Chapter 1

JENNA

New York smells like rain and ambition.

The cab window is cracked open just enough for the city’s cold breath to slip inside, brushing against my cheek as I stare up at the skyline. Neon lights smear across the glass, blurring into streaks of color that feel too bright, too loud, too alive.

Nothing in Montana ever looked like this.

Nothing ever felt like this.

I clutch my purse tighter, my fingers trembling with a mix of excitement and fear. I’ve only been here for three days, and the city still feels like a giant I’m trying to learn the footsteps of.

“First time in New York?” the cab driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

I nod. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckles. “You’re looking up instead of down. Locals don’t do that.”

I smile weakly. “I’ll learn.”

“You will,” he says. “Everyone does. Or they leave.”

His words settle in my chest like a warning.

I’m not leaving.

I can’t.

Not after everything I sacrificed to get here.

Not after losing my parents.

Not after my grandparents spent their savings to help me chase a dream they’ll never see.

I’m here to build a life.

A future.

A version of myself that isn’t defined by tragedy.

The cab pulls up to the bar where Faith insisted we meet.

The Blue Lantern.

The sign flickers in electric blue, casting a glow across the wet pavement. People spill out onto the sidewalk, laughing, shouting, living.

I pay the driver and step out into the night.

The air is cold enough to sting my lungs. My heels click against the pavement as I walk toward the entrance, my heart pounding.

Faith is waiting inside, waving wildly the moment she sees me.

“Nina!” she squeals, pulling me into a hug. “You made it!”

“It’s Jenna,” I laugh. “Nina is my middle name.”

“Whatever,” she says, linking her arm with mine. “You’re here! And we’re celebrating your new job!”

My stomach flips. “I start Monday.”

“As a secretary for a major corporation,” she says proudly. “You’re officially a city girl.”

I try to smile, but nerves twist in my stomach.

I don’t know anyone here.

I don’t know the rules.

I don’t know how to be the version of myself I promised I’d become.

Faith drags me to the bar, orders drinks, and starts talking about her latest photography project. I nod along, trying to relax, trying to breathe.

But then—

A ripple moves through the room.

A shift in the air.

A hush.

I turn.

And see him.

A man walks in with two others, and the entire bar seems to tilt toward him. He’s tall, broad‑shouldered, dressed in a black coat that looks like it costs more than my entire wardrobe.

His presence is magnetic.

Dangerous.

Undeniable.

His friends flank him—one laughing loudly, the other scrolling through his phone—but he’s silent. Focused. His jaw is sharp, his expression unreadable.

He looks like he owns the night.

He looks like he owns everything.

Faith follows my gaze and whistles. “That’s Jaxon.”

The name hits me like a spark.

“Who?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Billionaire. CEO. Heartbreaker. The kind of man who ruins your life and makes you thank him for it.”

I swallow hard. “He looks… intense.”

“He is,” she says. “And he never comes here. Something must’ve dragged him out tonight.”

As if on cue, his friends shove him toward the bar.

“Come on, man,” the blond one says. “You haven’t touched anyone since Vivienne left. You’re practically a monk.”

Jaxon’s jaw tightens.

The other friend smirks. “One night. One girl. Break the dry streak.”

Jaxon says nothing.

His friends laugh.

“Fine,” the blond one says. “We dare you. First girl you choose, you take home.”

My breath catches.

Jaxon’s eyes lift.

And land on me.

For a moment, the world stops.

His gaze is sharp, assessing, dark.

Like he’s peeling back layers I didn’t know I had.

I look away quickly, heat rushing to my cheeks.

Faith nudges me. “Holy crap. He’s looking at you.”

“No, he’s not,” I whisper.

But he is.

He pushes off the bar and walks toward me.

Each step feels like a countdown.

My pulse races.

My palms sweat.

My heart tries to escape my chest.

He stops in front of me.

Close enough that I can smell his cologne—clean, expensive, intoxicating.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smooth.

I blink. “Hi.”

He studies me for a moment, his eyes lingering on my face, my hair, the nervous way I grip my glass.

“You’re not from here,” he says.

It’s not a question.

“No,” I whisper. “I’m from Montana.”

His lips twitch. “That explains the innocence.”

My cheeks burn. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he says softly. “And that’s not an insult.”

I swallow hard. “Why are you talking to me?”

He leans in slightly, his breath brushing my ear.

“Because I want to.”

My heart stutters.

Faith’s eyes are huge, but she wisely slips away, leaving us alone.

Jaxon pulls back just enough to look at me again.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Jenna.”

“Jenna,” he repeats, like he’s testing the taste of it. “Pretty.”

I can barely breathe.

He gestures toward the door. “Let me walk you home.”

My pulse spikes. “I—I don’t know you.”

“You’re right,” he says. “You don’t.”

His eyes soften—just a fraction.

“But I’m not going to hurt you.”

I shake my head. “I can’t.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

The truth slips out before I can stop it.

“Because I’m not like the women from here. If you know what I mean," I smiled a little.

His expression changes instantly. The heat in his eyes shifts into something else—something protective, something dangerous, something I can’t name.

He steps back.

“Then I’m definitely not taking you home,” he says quietly.

My breath catches.

“But I’ll walk you there.”

He offers his hand.

I hesitate.

Then take it.

And the night changes forever.