—not just in height, but in worth. He thought of his parents’ warm smiles this morning and felt a pang of guilt. They saw a treasure; the world saw a target.

While Milo was drowning in the hallway, Jax was suffocating in a different kind of silence.

The estate of the Vance family was a sprawling masterpiece of glass and cold marble, located in the most expensive zip code in the city. Jax sat at the head of a long, mahogany table that could seat twenty, though only he and his father were present.

"You look like a thug, Jackson," his father said, not even looking up from his steak. "The grease under your fingernails is a disgrace to the name."

Jax didn't move. He sat with his massive shoulders squared, his 6'4" frame making the expensive designer chair look like a toy. "The grease comes off. The hypocrisy of this board meeting doesn't."

"You are the heir to this empire," his father snapped, finally dropping his silver fork. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sterile room. "You will sell that deathtrap of a bike, you will stop associating with those low-lives at the garage, and you will start acting like a man who is ready to take his place at the top. There are expectations, Jackson. There are... alliances to consider."

Jax narrowed his eyes. "Alliances? I’m a person, not a trade agreement."

"You are a Vance," his father corrected coldly. "And very soon, you will realize that your personal whims mean nothing compared to the stability of our legacy. I’ve already begun making certain... arrangements for your future. You’d be wise to prepare yourself."

Jax felt a surge of white-hot rebellion. He pushed back from the table, the heavy chair screeching against the marble. He didn't say a word. He just turned, his muscular back a wall of defiance, and walked out. He didn't need their "legacy." He needed the roar of an engine and the freedom of the open road.

Ten minutes later, the black Harley roared onto the university campus. Jax didn't care about the "No Parking" signs or the stares from the students. He pulled up near the science building, his chest still tight with the rage of his father’s "arrangements."

He swung his long leg off the bike and pulled off his helmet, his Greek-god features set in a permanent scowl.

And that’s when he saw it.

In the shadows of the stone archway, three guys were surrounding a smaller figure. He recognized the varsity jackets—bullies who thought they owned the place. But it was the person in the middle who stopped Jax’s heart.

It was a boy. A boy so soft and delicate he looked like he was made of moonlight. Even from a distance, Jax could see the "bouncy" brown hair and the way the boy’s wide hips were trembling under his baggy clothes. He looked like a wounded bird surrounded by wolves.

One of the bullies reached out and swiped Milo’s glasses off his face, tossing them onto the grass. Milo gasped, his big eyes filling with tears as he blurredly searched the ground.

Jax didn't think. He didn't plan. He just moved.

"Hey," Jax’s voice wasn't a shout. It was a low, vibrating growl that carried the weight of a physical blow.

The bullies froze. They turned to see the giant in leather walking toward them, his fists clenched, his presence so overwhelming that the air seemed to leave the hallway.

Milo looked up, his vision blurry, seeing only a massive, dark silhouette. To him, it looked like a monster had come to join the fight. He didn't realize that for the first time in his life, the monster was on his side.