Awakening

Gina's POV:

My eyes blurred open slowly, vision still unclear.

The first thing I noticed was silence. Real silence.

No loud footsteps coming for me. No threatening words from my father. No muffled whispers from relatives and maids. And most of all—no Jax. No cold voice telling me my duty. No presence of the man I was supposed to marry.

Just silence.

Then I felt it—the softness that surrounded my body. No aches. No exhaustion. Just relief and relaxation. Beneath me, the source of that softness. I struggled lightly against the grip of the blanket wrapped tightly around me.

Then I stopped.

I touched the blanket again and my eyes widened, fully awake now.

Silk?

I gazed at the ceiling—or rather, I stared through it, my mind still catching up. It was high and white, with a delicate crystal chandelier that caught the light and scattered it into tiny rainbows across the walls.

"Where am I?" I whispered.

I sat up, resting my back against the headboard, and turned my head slowly, studying the room.

It exuded luxury. The massive master bed I lay on was the kind someone orders when they never want to reach the edge. Rich fabric. Silk, everywhere.

Straight ahead, a fireplace sat dark and cold. Above it hung a painting I almost recognized—familiar, like a rough sketch I'd seen somewhere, now transformed into a masterpiece of wealth.

I turned my head, mesmerized by it all.

I stood, expecting pain. Instead, comfort traveled down my nerves. My vein felt loose and fluid, as though I'd been massaged while asleep.

I think I was right—because I was wearing a white robe.

Two ladies entered. They wore matching uniforms, clearly organized, but still luxurious. The kind of beauty a billionaire would want to witness every day.

They bowed slightly.

I stepped back, startled.

"The young master wants you to rest more," the taller one said, her hands clasped behind her.

The young master.

My blood ran cold.

Jax. They meant Jax.

Of course. The man who rescued me—he was working for Jax all along. He brought me here, to Jax's mansion, to deliver me like a package. I had trusted a stranger, and now I was exactly where I never wanted to be: in the home of the man I was fleeing.

But why would Jax care if I rested? Why the silk sheets, the luxury, the concern for my health?

Unless he was trying to soften me. Make me comfortable so I'd lower my guard. So I'd accept my fate.

I thought of Evan—my dead fiancé, Jax's brother. The new heir, forced on me by his father. The same father who sent men to kidnap me. The same family that saw me as a pawn to be traded.

And now I was in their home.

My stomach turned.

"And how is he concerned about that?" My voice shook, but I forced the words out.

The maid straightened from her bow. "I'm sorry?" She looked genuinely confused. "But he was really worried about you when he brought you here."

He brought you here. The rescuer. Working for Jax. Just like everyone else.

"Whatever." I hissed and stepped toward the door.

I stopped and looked back. "Where is he?"

The taller one spoke again—clearly the head maid. "At the garden, down the terrace." She pointed toward a glass enclosure.

I stared through the glass and saw a male figure examining flowers. I frowned, eyebrows rising.

Jax. In a garden. Tending flowers.

The Jax I knew—the cold, distant man my father praised, the heir to an empire—he didn't tend flowers. He didn't stand in sunlight examining roses like some poet.

But maybe I never knew him at all. Maybe the gossip, the rumors, the distant glimpses—none of it was real.

Why do men like him even care about flowers?

I walked into the hallway.

The hallway stretched before me, elegant and endless. A mansion. Jax's mansion. I didn't recognize the location, but the wealth was unmistakable. This was Kings Group territory.

I would have liked him to be my brother-in-law. That I could have tolerated. But my husband? I would rather die.

Even when Evan was alive, I avoided Jax. Kept my distance. There was something about him that unsettled me—not cruelty, exactly. Something deeper. Sadder, maybe.

I remember the last night I saw Evan. He seemed down, hiding something. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. I kept asking what was wrong, but he couldn't say anything.

Complicated family shit.

I reached the garden and opened the glass door. The fragrance of flowers mingled in the warm air, alluring and sweet.

Then I spotted him.

Dressed in white—shirt and trousers. The trousers were long, decorated with tiny glittering stones. Diamonds, probably.

I saw him from behind. His shoulders seemed broader than I remembered. Taller, too. He faced a red rose, examining it like it held secrets.

I stopped, took a breath, and tightened the rope on my white robe. Then I walked closer, ready to face my captor, my almost-husband, my prison.

He heard my footsteps. Slowly, he looked back at me.

The sun cast a perfect beam of light across his face. He wore black sunglasses. But those lips—I'd seen them before.

He removed the sunglasses.

The real face emerged.

Not Jax.

Him. The man who rescued me.

My mind crashed.

This wasn't Jax's mansion. This was his home. The stranger who pulled me from Kaint's grip, who drove me through the night, who carried me to this room and covered me in silk—

He wasn't Jax's man.

He was someone else entirely.

But who?

I stood frozen, my heart pounding, my mind racing through possibilities that made no sense.

"Who are you?"

My voice came out mixed—eagerness and surprise tangled together with something else. Something that felt dangerously like hope.

I asked him slowly, afraid of the answer.

Afraid it might shatter the only good thing that had happened to me in years.