The Runaway Fiancée: Claimed By The Rival

I watched the man I was contractually bound to marry dive into the freezing water.

But he wasn't swimming toward me.

Only seconds prior, his mistress had shoved me into the ornamental pool.

I struggled to surface, my heavy silk dress dragging me down like a lead weight.

Jax, the ruthless Underboss of Chicago, swam right past me.

He reached for the woman who had pushed me, scooping her up as she faked a leg cramp.

He carried her out, stepping over my hand as I clawed at the slippery edge.

Every Capo and soldier in the underworld watched the heir choose a jersey chaser over his fiancée.

"You are making a scene, Eliana," Jax said, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Go home."

He didn't offer a hand. He ordered me away like a disobedient dog.

Later that night, when I tried to return his ring, his mistress laughed and shoved me down a flight of stairs.

I lay at the bottom, broken and bleeding.

Jax didn't check if I was alive. He comforted her instead.

To him, I was just furniture. A guarantee.

He thought he had broken me. He thought I had nowhere to go because our families were allied.

He was wrong.

I left the five-carat diamond on the table.

I left my car keys on the dashboard at O'Hare Airport.

I didn't just run away.

I boarded a one-way flight to New York to join his mortal enemy, the Tran Syndicate.

Jax Little thought he owned the board.

He didn't realize the Queen had just defected.

Chapter 1

Eliana Carter POV

I watched the man I was contractually bound to marry dive into the freezing water, but he wasn't swimming toward me.

Only ten seconds prior, Catalina Manning had shoved me into the ornamental pool at the Riley Estate. I could still feel the phantom sting of her acrylic nails digging into my arm just before the splash.

The water was a shock of ice against my skin, instantly soaking the heavy silk of my dress and dragging me down like a lead weight.

I surfaced, gasping for air, the chlorine and my own mascara stinging my eyes.

I looked for Jax.

He was the Underboss of the Chicago Outfit.

He was the man whose diamond ring sat heavy as a shackle on my finger.

He was the apex predator in a ballroom filled with killers, a man who had ended a turf war last month by hanging three rivals from a bridge.

He was supposed to be my protector.

But Jax didn't look at me.

He swam right past me.

He reached for Catalina, who was flailing in the shallow end, screaming about a leg cramp she clearly didn't have.

He scooped her up in his arms, his bespoke suit ruined, his face etched with a frantic concern he had never once wasted on me.

He carried her to the poolside, stepping over my hand as I tried to grip the slippery edge.

The silence