"You knew," I spat, my voice tight, brittle.
He shifted, leaned back, eyes steady. "Not until now," he said, slow. Measured.
"Not until now?" My hands shook, clutching a page like it might burn me. "Do you think I'll believe that? You could have known. Every deal. Every lie. Every link to my father."
He rose, footsteps deliberate. The air vibrated with each one. "I knew enough to be careful," he said, voice low. "Careful not to get you hurt. Or myself."
I backed up, chest heaving, papers spilling like fire at my feet. "Careful? That's what you call it? You let me—" My voice cracked, breaking under the weight in my chest. "You let me believe…"
"That night was real," he cut in, closing the distance, his voice rough, a growl under the soft dawn light. "Don't mistake it for my family's sins. I am not them."
My hands shook harder, rage sparking in my veins. "Then why am I here? Why am I tangled in this—this poison?"
He stopped close enough that heat radiated off him, danger and desire coiled together. "Because you're the only one I trust to survive it. Because you're the only one I won't let destroy yourself over their sins."
My chest hitched, breath jagged. I wanted to run. Wanted to hate him. Wanted to tear the papers from my life. But his gaze pinned me, tethered me, made my pulse stumble.
A knock shattered the tension. Sharp. Insistent.
I froze. Jaxon's body stiffened.
The knock came again, harder this time, like a hammer striking through the walls.
His eyes narrowed, darkening. "Stay here."
"Stay? Stay and do what? Hide?"
"They're here for the papers," he interrupted, voice low, precise. "They just want you to sign. It would give them control—legitimize claims your father made."
My stomach dropped. "Sign? What…?"
He stepped closer, his voice clipped. "They're using your father's legacy to corner Argentum. If you sign, they gain control. If you refuse… it won't stay just between us."
My fingers clenched into fists, the scattered pages at my feet suddenly heavier than lead. I had touched something I shouldn't have. Something that could destroy me—and him.
A third knock erupted, louder, more insistent.
He reached for my hand, his grip firm, grounding. "Brianna… I've been meaning to tell you something. About us… even the wedding. I didn't know how. Not in the middle of everything—this mess, the family, the stakes…"
My chest hitched. His confession, fragile and raw, collided with the storm of fear and fury raging inside me.
"They just want the papers, Brianna," he said, his voice steady now, a tether amid the chaos. "Nothing else matters to them. But whatever you decide, you do it with me. Not them. Not under their pressure."
My fingers tightened around the folder, my knuckles whitening. The words felt small against the storm inside me. I wanted to scream, to throw the papers across the room, to vanish from the weight of it all—but my body wouldn't obey.
"They just want my signature," I whispered, disbelief lacing every syllable. "That's all it takes? Just one scribble and… everything?"
Jaxon stepped closer, letting his presence fill the space without touching me. "Yes," he said, calm but fierce. "One line, and they control your father's empire. One line, and they corner Argentum. But you're not signing under fear. You're signing under choice. Under us."
My chest heaved. I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust the steadiness in his eyes, but the echoes of my father's greed gnawed at me. I remembered late nights, whispered deals, the cold calculation that had ruled my home.
"And if I refuse?" I asked, my voice brittle, almost a whisper.
"They'll push," Jaxon admitted. "They'll try everything to corner you. But they can't sway you—not if we go through this together."
He reached for my hand again, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "Trust me, Brianna. Sign the papers, and it's done. No more questions, no more second-guessing. Just… clarity. Just us."
His thumb brushed over my knuckles, grounding me. "It won't break anything. I promise. All it takes is you—and one signature."
My breath snagged. One signature. So small, so final. My pulse thundered in my ears as my eyes flicked to the scattered pages. My father's name bled through the ink, heavy with shadows I had spent my whole life outrunning.
My chest screamed no. My mind whispered trap. But his voice—low, certain, coaxing—wrapped around me like velvet chains.
Could I trust him? Or was this the moment I lost everything?
I tore my hand free, the papers crumpling like dead leaves in my fist. "No."
The word detonated between us, hard, irrevocable.
"I will not be your pawn," I snapped, each syllable slicing the air. "I will not carry their poison for you, for my father, for anyone. You want a signature? Find another victim. Not me."
My chest heaved, anger scorching through my veins. "You think a pen can cleanse this? It doesn't. It shackles me—to them, to you. And I will never submit."
Jaxon's expression flickered, the tenderness stripped away. For an instant, I glimpsed the steel beneath the man—the heir, the strategist, the predator who had been waiting all along.
I slammed the papers against his chest, my eyes blazing. "Burn them. Shred them. But don't you dare put them in my face again."
He didn't flinch when the papers hit his chest. He caught them before they slid to the floor, fingers tightening around the crumpled edges. For a beat, he said nothing—just stared at me, jaw set, eyes burning with something caught between fury and restraint.
"You think this is a choice," he said finally, voice low, measured, but sharp enough to cut. "You think you can stand outside of it, untouched. But you're already inside, Brianna. You've been inside from the moment your father signed his first deal."
My breath hitched, but I refused to look away. "That's his sin. Not mine."
"His shadow doesn't vanish because you deny it," Jaxon pressed, stepping closer, the papers still clenched in his hand. "It falls on you whether you want it or not. Signing doesn't chain you—it buys time. It keeps them from tearing into you, into us, until we find a way to turn this."
My laugh came sharp, bitter. "Us? There is no us. Not if this is what it means."
For the first time, his mask cracked. He tore the papers in half, the sound harsh and final in the quiet room. His eyes blazed as he threw the pieces onto the desk. "You think I need your signature? I don't. But they do. And they won't stop until they have it. That's the game. And whether you want it or not—you're the board they're playing on."