Pampered By My Obsessive Tycoon Husband

Jax's suit jacket was wide and smelled of expensive wool and something uniquely him—a clean, sharp scent that cut through the foul odor of the room. He shrugged it off and wrapped it around Chloe's shivering shoulders. Then he scooped her into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

He carried her out of the bathroom, his long strides sure and steady, his body a warm, solid fortress around her.

He gently set her down on the plush leather sofa in the living room. The gesture was so tender it stood in stark contrast to the murderous aura still clinging to him.

Two of Jax's security guards, built like professional linebackers, entered the bathroom. They reappeared a moment later, dragging a whimpering Zane between them. They unceremoniously dumped him on the floor in the center of the Persian rug.

Zane groaned, fresh blood from the gash on his forehead dripping onto the intricate pattern.

Jax stood over him, his expression impassive. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark silk handkerchief, meticulously wiping his fingers, though they hadn't touched anything.

"It wasn't me! She invited me here!" Zane babbled, his eyes wide with terror as he looked up at Jax. "It was a setup! She wanted—"

Chloe flinched on the sofa, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She made a small, wounded sound, her body trembling convincingly.

Jax's gaze flickered to her. His eyes were dark, unreadable pools, and for a terrifying second, she thought he might be weighing Zane's words.

She couldn't let that happen. She met his gaze, her own eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "He's lying," she said, her voice firm despite its tremor. "He must have put something in my drink at the gala. I don't remember how I got here."

To seal it, she reached out, her fingers closing around his forearm. The muscle beneath his sleeve was tense as stone. "Check the hotel security cameras, Jax. Check his phone records. Please."

The moment her cold fingertips touched his skin, something in his eyes shifted. The flicker of doubt was incinerated, replaced by a raging inferno. He looked down at her small hand on his arm, then slowly covered it with his own.

He turned his head, his gaze falling on his personal assistant, Evan Hayes, who stood silently by the door. Jax gave a slight, almost imperceptible lift of his chin.

That was all it took.

Evan stepped forward, his polished dress shoe landing squarely on Zane's chest, pinning him to the floor. "Who else was involved?" Evan's voice was calm, businesslike, which made it all the more menacing.

Zane gasped for breath. "You can't do this to me! My family... we have influence on Wall Street! The Sterlings—"

A low, humorless laugh escaped Jax's lips. "Your family's pocket change?" he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I could buy and sell your father's entire portfolio before my morning coffee. You are nothing."

Chloe watched the cold fury on Jax's profile. In her past life, she had feared this side of him. Now, a strange sense of security washed over her. She found her voice, a whisper filled with venom. "Make him pay, Jax. Please."

Hearing her actively call for retribution seemed to surprise him. A dark flicker of something akin to pleasure crossed his features. He bent down, crouching so he was level with Zane's terrified face.

"Here's what's going to happen," Jax said, his tone conversational, almost gentle. "Evan is going to take you to the parking garage. He's going to break both of your legs. Then, your car is going to be involved in a tragic, single-vehicle accident somewhere in the city. You'll be lucky if you ever walk again."

Zane's face went white. He began to thrash and beg, snot and tears mixing with the blood on his face. "No! Please, Irwin, I'll do anything!"

One of the guards clamped a hand over Zane's mouth, silencing him. They hauled him to his feet and dragged him out of the suite like a sack of garbage.

The suite fell silent.

It was just the two of them now.

Jax rose and walked to the sofa. He knelt on one knee before her, his large hands coming up to cup her face. The calluses on his thumbs were rough against her skin as he gently wiped away the tear tracks from her cheeks.

His eyes burned with a possessive fire that was both terrifying and thrilling.

"You are mine, Chloe," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one touches you. No one even looks at you. Do you understand?"

In her past life, she would have recoiled. She would have seen a monster, a jailer.

Tonight, she saw a savior.

She leaned into his touch, her cheek pressing against his palm. She looked directly into his intense, searching eyes.

"I understand," she whispered. "I'm Mrs. Irwin. I'll never betray you."

His pupils dilated. His breath hitched. The raw, unguarded shock on his face told her everything. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't believed it was possible.

Slowly, almost reverently, he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was not the punishing, desperate claiming it might have been in another life. It was hesitant—a question as much as a declaration. A man who had spent years being pushed away, finally being pulled close.

Chloe closed her eyes, her arms winding around his neck, and kissed him back with all the conviction of a woman who had been given a second chance.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breathing ragged. "I don't understand what's changed," he said, his voice rough. "But whatever it is—don't stop."

"I won't," she whispered. "I promise."