He Hides His Identity for My Stepsister

I got in the car, slammed the door, and drove off.

The bar pulsed with lights and noise. Music thudded through the floor, shaking the walls and my bones with every beat. I drank fast, barely tasting the burn anymore. My throat was raw. My mind fuzzed over.

I just wanted to forget—everything. I danced. Reckless. Numb. My body moved like I wasn’t in it. The crowd closed in around me—strangers pressing too close, sweat in the air, perfume choking every breath.

I didn’t care. Let them touch me. Let the world spin.

Then I saw them. Jaxon and Ivy. They had followed me. He stood back at first, watching. He always watched. But then Ivy reached for him, smiled, and pulled him into the crowd. He didn’t resist. His hand slid to her waist like it belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

They danced—close. Too close. His lips moved near her ear, saying something soft.

She laughed. I looked away.

Another drink. Something stronger this time. It tasted like fire and regret. It did nothing.

A man slid into the empty space beside me. Slurring. Grinning too wide. His eyes scanned me like I was a prize, and before I could step away, he grabbed my hand and yanked me into another rhythm.

I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no. He took my silence and ran with it. His hands went everywhere. His breath—hot and rancid—brushed my cheek. And then, he kissed me. Hard. Wet. Unwanted.

I shoved him with both hands. “Don’t touch me.”

He stumbled back, laughed. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”

I turned to walk away. He grabbed my wrist—tight.

Before I could scream, a fist cut through the space between us.

Crack. The man went down.

Jaxon. But it was too late. Another man charged toward me, shouting something. I backed up, but the crowd boxed me in.

He swung. The glass bottle shattered against my shoulder, sending shards into my skin. Pain ripped through me, sharp and hot. Blood soaked through my dress instantly. I gasped, stumbling back.

Jaxon’s eyes met mine, wide. “I’m sorry, Miss Whitmore.”

I laughed. Cold. Broken. “Sorry? Where were you when I needed you?”

He looked torn. “Ivy needed—”

“Of course she did,” I snapped. “She always needs.”

I clutched my arm, blood dripping down my fingers. “Once I’m married, you can protect her all you want. Forget me. It’s what you’ve been doing all along.”

I turned to leave. And then the chaos swallowed us. I didn’t even know where it came from.

Screams tore through the air. Glass rained down. Gunshots exploded—loud and close. People ran. Tables flipped. A stampede of bodies crashed toward the exits.

And Jaxon? He didn’t come for me. He ran straight to Ivy.

Threw himself over her. Wrapped her up in his arms like she was the only person in the world.

And I—

I just stood there.

Until pain exploded across my upper shoulder. A bullet.

I dropped. Hard. No one saw me fall. No one ran to me.

Then I heard Ivy’s voice, fragile. “Jaxon… you’re her personal butler and also sworn to be loyal to her. You’re supposed to protect her… She’s hurt…”

Jaxon didn’t answer for a moment.

Then—“It’s my fault… Freya… Freya needs help.”

“No… don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault,” he responded. “Even if it’s a thousand times… I’d always choose to save you first.”

Ivy’s voice cracked. “Why?”

And his answer came soft, steady.

“Because I like—”

The world vanished before I could even hear his answer.