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He Broke My Spirit, I Soared

He Broke My Spirit, I Soared

I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history. But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me. He swam past me. He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water. When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl. "You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home." Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her. I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife." He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps. He was wrong. While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room. I was packing his ring into a cardboard box. I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead. By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.
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Chapter 6

Jax POV: I pushed open the heavy glass door of the VIP hospital suite. The sterile smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol hit my nose, instantly tightening my throat. I hated hospitals. The smell dragged me straight back to the night my mother died, coughing up blood on cheap sheets while I stood there, too small to do anything. I shook the rain from my custom wool coat and stepped inside. Catalina was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Her left wrist was wrapped in thick white gauze. The moment she saw me, her eyes welled with tears. She looked pathetic. I didn't look at her face. My eyes snapped straight to the vital signs monitor bolted to the wall. Heart rate, blood pressure, oxygen levels. All perfectly steady. All completely normal. "Jax," she whimpered, her voice trembling. She reached out with her good hand, trying to grab the edge of my coat. I stepped back, dodging her touch. The movement was pure reflex. My stomach twisted with immediate, visceral disgust. I ran a multi-billion dollar syndicate. I smelled lies for a living. I despised women who used fake blood to force my hand. I turned my back on her and glared at the attending physician standing nervously by the door. "How deep is the cut?" I demanded. My voice was completely flat. The doctor swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Nobody lied to me in Chicago. "It's... it's superficial, Mr. Vance. It barely broke the epidermis. We bandaged it to prevent infection, but no stitches were required." "Jax, please," Catalina sobbed behind me. "I was just so desperate. I thought you were going to leave me. I didn't know what else to do." Her voice grated on my nerves. It was shrill, desperate, reeking of the gutter she came from. I reached up and yanked my silk tie loose. The air in the room felt suffocating. Suddenly, my brain conjured the scent of cold tea and rain. Eliana. Eliana never screamed. Eliana never bled for attention. She just existed, quiet and perfect. I reached into the inner pocket of my suit jacket and pulled out my leather checkbook. I uncapped my pen and scribbled a string of numbers across the paper. I didn't even look at the amount. Money was the only language my father had ever taught me. It fixed everything. I ripped the check free and tossed it onto the hospital bed. It landed next to her bandaged wrist. "Don't ever play this game with me again, Catalina," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Next time you want to cut yourself, cut deeper. Don't waste my time." "Jax! Wait!" I didn't wait. I turned on my heel and strode out of the room, letting the heavy door slam shut behind me, cutting off her cries. I walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway toward the private elevator. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. The screen lit up. Empty. No missed calls. No text messages. Nothing. My jaw clenched. Usually, if I was out past midnight, Eliana would send exactly one message. *Drive safe.* It wasn't nagging. It was just a quiet reminder that she was there. Tonight, the screen was completely blank. A cold prickle of unease started at the base of my neck. I scoffed out loud, shoving the phone back into my pocket. She was just throwing a tantrum because I rushed to the hospital. She was playing hard to get. She would get over it. Tomorrow, I would buy her that limited edition diamond necklace she hadn't asked for. I stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the underground garage. My driver was waiting by the black Maybach. I slid into the back seat. The heavy doors sealed shut, locking me in a soundproof vault of leather and tinted glass. "To the office, sir?" the driver asked. "No," I snapped. "North Shore estate. Now." The Maybach glided out into the freezing Chicago rain. It was 4:00 AM. The neon lights of the city blurred past the windows, reflecting off the wet pavement. I owned this city. Every building, every politician, every street corner. I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes. But instead of darkness, I saw Eliana’s eyes. The way she had looked at me yesterday when I signed those vendor contracts. Her eyes had been completely dead. Not angry. Dead. The memory of that look felt like a physical needle sliding under my ribs. The car slowed, tires crunching over the wet gravel as we passed through the massive iron gates of my estate. The security detail nodded as we passed. The car stopped. My driver opened the door. I stepped out, my expensive leather shoe landing squarely in a muddy puddle. The cold water splashed my ankle. I gritted my teeth. Everything felt slightly off-center. The front door opened before I reached the steps. My head butler stood there, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. He looked pale. "Good evening, sir," he said, his voice tight. I ripped off my wet coat and threw it at his chest. I didn't say a word. I bypassed him and took the grand staircase two steps at a time. My heart was beating too fast. The house was dead silent. Usually, I could hear the faint clinking of porcelain from the kitchen as the staff prepped her morning tea. Tonight, there was nothing. I reached the second-floor landing. The hallway was pitch black. My boots stopped on the carpet. The air froze in my lungs. Eliana always left the small crystal wall sconce on for me. Always. It was her rule. A sudden, violent wave of vertigo hit me. The floor felt like it was dropping out from under my feet. It was the exact same physical drop I felt when the doctor told me my mother was gone. I broke into a run. I lunged for the master bedroom door, my hand closing over the cold brass handle. I braced my shoulder, expecting it to be locked. Expecting her to be barricaded inside, angry with me. The handle turned effortlessly. It wasn't locked. She hadn't even bothered to lock me out. I shoved the door open. The gray, pre-dawn light filtered through the massive windows, illuminating the room. I stood frozen in the doorway. My eyes locked onto the massive king-sized bed. The silk sheets were perfectly flat. Not a single wrinkle. The pillows were perfectly fluffed. My throat clicked as I swallowed. My voice ripped out of my chest, harsh and broken. "Eliana, don't play this stupid hide-and-seek with me."
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