INICIAR SESIÓNHe took an exit off the highway, the road narrowing and winding through darkening countryside. I caught glimpses in the twilight: the silvery flash of a stream, the dense outlines of trees, the gentle roll of hills. It felt a world away from the city’s constant hum.We turned onto a gravel lane, and he slowed, stopping in front of a pair of tall, wrought-iron gates. He fished a small remote from his pocket, clicked it, and the gates swung open silently.My eyebrows shot up. “Jax...”“Just look.”We drove up a curving driveway. The house emerged from the shadows. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was big, built of stone and warm wood, with a deep porch wrapping around the front. Lights were on inside, glowing gold against the night. The gardens were just shapes in the dark, but I could imagine them as wild and lush.He parked and came around to open my door before I could move. He took my hand, his fingers lacing tightly through mine, and led me up the path to the front door. It was unlocked
The world outside our bubble didn’t stop. If anything, it sped up, Jax dove headfirst into the storm. I didn’t see much of him in person.The first move was a lawsuits. Not just one. A battery of them.Against Mrs. Miller, for defamation and emotional distress. His lawyers, paid a fortune to be pitiless, dismantled her victim narrative with forensic detail: phone records, witness testimonies from other students about her behavior, financial audits suggesting she’d sought payouts from tabloids. They didn’t just want to win; they wanted to eviscerate. The settlement, when it came, was a financial and professional ruin for her.Against Mark Sable, for invasion of privacy, harassment, and intentional infliction of emotional distress. This one was more personal. Jax’s legal team proved Mark had not only leaked the photo but had actively shopped false stories to the highest bidder. The discovery process dragged every piece of Mark’s vendetta into the harsh light of a courtroom. Mark was lef
I pushed back inside. Orhan was gone, his door shut. Jax was still in the armchair, one hand cradling his now-cooling mug of coffee, staring into the middle distance.“What was that?” I asked, my voice low but firm. I walked over and stood in front of him, blocking his view of nothing. “Why were you interrogating him?”Jax’s eyes lifted to mine, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. It wasn’t the icy smirk from before. This was warmer, more genuinely amused. “Because of your reactions,” he said, his tone teasing. “You were so flustered. It was adorable.”“Shut up,” I said, but there was no heat in it.“He likes you,” Jax stated, his voice dropping, matter-of-fact.I froze. A cold trickle of dread, mixed with a strange sense of guilt, ran down my spine. I turned away, busying myself by picking up Arman’s empty water glass. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”A soft chuckle. “Don’t worry, Elliot. I’m not saying anything. I know you love me.” He winked, the arrogant bastar
“Orhan? We’re back.” I called out, my voice strangled.Orhan’s bedroom door opened, and he sauntered out, a textbook in hand. He looked at me, then at the two other men filling the space. He took in the scene with the unnervingly perceptive gaze of a kid who’d seen too much too young. “You’re back,” he said to me, dryly. “And gladly, not arrested.”Arman blinked, his confusion plain. I let out a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “Ha. Yeah. No arrests.”Orhan’s gaze swept past me, landing on Jax, who was now leisurely removing his sunglasses and unwinding the scarf, hanging it on the coat hook by the door. Orhan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Then his focus shifted to Arman, standing awkwardly by the sofa. Orhan’s eyebrow shot up. He looked back at me, one brow arched in a clear, sardonic 'what the hell is this?’I pretended not to see it. How could I possibly explain? That one is the love of my life (he already knows that), and the other is a sweet guy who has a crush on me and I’ve be
A week had passed. Jax spent most of his days on the phone, pacing the length of the wooden porch or standing by the large window, his voice a low murmur that I couldn’t make out. His publicist, his lawyers, his agent. The calls came in waves.One afternoon, I was chopping vegetables for a stew when his phone rang. He went very still, looking at the screen. He didn’t answer it at first, it rang out. A minute later, it started again, insistent.With a grimace that was more resignation than anything else, he swiped to answer and put it on speaker, setting the phone on the kitchen table between us.“Jaxon.” The voice on the other end was cold, and devoid of any parental warmth.“Father,” Jax said, his own voice flat. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the phone.“I saw your little performance.” A pause, heavy with disdain. “I have to say, for once, I’m almost… proud. You’ve spent your entire life creating messes. At least this time, you had the audacity to stand in the
I got in the driver’s seat, the engine growling to life. My hands were steady now. I pulled out my phone, my thumbs moving with a certainty that felt foreign and frightening.Me: Either you tell me where you are right now, or I drive straight to Mark Sable’s house. Choose.I hit send. I didn’t put the phone down. I held it, my gaze locked on the screen, the glow illuminating the tense lines of my face in the dark car. It was a threat, and I didn’t care. He’d used up all my patience.The three little dots appeared almost instantly. They pulsed, then stopped, then pulsed again. He was typing, deleting, typing. Arguing with himself. Good. Let him feel cornered. Let him feel a fraction of the desperation I’d been drowning in.The reply came.An address.A second text followed.Jax: Wait for me there. Please.Please. That one word, small and cracked, undid something hard in my chest. The anger bled out, leaving behind a raw, aching worry. I’d never known about this place. I typed the coord

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