Dawn slipped through the curtains in thin, golden threads, painting the disordered sheets in pale light. I stirred first, my senses alive with the remnants of the night. My chest pressed with a weight I couldn't name, caught between warmth and something else I wasn't ready to admit.
Jaxon lay beside me, still, his arm draped over me as though I were his alone. For a fleeting moment, the intimacy felt almost safe—soft, warm, almost tender. Almost. Then his eyes opened, catching the dawn in their depths, dark and unyielding, and the fragile peace shattered.
They didn't hold tenderness. They held calculation.
"You belong to me now," he said, low and certain, as if the night had been conquest, not communion.
My breath faltered. The heat that had burned with want curdled into unease. I pushed upright, clutching the sheets to my chest, searching for the man I thought I had glimpsed beneath his guard. But he was gone.
"What happened last night—" My voice cracked, brittle as glass. "That wasn't ownership. That was—"
"Don't dress it up," he cut in, sitting forward, his tone razor-sharp. "You gave yourself to me. And in this world, Brianna, giving means losing."
My stomach knotted. Shame collided with fury. Was it true? Or just a reminder of the power he held over me? I opened my mouth, but the words shriveled when I caught the steel in his gaze. Beneath it—just for a moment—I thought I saw something flicker. Regret? Or something far darker?
The silence between us thickened, pressing heavy, unyielding. Outside, the estate woke, indifferent to the war inside this room. My pulse spiked. I slid from the bed, every step a vow. He watched me, eyes narrowing, unreadable, as if weighing whether to stop me. He didn't.
Halfway to the bathroom, my foot brushed against the desk. Something glinted in the pale morning light. I froze, leaning closer. The sharp edge of a folder peeked out, catching the sunlight. My fingers hovered, then trembled as I brushed the top page. My heart stuttered. The crest. The name. Memories I had tried so hard to bury surged back, sharp and acrid.
A breath tore from me. The papers spilled secrets I hadn't even known I still carried—secrets that tied my father's sins to… this. To Jaxon.
Behind me, I heard him stir, the bed dipping as he shifted upright. "Find something interesting?" His voice was low, teasing—but when I turned, his eyes… his eyes were impossibly soft. Watching me. Not judging. Waiting.
My hand froze on the folder. My heart hammered as I turned slowly. His smile was a small, crooked curve that made my chest ache. "You okay?" he asked.
"I… I didn't mean to—" My voice shook.
He shook his head, tilting it slightly. "It's not yours to fear." His gaze lingered on my face, on the way my fingers trembled over the papers. The warmth in his eyes pinned me in place. "I promise."
The room felt smaller, charged, the scent of him clinging to the sheets, to my skin, wrapping around me like a second skin I couldn't shed. I wanted to step back, to run, to tear the papers from my sight—but something in the gentle firmness of his gaze rooted me to the spot.
The folder had unveiled the past, sharp and undeniable. But Jaxon… Jaxon was here, real, patient, an anchor I hadn't realized I needed.
I snatched the folder off the desk, my hands shaking as the papers slipped beneath my grip. My chest heaved, my pulse throbbed so violently I thought it might shatter my ribs. "What… what is this?" I demanded, my voice raw, sharp with fury.
Jaxon shifted on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath him, but he didn't move closer. His gaze stayed fixed, steady, unnervingly calm.
"This?" he said lightly, almost casually. "It's just documents."
"Just documents?" A bitter laugh clawed up my throat, jagged and dangerous. I shook the folder, scattering papers across the desk. "Do you even understand what this is? My father—my family! And somehow… somehow it's tied to you? To your life? To your world?"
He sat upright, arms resting loosely on his knees, his eyes never leaving mine. "I know exactly what it is," he said quietly, "and I know what it means."
I slammed the folder down, letting the papers fan out across the desk. "There is no us. Not like this!" I snapped. "Not with this—this corruption in your house, in your hands!"
His jaw tightened, but he stayed still, letting my anger scorch the air between us. He didn't reach for the folder. He didn't intervene. He just watched—his silence feeding the storm inside me.
"You left this here! You knew I'd see it!" I spat, my voice breaking under the weight of betrayal. "How dare you—"
My hands shook as I tried to gather the scattered pages. The folder slipped, papers spilling again. Rage flared hot and raw in my chest. I wanted to rip them apart, destroy them, make them vanish. But my gaze kept pulling back to him.
And there he sat—calm, steady, watching me unravel.