Too Late: She Chose The Billionaire Heir
Chapter 4
The bruise on my arm, a souvenir from where she had grabbed me days ago, was finally fading to a sickly yellow.
But the bruise on my spirit? That was fresh, raw, and bleeding.
"Eliana, stop being so dramatic," Catalina said, cornering me against the bank of metal lockers.
"I was just trying to help you with your hair. It looked messy."
"Don't touch me," I warned, my voice dropping to a low, vibrating hum.
"God, you're ungrateful," she scoffed, leaning in closer.
"Jax wrote you poems, you know. I actually helped him rhyme 'love' with 'dove'. It was pathetic, really. But cute that he tried so hard to make you feel special, considering."
She was dissecting my memories, tainting them one by one with surgical precision.
"Leave me alone, Catalina."
I turned sharply, heading toward the main staircase. It was the midday rush; the air was thick with the noise of students hurrying between classes.
"I'm talking to you!" she shrieked behind me.
Then, I felt it.
A shove. Not a stumble, not an accident. A deliberate, forceful shove.
I pitched forward, the weight of my backpack throwing my center of gravity into chaos.
I flailed, grabbing blindly at the air, and my fingers hooked onto the leather strap of Catalina’s purse.
We went down together.
The world dissolved into a blur of spinning ceiling tiles and hard, unforgiving edges.
My shoulder slammed into the concrete step. My head cracked against the metal railing with a sickening thud.
We tumbled until we hit the landing in a violent tangle of limbs.
Pain exploded in my ankle—a sharp, white-hot agony that stole the breath from my lungs.
"Cat!"
Jax’s voice roared above the din of the crowd. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
He didn't run to us.
He ran to *her*.
He fell to his knees, ignoring my crumpled form, and scooped Catalina up. She was sobbing, clutching her elbow dramatically.
"She pulled me! Jax, she pulled me down!"
Jax whipped his head around. His eyes were wild, filled with a rage I had never seen directed at me before.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he screamed at me.
"You could have killed her! Are you crazy?"
I was lying on the cold floor, clutching my ankle, fighting the black spots dancing in my vision. I tasted the copper tang of blood in my mouth.
"Jax..." I wheezed. "My leg..."
"I don't care about your leg!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.
"Look what you did to her!"
The hallway went dead silent. Everyone heard it. The confirmation.
He carefully helped Catalina stand, treating her like fragile glass. She had a minor scrape on her elbow. I couldn't move my foot.
"I'm taking her to the nurse," Jax spat at me, his lip curling in disgust.
"Stay away from us."
He walked away, supporting her weight, leaving me broken on the floor.
The physical pain was blinding, but the mental clarity was absolute.
It was over. Not just the relationship—the delusion was over.
An ambulance came. Not for Catalina. For me.
In the hospital, the sterile lights hummed overhead as the doctor delivered the news. "You have severe soft tissue damage and a fracture, Miss. You won't be dancing for a long time."
Jax showed up two hours later. He stood in the doorway of my hospital room, shifting his weight, looking uncomfortable.
"Cat's fine," he said.
No 'how are you'. Just an update on the VIP.
"She's really upset, though. You should apologize when you get out."
I closed my eyes, too exhausted to fight the absurdity of his statement.
"I have to go back to her," he said, checking his watch impatiently.
"She's scared to be alone right now."
"Go," I whispered.
He left without looking back.
Ten minutes later, my phone buzzed on the bedside table. A notification.
Catalina had posted a photo on Instagram. It was Jax, sitting by her bedside in her dorm room, holding a spoon to her lips.
Caption: *My hero. Thank god for you.*
I stared at the photo. Then, slowly, I smiled. It was a weak, broken smile, but it was real.
A nurse walked in to check my IV drip. "Is your boyfriend coming back? He seemed... in a rush."
"No," I said.
The word tasted like freedom.
"I don't have a boyfriend."
The nurse paused, her expression softening. "Oh. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," I said, turning my head to look out the window at the gray sky.
"I'm not."
The next day, Jax came back.
He brought a bouquet of carnations—the cheap, wilting ones from the hospital gift shop.
"I brought you flowers," he said, placing them on the table as if presenting a grand offering.
"Look, El, about yesterday... I was just scared. You know how I get."
"I know exactly how you get," I said, my voice devoid of warmth.
"Cat's really hurt that you haven't texted her."
"I broke my ankle, Jax."
"I know, but..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Can we just move past this? I booked us a dinner at that Italian place you like for when you're discharged."
He was rewriting history in real-time. Erasing the screaming. Erasing the abandonment.
"I told the nurse we broke up," I said calmly.
Jax froze. He laughed nervously, a hollow sound.
"What? That's not funny, El."
"It wasn't a joke."
Just then, outside the door, I heard Catalina’s voice. She was loud, intentionally projecting her voice to someone in the hall.
"Yeah, he stayed up all night with me. He's literally obsessed. He's in there breaking up with her right now, I bet."
Jax turned pale.
I looked at him, my gaze steady.
"Go to her, Jax. She's waiting."
He looked at me, then at the door. He didn't fight for me. He didn't argue.
"You're being unreasonable," he muttered.
And then, he walked out.
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