The Runaway Fiancée: Claimed By The Rival

Eliana Carter POV

I didn't go home.

Instead, I circled back to the library window of the Riley estate.

The window was cracked open just enough to ventilate the heavy stench of cigar smoke.

I heard Mason's voice drifting out into the night.

"You can't keep doing this, Jax. The Carters are going to pull the alliance."

"Let them try," Jax replied, his voice low and unbothered.

I heard the distinct clink of glass against glass.

"Eliana isn't going anywhere," Jax continued. "She's mine. She's been mine since we were five."

"You're humiliating her," Mason argued.

"I'm breaking her," Jax corrected him, the words sharp and precise.

I felt a chill settle into my marrow that had nothing to do with the night air.

"She needs to learn her place," Jax went on. "She thinks she's a partner. She thinks she has a say. Once I break that pride, she'll be the perfect wife."

He paused, likely taking a drink.

"Silent. Obedient."

"And Catalina?" Mason asked.

"Catalina is just a tool, Mason. A fun distraction until Eliana learns to heel."

I backed away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He didn't love me.

He didn't even hate me.

He viewed me as a mare that needed to be broken.

I walked the two miles back to my parents' house in a daze. My ankle was throbbing with a rhythm that matched the painful beat of my heart, but I barely felt it.

Jax was already waiting on my front porch.

He was leaning against the railing, casual and arrogant, holding a thick envelope.

I recognized the logo immediately.

NYU.

My acceptance letter.

He must have intercepted it from the mailbox before I even arrived.

"Thinking of running?" he asked, his tone mocking.

He held the letter up to the light.

"New York is Tran territory. You think you can just walk into the enemy's city?"

I snatched the letter from his hand.

He let me take it.

He was smiling, as if my resistance was adorable.

"You're not going anywhere, Eliana. My father already agreed to move the wedding up."

My blood ran cold.

"Two weeks," he said, stepping closer. "You'll be in my bed in two weeks, and this..."

He pointed to the letter in my hand.

"This will be ashes."

His phone rang, cutting through the tension.

He glanced at the screen. It was Catalina.

He answered it, his voice shifting to irritation. "What?"

He listened for a moment, his jaw tightening.

"I'm coming," he said.

He hung up and looked at me, his eyes dark.

"She thinks someone is following her."

"Probably a cat," I said, my voice flat.

He stepped into my personal space, smelling of whiskey and the cloying perfume I had smelled on him earlier.

"Don't leave the house, Eliana. I'll deal with you later."

He turned and walked to his car.

He drove away to save the damsel who was lying to him.

He left the real threat standing on the porch with a ticket to freedom in her hand.

He thought he had time.

He thought he owned the clock.

I went inside and locked the door.

I didn't pack clothes.

I packed the letter.

I packed my passport.

And finally, I packed the gun Uncle Sal had given me for my sixteenth birthday.