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“Fine.”
“Did you prefer eating alone?” Jax tilts his head, his gaze sweeping over my tense posture. “Or did you miss the ritual from this morning?”
The question is a snare. A razor-wire trap laid out in plain sight. Any response I give hands him a weapon. I clamp my jaw shut. I glare at the floor between his boots, refusing to give him the satisfaction of an answer.
A slow, knowing smile curves his lips. “Your silence answers the question perfectly.”
He pushes off the steel door. He walks toward me, his footsteps silent on the concrete.
“You fight so hard, Ari.” His voice drops, rich and velvet-smooth. “You fight the very thing you want. The thing you have always wanted. The release you have spent years pretending you do not need.”
“I do not need anything from you.” I force the words out. They sound pathetic. Brittle. They lack conviction even to my own ears.
“No?” Jax stops directly in front of me.
He stands close enough for the heat of his body to bleed into mine. The sharp scent of cedar and clean soap fills my lungs. His physical presence feels like a weighted blanket, heavy and impossible to throw off.
“Then why is your heart racing?” Jax asks, his voice barely a whisper. “Why are you flushed? Why does your body respond to me before I even lift a hand to touch you?”
Because the last twenty-four hours taught me to dread his absence as much as his arrival. Because I cannot forget the pleasure he forced from me or the praise that followed. Because the deeply broken part of me anticipates his next move, starving for the discipline. Because the walls I spent a lifetime fortifying are crumbling into dust.
Jax reaches out. He cups my face. His rough thumb brushes over my cheekbone.
The contact is impossibly gentle. It carries a tender, reverent care entirely at odds with the violence of his reputation. The contrast strips the air from my lungs. A threat I can fight. A beating I can endure. This absolute, terrifying gentleness disarms me completely.
“I am not your enemy, Ari,” Jax murmurs, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “I am the only person on this earth who will ever give you exactly what you need.”
“You are holding me captive.” I grip the mattress edge tighter. I cling to the facts. I cling to the physical reality of the locked door and the armed guards.
“I am giving you permission,” Jax corrects quietly. “Permission to stop the endless performance. Permission to want what you want without the crushing weight of your shame. Permission to surrender control to a man strong enough to take it from you.”
His thumb strokes my cheek again, smoothing the tension from my jaw.
“You are exhausted.” The words are a statement of absolute fact. “Tired of the society games. Tired of the masks. Tired of keeping the world at arm’s length because letting them close feels like a death sentence.”
The assessment slices straight to the marrow. He names the invisible ghost that haunts my entire adult life. The suffocating loneliness beneath the Viper charm. The vast, echoing emptiness behind the playboy reputation. The desperate, gnawing hunger to reveal the parts of myself I still concealed even from Liv.
Tears burn hot and sharp behind my eyes. I blink furiously. I refuse to break down. I will not weep in front of the man orchestrating my ruin.
“I see you,” Jax continues, the intensity in his voice vibrating against my skin. “Every fractured piece you hide. Every dark desire you suppress. Every filthy need you deny. I want all of it. Not despite your darkness, Ari. Because of it. You do not have to hide in this room. You do not have to pretend. You just have to accept what you are.”
A jagged breath tears out of my throat. “And what am I?” I ask the question bitterly, hating the desperate crack in my voice.
“Mine.”
The single syllable hangs suspended in the heavy air. It rings with a terrifying mixture of promise and absolute threat.
Jax slides his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck. His large fingers tangle in my hair. His grip is firm, anchoring me in place, unyielding but painless.
“I am going to break down every single wall you possess.” Jax holds my gaze, ensuring I absorb every word. “I am going to strip away the masks until nothing remains but the raw truth. And then I am going to show you that surrendering to me is not a weakness. It is the only real strength you have ever known.”
Every instinct I own demands a fight. I should shove his chest. I should spit in his face. I should hold the line.
But his hand rests heavy on my neck. His promises echo in my ears, unraveling the very foundation of my identity. The truth bleeds out of the wound he just opened. I am tired. I am so fucking tired of performing. I am exhausted by the isolation of keeping everyone away. Jax stands in this concrete cell and claims he can offer the one thing I was too frightened to ask of Liv—to be completely, thoroughly known, and still fiercely desired.
It is a sickness. It is Stockholm syndrome. It is a masterclass in psychological manipulation and severe trauma bonding. I recognize every tactic he uses.
Recognizing them does not stop the craving.
