Chapter 2

On my way home, my handler called.

I needed to pick up a classified dossier from the Syndicate's downtown front—a sleek, high-security corporate tower where Jaxson oversaw the family's legitimate assets.

I sighed, hanging up the phone. I wanted to cut ties, but in this city, Jaxson's territory was inescapable.

Arriving at the lobby, I blended into the midday rush of junior associates and cartel suits.

Whispers in this life were dangerous, but they were also loud.

"Getting assigned to Jaxson's detail is impossible. He's untouchable," a young girl muttered.

"Yeah, but half the guys are just hoping to get close to Maren," another girl replied. "You have to admit, they look like the perfect power couple."

My steps slowed. A bitter taste coated my tongue.

Five years together, and I was still a ghost in Jaxson's empire.

Early in our arrangement, when I was still foolish enough to beg, I had asked Jaxson to claim me openly. To announce our union, to let me stand by his side at the Family banquets.

But Jaxson had just frowned, looking at me like a naive, unruly child.

"Grow up, Soraya," he had scolded, his tone cold.

"We deal in blood and leverage, not public spectacles. Don't embarrass my position."

I froze that day. And I never asked again.

The associates kept talking as they walked ahead.

"His profile on the registry says he's betrothed. It has to be Maren. Have you ever seen that man smile at anyone else?"

I stopped by the corridor, letting the grievances wash over me. I took a deep breath.

It was fine. Three days. That was my way out.

After securing the dossier from the vault, I walked past Jaxson's office door. It was slightly ajar, and a familiar laugh drifted into the hallway.

"Try it, Jax. It's actually really good!"

Through the gap, I saw Maren sitting on the edge of his desk. She pushed a sugary, caramel-laced iced coffee to his lips.

Jaxson despised sugar.

Once, I had accidentally added a single packet to his espresso. He had thrown the ceramic cup against the wall and walked out, leaving me trembling in the kitchen.

But now? He frowned slightly, gave a fond, indulgent sigh, and took a sip.

"How is it?" Maren's eyes fluttered.

"Tolerable," Jaxson murmured, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.

I mocked myself silently.

The brutal boss of the Rourke Syndicate actually had a tender, accommodating side.

I just hadn't seen it once in five years. Not even a glimpse.

Inside the office, Jaxson reached up and casually wiped a drop of cream from Maren's lip with his thumb.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

"Perfectly," Maren smiled. "You know I always do when the line is open."

She paused, tilting her head innocently. "But I heard you have a strict blackout after nine. Am I disrupting your routine?"

Jaxson didn't even hesitate. "You're the exception."

Those three words wrapped around my throat like barbed wire.

The pain was blinding for a second, but then, the numbness returned.

Pulling out a thorn hurts, but once it's gone, time heals the wound.

I leaned against the cold wall for a moment, burying every shred of emotion I had left, and walked away.

Back at the penthouse, I pulled out my suitcase. I started packing my essentials, piece by piece. Five years of surviving in this mafia stronghold, and my life didn't even fill one single bag.

That evening, Jaxson called. "Come downstairs. We're having dinner at my mother's estate."

"Alright," I replied.

I walked out to the street and approached the idling Maybach. Out of habit, I reached for the passenger door and pulled it open.

Yet, Maren was sitting in the passenger seat, munching on a flaky, powdered pastry.

"Hi, Soraya."

Seeing the crumbs scattered across the pristine leather, my first instinct was to look at Jaxson. He was obsessive about his cars. No eating. Ever. Even for me.

But he was just staring through the windshield, completely unbothered, as if this was perfectly normal.

Right. I almost forgot. Maren was the exception to all his rules.

Maren wiped her mouth, fumbling with her bag. "I should sit in the back, I'm sorry—"

I gave a calm, empty smile. "Don't worry about it. It's just a seat. You can stay."

I opened the rear door and slid in. I caught a flash of deep confusion in Jaxson's eyes through the rearview mirror, but I didn't care.

In the past, this exact scenario had happened before.

But it had always ended with Jaxson snapping at me impatiently: "Soraya, it's just a seat. Stop making a scene."

Watching the rain streak across the glass, I realized the crushing jealousy and hurt were gone. I was so calm it surprised even me.

He was right. It was just a seat.

And he was just a man.

To me, they were exactly the same now. Trash meant to be discarded.