Chapter 1

Cassie

12 years later…

"You're being married off. The deal's done."

My father's voice booms through the room, sharp as a whip, the words making my heart stutter.

I stare at him, trying to grasp the meaning. "What?"

His expression doesn't falter. Cold. Calculated. He stands behind his desk like some kind of god, hands braced on the wooden surface as he levels me with a look that sends ice trickling down my spine. "You heard me. The Russians want you. You're part of the package."

I stagger back, bile rising in my throat. This can't be happening. Not this. He wouldn't…

But I know better. My father always does what benefits him most. I was never more than a pawn to him. A doll kept in a gilded cage. I glance toward the window, the garden where I spent my entire life. A prison disguised as luxury, where my only escape was through the flowers and the sky, never allowed beyond the estate walls.

"No," I whisper, more to myself than to him. My voice cracks. "No."

It's the first time I have the courage to utter the word no.

"Yes." He straightens, his eyes narrowing. "You've been under my roof for years, Cassie. Everything you've ever had was because of me. You owe me this, and I'll be damned if you start rebelling now."

"I don't owe you anything!" My voice rises, venom coating the words. My throat tightens as my chest constricts, the air in the room growing thin. "You're sick. You—"

My father's face darkens, a fist slamming against his desk. "Watch your mouth. You ungrateful little…"

My feet are moving before I can think, storming toward the door, my mind spinning as I try to process his betrayal. How could he? After everything, after years of obeying, staying out of sight, being the perfect daughter. This is how he repays me? By selling me like property?

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice cuts through the air like a knife, cold and menacing. Before I can make it halfway to the door, his hand clamps around my arm, yanking me back with enough force to bruise. "You're not going anywhere."

The slap that's coming is in his eyes. I can see the way his hand twitches, his knuckles white, and I brace myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the inevitable.

But it doesn't come.

The window shatters instead.

My father's grip loosens in shock as shards of glass explode across the room. My head whips toward the source, heart hammering against my ribs as a shadow moves, fast and lethal, through the broken frame.

And then I see him.

I don't recognize him right away—not in the chaos, not with my father's anger still buzzing in my veins. When his scent hits me, the floodgates open in my memory. The cedar. His smell. That comforting, grounding scent I've known since childhood. The boy who gave me apples from his lunch box, the one who'd crouched beside me as I cried under the cedar tree.

It's him.

Jax moves like a predator—fluid and purposeful—as he steps between me and my father, blocking his path toward me. My hero's presence fills the room, swallowing all the fear and confusion that had gripped me moments before. My father's fury, my panic—it all shrinks beneath the weight of his dominance.

Jax's eyes flick toward me, but it's just a glance before he focuses back on my father. "Touch her again," he growls, his voice low, deadly, "and I'll break every bone in your body."

The air around us stills. I can barely breathe, the atmosphere crackling with a tension so thick it's suffocating. My father, usually fearless and in control, stumbles back, his face draining of color. He tries to regain some semblance of authority, but it's clear he knows he's outmatched.

"Who the fuck are you to tell what I can do to my daughter? This is none of your business."

Jax steps closer, each movement deliberate, controlled. His broad shoulders seem to fill the room, his muscles taut beneath his dark clothing. His chest rises and falls slowly, like a predator sizing up its prey. "It became my business the moment you decided she was yours to sell."

"I—" My father opens his mouth to argue, but Jax doesn't give him the chance. In a blink, his hand is around my father's throat, slamming him against the nearest wall. The sound is a sickening thud, and I flinch despite myself.

My breath catches in my throat, and I feel it—the heat low in my belly, the pulse between my legs. It feels good, like a thrill through my whole body. I shouldn't be reacting like this. Not now, not when everything is falling apart around me—but the sight of Jax, strong and relentless, his power so absolute, does something to me I can't explain.

My skin tingles, my legs trembling as I watch him hold my father against the wall with such ease, like it's nothing. Goosebumps rise on my arms as his voice cuts through the silence.

"She's leaving with me. Now."

My father chokes, trying to grasp Jax's wrist, but it's futile. Jax doesn't even blink as he keeps him pinned there, as if daring him to try harder.

"You'll regret this," my father hisses, his voice weak but still venomous.

Jax's lips curl into a dark smile. "I doubt that."

And just like that, Jax releases him. My father crumples to the floor, gasping for air, but Jax doesn't spare him another glance. His eyes are on me now, burning with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs.

I should be scared. I should be running. But all I feel is… relief. And something else. Something unknown.

Confusing, overwhelming, building like a storm inside me.

His voice is softer when he speaks again, meant only for me. "We need to go. Now."

I nod, my body moving before my brain catches up. He's already at the door, his large hand grasping mine, pulling me toward the exit. My feet stumble to keep pace, but I don't care. I want to go with him. I need to go with him.

Jax doesn't say another word as we slip through the halls, his grip firm but not painful. Every inch of him radiates control, and I feel safe. Safe in a way I've never felt before.

But there's something else too. Something deeper, something primal. The way his touch sends sparks racing up my arm, the way my pulse quickens every time his eyes flick toward me. The ache building between my legs, unfamiliar but undeniable.

I bite my lip, trying to focus, trying to block out the heat that's spreading through me. But it's no use. Every brush of his skin against mine, every breath he takes, fans the flames higher.

We burst through the front door into the night air, and he doesn't stop until we reach his motorcycle parked just beyond the gates. He swings one leg over the seat, and for a moment, I hesitate.

What is happening? Is this real? It's all too fast, too sudden. But then Jax looks at me, his green eyes locking onto mine, and I know. I don't need to question it. I don't need to think.

I trust him.

"Get on." He hands me a helmet and I put it on.

I obey, sliding onto the bike behind him, my arms wrapping around his waist. His body is solid, warm, and I press closer, my heart pounding in my chest as I feel the heat of his muscles through his jacket. My legs tighten around him, and for the first time in my life, I feel alive. Awake. Every nerve is on fire.

As the engine roars to life beneath us, I bury my face against his back, inhaling the familiar scent of cedar mixed with something else—something darker, more dangerous. And I realize, in that moment, that I've always known him.

Not just the boy who gave me apples, not just the memory from the garden. I've always had this feeling that I was watched. He's been there, lurking in the corners of my life, watching, waiting. And now, he's here.

For me.

As we speed away into the night, I don't look back.

I don't have to.

I'm finally free.