Chapter twenty two:FireLight Confessions(Sienna)

The harsh glare of the red flare slowly sputtered and died outside the snow-draped courtyard, swallowed whole by the blinding sheets of white.

Jaxson’s body stayed planted firmly in front of mine for several long, suffocating seconds, his massive shoulder blades braced like a iron shield. Outside, the engine roar of the unmarked SUV faded into the storm, its tail lights blurring into the thick fog as it pulled away from the estate gates. It hadn't been a breach; it had been an escort vehicle security contractors sent by the estate's management company to drop off emergency supplies before the mountain passes were sealed shut for good.

"Just supplies," Jaxson said, his voice low and raspy in the quiet dark room. He let out a slow, controlled breath, though I could still feel the sheer tension hummed through his muscle against my skin before he slowly stepped back.

He bent down, hauled the heavy wooden crate inside with one hand, and kicked the terrace door shut against the howling blizzard. The latch clicked into place, locking the freezing mountain air outside once more.

With the master suite's backup electrical loop officially dead, the room settled into a deep, amber stillness. The only light came from the central stone fireplace, where Jaxson had stoked a fresh log into a roaring blaze.

Jaxson returned from the corner bar holding two crystal lowball glasses, amber liquid sloshing gently against heavy ice cubes. He held one out to me.

"Bourbon," he said quietly, dropping his six-foot-four frame onto the opposite end of the deep sofa. "It won't fix the power, but it'll take the edge off the cold."

I took the glass, my fingers brushing against his calloused knuckles. The momentary contact sent a subtle jolt through my wrists, but I forced myself to sit, wrapping my legs beneath me on the cushion while keeping a careful foot of space between us. I took a slow sip, feeling the liquid burn a warm path down my throat.

"I didn't think a franchise quarterback was allowed to touch hard liquor during rehabilitation," I murmured, waiting for a response from him.

Jaxson let out a dry, humorless chuckle, staring into his own glass as the ice clinked softly. "Franchise quarterback. That's what the front office calls me when they're parading me in front of investors. On paper, I'm an asset. A multi-million-dollar investment with an expiration date."

"Everyone thinks the money and the stadium lights make you invincible," he continued softly, the gravel in his tone laced with a heavy, weariness I had never heard before. "They don't see the four morning surgeries before sunrise. They don't see the team doctors injecting painblockers into your joints at half-time just so you can stand up for thirty more minutes. You become a hollow shell playing a character. If you stop winning, if your body breaks, the applause doesn't just stop, Sienna. People look right through you like you never existed."

Listening to him, something shifted deep within my chest. For weeks, I had seen Jaxson Cole as a stubborn, arrogant athlete a man who fought my therapy sessions out of pure, headstrong pride. But looking at him now, bathed in the dim firelight, I saw the truth. He wasn't fighting me because he was arrogant; he was fighting because he was terrified of losing the only identity he had ever been allowed to possess.

"You're not just an asset, Jaxson," I said gently, my voice barely above a whisper. "And you're not invisible. Not to me."

Jaxson turned his head slowly, his dark grey eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse stumble. "Then why do you keep running every time I get too close?"

I looked down at the amber bourbon swirling in my glass, my chest tightening with an old, familiar ache. "Because getting close to people is dangerous. When you love someone, you give them the power to destroy your world in a single second."

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the crackle of burning pine and the distant thrum of the blizzard against the glass.

"Tell me," Jaxson said softly. His tone wasn't demanding or cold; it was entirely open, asking for a piece of me I had kept hidden from the world for years. "Tell me what made you build these walls, Sienna."

I took a deep breath, clutching the glass until my knuckles turned white. "It was eight years ago," I began, my voice trembling slightly before I found my footing. "A Tuesday night in October. It was raining heavily just like the night you signed your recovery contract."

Jaxson didn't interrupt. He simply listened, his entire focus anchored on me.

"My parents were driving back from a sports medicine conference in Warsaw," I continued, staring into the heart of the fire as the memories surfaced, raw and sharp. "My dad was a renowned orthopedic surgeon. He was my absolute hero. My mother was a concert pianist. They were arguing over something stupid on the highway—some minor delay. A semi-truck lost control on the slick asphalt ahead of them."

A sudden lump caught in my throat, but I swallowed it down. "The impact was instant. The state troopers told me they didn't suffer, but... in a single phone call at two in the morning, my entire life was erased. Everything I knew, every safety net I had, gone."

I wiped a rogue drop of moisture from the corner of my eye, letting out a faint, dry laugh. "That's why I became a therapist. That's why I control every variable in my life. I thought if I could fix people's bodies, if I could control every line and boundary, I could prevent things from breaking. I could keep myself safe."

Jaxson didn't offer empty words of comfort. He didn't tell me it was going to be okay. Instead, he set his glass down on the hearth table, turned his torso toward me, and closed the distance between us.

He reached out slowly, giving me every opportunity to pull away. When I didn't, his hand cupped the side of my face, his warm, broad palm resting against my jaw line with an astonishing tenderness that contrasted completely with his massive size.

"Look at me, Sienna," he whispered.

I looked up, meeting his gaze.

His thumb gently moved across the bridge of my nose, tracing the small scatter of light freckles I usually hid under light makeup. The touch was feather-light, deliberate, sending a wave of romantic warmth cascading straight down my spine.

"You spend all your time trying to fix everyone else," he murmured, his gaze softening in a way that shattered every defense mechanism I had left. "You hide behind your protocols, your professional lines, and your neat little rules. But you're not invisible either."

His face drifted closer, his dark eyes dropping to my lips before rising back to hold mine. The atmosphere in the master suite was thick, suffocating with a slow-burn desire that had been brewing between us since the moment we met.

"I tried to hate you when you showed up at this estate," Jaxson confessed softly, his breath warm against my cheek. "I tried to treat you like another corporate handler sent to manage me. But I can't do it anymore. I can't treat you like an enemy, Sienna."

My heart hammered against my ribs like a wild drum. "Jaxson... what are we doing?"

"Stopping the lie," he replied simply.

His hand shifted to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair as he leaned in, pulling me toward him until our foreheads rested against each other. I could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat matching mine.

Just as his lips brushed against mine in a gentle, slow promise of a kiss, his phone on the coffee table suddenly burst into life.

The screen illuminated the dark room with a violent, piercing blue glow, vibrating frantically against the hard wood.

Jaxson froze, his lips hovering a millimeter from mine.

I glanced down at the glowing display. An encrypted text message from Kaja's secure channel had just bypassed the storm's network blackout, flashing across the top of the lock screen in bold white letters:

DO NOT TRUST VANCE SPORTS. BRONISŁAW SABOTAGED YOUR BRACE. THEY WANT YOU BROKEN.