Chapter 3: bound by circumstances

Tears welled up again, and I clenched my fists, hating him even more for backing me into a corner. “You want to know what’s wrong?” I yelled, spinning around to face him. “My mother and my fiancé…” My voice cracked, and the rest of the words refused to come.

Instead, I crumpled into tears again, unable to hold back the emotions. Jaxon stepped forward, his expression softening as he drew me into his arms once more.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Let it out, Myla. You don’t have to do this alone.”

For the first time in hours, I felt peace. Jaxon may have been the last person I wanted to lean on, but in that moment, he was the only one there.

“Come on,” he said gently, guiding me toward his car. “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

I didn’t resist as he helped me into the passenger seat. He turned to one of his workers, who had arrived on the scene, and instructed them to take my car for repairs.

As the car pulled away, I stared out the window, tears streaming silently down my face. My world had turned upside down—but for now, I'd allowed myself to become vulnerable, even if it was with the man I despised most.

~~~~

The car ride was silent. The hum of the engine was the only sound that could be heard. Jaxon didn't say a word. His piercing blue flickered towards me occasionally, but he remained quiet. The silence was unbearable. I wanted him to yell, scold me, demand answers—anything but not this suffocating silence.

“You don’t have to help me,” I muttered, my voice breaking through the tension. “I don’t need your pity.”

He didn't respond. Instead, he pulled into the grand entrance of a luxurious hotel. It's towering glass exterior sparkled under the sun. 

“Why are we here?” I asked, my voice hoarse from crying.

Jaxon parked the car and turned to me. “Because you need a safe place to sort yourself out. And secondly, because you look like you’re seconds away from self-destruction.”

I glared at him, anger bubbling beneath my skin. “You don’t get to judge me.”

“I’m not judging,” he replied calmly. “I’m helping. Whether you like it or not.”

Before I could argue, he stepped out of the car, his presence commanding as he walked around to my side. He opened the door and extended a hand.

“Come on,” he said, his tone firm yet gentle.

I hesitated, staring at his outstretched hand. Everything in me screamed to reject his help, but I was too broken, too exhausted to resist. I placed my trembling hand in his, and he guided me out of the car.

The moment we entered the hotel, cameras flashed, and reporters crowded around. Questions flew in every direction.

Mr. Brooks! Who is she?”

“Is this your fiancée?”

“Are you two married?”

“Stay close,” he said firmly, holding my hands.

Jaxon gave a sharp nod to one of his staff. “Get security to clear them out,” he ordered. Within minutes, the press was dispersed, leaving the entrance quiet once more.

“I hate this,” I whispered.

Jaxon glanced at me, his expression softening again. “I know.”

As soon as the press left , the atmosphere in the lobby shifted. The polished floor gleamed under the soft glow of the chandelier. Jaxon walked ahead , his hand resting lightly but possessively on my lower back, guiding me inside. 

The staff at the entrance immediately straightened, as though they'd rehearsed.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Brooks,” they chorused, their voices laced with a mix of respect and fear.

He didn’t stop, barely lifting a hand in a lazy wave, his eyes steady as he led me towards the elevator. His presence was magnetic, a force that drew attention without effort.

But it wasn’t just him they were looking at.

I felt the weight of their stares, the shift in the atmosphere as their curious eyes moved toward me. Whispers buzzed too low to catch.

“Who is she?” one of the receptionists murmured, leaning toward her colleague.

“She’s not his usual type,” someone else whispered.

“Maybe a new mistress?” another whispered, not soft enough to escape my ears.

My feet became cold, a mixture of embarrassment and fear. My steps faltered for a second, but Jaxon’s hand tightened slightly, steadying me without looking back.

“You’re with me now,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Ignore them.They’re just curious. And maybe a little jealous.”

The elevator rang softly as we stepped inside. The doors closed, and I could feel the slow rise as we made our way up. When it finally stopped, the doors opened to a floor that felt different—exclusive. Jaxon motioned for me to follow as he led me out, guiding me to a suite and opening the door.

“Stay here until you’re ready to leave,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll send someone with clothes and anything else you'll need.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

I stood in the middle of the suite, stunned. The room was beautiful, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a beautiful view of the city. A king-sized bed sat in the center, surrounded by elegant furniture and soft lighting.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, pulling out my phone. Fifty missed calls from my father. My thumb scrolled over the call button, “I can’t explain anything right now,” I whispered, tossing the phone aside.

I moved to the window, staring out at the bustling city below. Tears welled up in my eyes as memories of the day replayed in my mind. It was too much to bear.

A knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. I wiped my face and opened it to find a young woman holding a tray.

“Mr. Brooks sent these,” she said with a polite smile. She handed me a neatly folded dress, nightwear, and a tray of food with a bottle of wine.

“Thank you,” I murmured, my voice barely audible.

She nodded and left, leaving me alone again.

I placed the items on the table and took a hot shower, letting the water wash away the remnants of my ruined day. Dressed in the comfortable clothes provided, I returned to the window, the bottle of wine in my hand.

The first sip burned, but I didn’t care. I drank until the pain in my chest faded, and everything felt blurry.

My phone rang, pulling me out of the moment. The screen lit up with Cynthia’s name. I stared at it for a moment before answering, my voice already heavy with wine.

“Hello?” I muttered, leaning back against the window.

“Myla! Where the hell are you?" Cynthia's voice echoed through the phone as I picked up, the wine bottle wobbling in my hand.

"I'm here... or somewhere." I mumbled. giggling at my own words.

"Are you drunk?" Cynthia asked sharply.

"Drunk? Pfft. Nah." I hiccupped. "Just... hydrated. The wine's basically a fancy grape juice."

"Okay. what's going on? Where are you now? Everyone's calling me..”

"No wedding!" I interrupted, my words rumbling out.

 “ Why??” she asked. 

 "Because Damien's too busy banging my mother." I replied immediately, patiently waiting for her response.

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I could almost hear Cynthia struggling to process my words. I laughed bitterly stumbling back onto the couch.

"What the hell are you talking about?” Cindy asked, her voice sharp.

 "Exactly what I said Cindy… Damien and my mother,” I replied, crossing my legs tightly on the couch.

 “ Ouch, it's so hot down there,” I mumbled under my breath, feeling this hot sensation between my thighs. 

"Myla. stop drinking. We need to talk " 

"Talk?" I cut her off. my voice rising. "No. Cindy, I don't wanna talk. I wanna... I wanna feel something that isn't betrayal."

Cynthia hesitated. "Myla…"

"You know what I need?" I interrupted again, my tone switching from bitter to daring. "I need a fuck right now, Cindy. A hot, meaningless, mind-blowing orgasm. Think you can arrange that. Even if it’s just for one night.”

“ Have you ever fucked a man before?” Cindy asked…