CHAPTER 6

The rain in the city didn't fall; it descended like a heavy, grey curtain, turning the university campus into a watercolor painting of blurred edges and slick pavement. For Milo, the rain was a nightmare. It made his hair frizz, it made the ground slippery, and most importantly, it made his old, hand-me-down bicycle almost impossible to ride.

He was pedaling furiously toward the campus gates, his legs straining. He had stayed late in the music wing, lost in the soft melodies of a piano piece he was practicing, and now he was late for his parents' anniversary dinner.

Clang.

The sound was sharp and final. Milo’s feet suddenly spun uselessly against the pedals. He wobbled, his heart jumping into his throat, before managing to plant his feet on the wet asphalt just before he toppled over. He looked down, his lower lip trembling. The chain had snapped, lying in a greasy, tangled heap on the ground.

"Oh no," he whispered, the sound lost in the downpour. He was two miles from home, his phone was dead, and he was standing in the dark, shivering in a thin cardigan that was rapidly soaking through, clinging to the soft, feminine curves of his torso.

He felt small. He felt breakable. And for the first time in a week, he felt truly alone.

Jax had been watching from the shadows of the parking garage, leaning against his Harley, a cigarette unlit between his lips. He had been planning to leave, to head home to the "Empire" his father guarded so fiercely, but he couldn't pull himself away from the sight of Milo.

When he saw the chain snap, Jax felt a physical jolt in his chest. He watched Milo struggle, saw the way his small shoulders slumped, and heard that tiny, heartbroken whisper.

Jax didn't hesitate. He kicked his bike into gear, the engine's roar echoing off the concrete walls like a thunderclap. He didn't care about being "invisible" anymore. The "Porcelain Boy" was cold, wet, and hurting.

Milo jumped as the massive black motorcycle skidded to a halt just feet away from him. He squinted through the rain, seeing the same towering silhouette from the park. The man looked like a dark god, his leather jacket slick with rain, his heavy boots hitting the pavement with a purposeful thud.

Jax reached out, his large, grease-stained hand grabbing the handlebars of Milo’s broken bike. He didn't say a word at first. He just looked at Milo. Up close, without the blur of distance or broken glasses, Jax was stunned. Milo’s skin was even paler than he’d imagined, his doe eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears.

"It's broken," Jax rumbled, his voice a low, rough melody that seemed to vibrate right through Milo’s chest.

"I... I know," Milo squeaked, his voice trembling from the cold. "I don't know how to fix it."

Jax looked at the bike, then back at the boy who looked like he was about to melt into the pavement. "Get on."

"What?"

"The bike," Jax pointed to his Harley. "I’ll take you home. I’ll put this in the back of my truck tomorrow and fix it for you. But right now, you’re freezing."

Milo should have been afraid. He was a small, delicate nerd being offered a ride by a giant, tattooed biker. But when he looked into Jax’s eyes, he didn't see a predator. He saw a wall. A shield.

"Okay," Milo whispered.

Jax helped him settle onto the back of the Harley. He felt Milo’s small hands tentatively grip his waist, the boy’s fingers barely meeting around Jax’s massive torso. When Jax started the engine, Milo let out a soft gasp and pressed his face into the small of Jax’s back. Jax felt a surge of possessive heat so strong it nearly blinded him. He wanted to ride forever. He wanted to keep this soft, curvy creature tucked against him, away from the rain and the world.

Thirty minutes later, after dropping a shivering but grateful Milo at the end of his driveway (at Milo’s request, fearing his parents' reaction to a biker), Jax arrived at the Vance estate.

The warmth of the house felt like an insult. He was still buzzing from the feel of Milo’s arms around him. He walked into his father’s study, his boots leaving wet prints on the Persian rug.

"You’re late," his father said, not looking up from a legal contract.

"I had business," Jax snapped.

"Well, your 'business' is over," his father stood up, sliding a document across the desk. "The merger with the Sinclair-Wellesley group is finalized. It’s the largest tech and real estate consolidation in a decade. And to ensure the stability of the families, the board has reached an agreement."

Jax felt a cold pit form in his stomach. "What agreement?"

"An alliance, Jackson. A marriage. To the Sinclair-Wellesley heir." His father looked him in the eye, a cruel smile touching his lips. "She’s a perfect match. Elegant, high-standing, and exactly what this company needs. Her name is Elena."

Jax felt the world tilt. He didn't know the name. He didn't know that the "Elena" his father was talking about was the twin sister of the boy he had just held against his back in the rain.

"I won't do it," Jax growled, his fists clenching at his sides.

"You will," his father replied coldly. "Unless you want to see your 'friends' at that garage in prison and your trust fund dissolved. You’ll meet her next week at a private dinner. You’ll be charming. You’ll be the heir I raised you to be."

Jax walked out, the air in the hallway feeling too thin to breathe. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the spare sunglasses—the ones that belonged to the boy he now knew only as a "precious shadow."

He didn't know that he was being forced to marry the sister. He didn't know that the "neutral" girl at the breakfast table was his future. He only knew that for the first time in his life, he had found something he wanted to keep, and his father was trying to give him the world instead.