Chapter 7
Jax POV:
My world had shrunk to the four walls of my Chicago apartment. A hollow ache had taken up permanent residence in my chest, a dull, constant thrum beneath my ribs.
The silence was the worst part. It wasn't just an absence of noise; it was a physical weight, a heavy blanket that pressed down, smothering every sound, every thought.
I dropped out of my classes. The paperwork was a blur of signatures and bureaucratic nonsense.
My parents called, their voices laced with fury and disappointment. They threatened to cut me off, to freeze my accounts, to strip me of everything.
"I don't care," I told my father, my voice flat.
Finding her was the only thing that mattered. The empire, the power, the future they'd meticulously planned for me-it was all ash without her.
Catalina showed up at my door one afternoon, her expression a practiced mask of concern. The sight of her sent a wave of revulsion through me. She was a symbol of my own stupidity, a walking monument to my arrogance.
"There was never an us," I said, my voice like ice. "Leave. And don't ever come back."
The flicker of pain on her face was satisfying for a fraction of a second, then it was just...nothing. She was nothing. A ghost from a life I no longer wanted.
It took weeks. Weeks of pulling strings I didn't know I possessed, of calling in favors I knew would cost me later, of wrestling with the bureaucratic beast of a cross-country university transfer.
But I did it. I got into NYU.
I spent the first two days on campus in a frantic haze, a ghost haunting lecture halls and student centers. I showed her picture to hundreds of people, my voice raw and hoarse from repeating her name.
Finally, a girl with bright pink hair, in the middle of tacking up a flyer for a dance performance, paused and squinted at the photo.
"Oh, Lia? Oh, yeah, she's incredible. She's probably at the studio right now. It's in the arts building, third floor."
I ran.
I didn't walk, I ran, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Stairs and hallways blurred as I moved. I found the studio, a massive room with floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with afternoon light.
And I saw her.
She was in the middle of the floor, moving with a fluid grace that seemed to pull the very air from my lungs. She looked...stronger. More confident. Whole.
The light from the window ignited her hair, turning it to fire. She was radiant.
Then she laughed. It was a full, genuine sound that echoed in the cavernous room.
I followed her gaze to a guy standing near the barre, a tall, quiet-looking guy with kind eyes. He was watching her with an expression of such open adoration it made my stomach clench.
The quiet intimacy between them, the easy way he held her gaze, the smile that was so clearly just for him-each detail was a physical blow, a dagger twisting in my gut.
I threw open the door. The heavy wood slammed against the wall.
"Ellie."
The music screeched to a halt. Every head in the room snapped toward me.
Her smile vanished. It didn't fall, it was just...gone. Replaced by the polite, impersonal mask one reserves for a complete stranger.
She picked up her water bottle from the floor, her movements unnervingly calm and deliberate.
She turned her back on me and walked out another door on the far side of the studio, never once glancing in my direction.
She left me standing alone in the suffocating silence.
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