Left To Drown: The Heiress's Cold Departure

Eliana Carter POV

I needed air.

The estate was suffocating, choked with the stench of expensive cologne and cheap morality. It clung to the back of my throat, making it hard to swallow.

I slipped down the hallway toward the guest bathroom, intending to splash cold water on my face to shock my system back into focus.

The door to the study was slightly ajar.

I heard voices.

"You went too far, man," Mason's voice drifted out, low and tense. "Disrespecting her like that in front of the crew? Her father is a made man."

"Her father answers to my father," Jax's voice cut in. It was arrogant, dismissive. "And Eliana answers to me."

I froze, my breath hitching in my chest. I pressed myself against the wall, making myself small.

"She's done, Jax," Mason said. "Did you see her eyes? She's checked out."

Jax laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound that scraped against my nerves.

"She's throwing a tantrum, Mason. That's all this is. She thinks she can freeze me out? Please. She's been obsessed with me since kindergarten."

I heard the clink of glass against crystal.

"I'm just teaching her a lesson," Jax continued, his tone smooth, conversational. "She needs to be broken a little. She was getting too comfortable, too demanding. I'll play with Catalina for a few weeks, let Eliana stew in her misery. When she's desperate enough, when she's begging for scraps, I'll take her back."

My stomach churned violently.

"You treat her like a dog," Mason said quietly.

"She's an asset," Jax replied. "High-value property, but property nonetheless. Once I break her spirit, she'll be the perfect wife. Silent. Obedient. Grateful."

I stopped breathing.

It wasn't just arrogance. It was a strategy. He was systematically trying to destroy my self-worth so I would never dream of leaving him.

I didn't go to the bathroom.

I turned around and walked straight out the back service entrance.

I walked home. It was three miles. The streets of our neighborhood were safe only because everyone knew who ran them, but walking alone at night was still a risk.

I didn't care. The danger on the streets felt cleaner than the danger in that house.

I limped the whole way, the pain in my knee a grounding rhythm. Left, right, pain. Left, right, pain.

He thought I was a dog. He thought he could kick me and I would come back licking his hand.

I reached my street. My house was dark, my parents likely asleep.

But there was a figure standing on my porch.

The streetlamp illuminated him.

Jax.

He hadn't driven past me. He had simply known where I would go. He had beaten me here.

He was holding a large, thick envelope.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I recognized the logo on the corner.

NYU.

It was my acceptance packet. The one Uncle Sal had expedited.

Jax looked at the envelope, then at me. His expression was unreadable, shadowed by the porch light.

"You're walking with a limp," he said.

"What are you doing here, Jax?"

He held up the envelope. "This came to the main secure mailbox at the compound. It was addressed to you."

He stepped closer, looming over me. "New York University?"

I didn't answer.

"We're going to UCLA," he said. "That's the plan. I run the West Coast operations. You run the house."

"That's your plan," I said.

"There is no other plan!" He slammed the envelope against his thigh. "What is this? Are you actually trying to run away?"

"I'm not running," I said, stepping onto the first step of the porch. "I'm leaving."

"You can't leave." He laughed, but there was an edge of panic in it. "You can't survive out there without me. Who's going to protect you? Who's going to pay for your life?"

"I'd rather starve than eat from your hand," I said.

I reached for the envelope.

He pulled it back out of reach. "You think this is a game? You think you can just apply to another school and disappear?"

"Give me my mail, Jax. It's a federal offense to tamper with it."

"I am the law here!" he shouted.

Suddenly, his phone rang.

He glared at me, breathing hard, then answered it without looking at the screen. "What?"

Catalina's voice was shrill, loud enough for me to hear through the speaker. "Jax! Baby! I think someone is following me! I'm scared! I'm at the gas station on 5th!"

It was a lie. No one followed Outfit associates unless they had a death wish.

Jax looked at me. Then he looked at the car.

He shoved the envelope into my chest. I grabbed it before it fell.

"We aren't done," he growled.

He turned and ran to his car, choosing the damsel in distress over the woman he was actively destroying.

I watched his taillights fade into the dark.

I looked down at the envelope. It was my ticket out of hell.

He thought we weren't done.

He was wrong. I was already gone.