Too Late: She Chose The Billionaire Heir

"We're just like brother and sister, Eliana. You know that."

Jax stood in the center of my dorm room, watching me pack. His expression wasn't heartbroken; it was annoyed. Like I was a scheduling conflict rather than his girlfriend leaving him.

"Brothers don't scream at their girlfriends while they're bleeding on the floor just to protect their 'sisters,'" I said, my voice steady as I folded a sweater.

"I apologized for that!" He threw his hands up, exasperated. "I bought you that necklace to make up for it! The diamond one! Do you have any idea what that cost?"

He jabbed a finger toward the velvet box on my desk. He honestly thought diamonds were a sufficient bandage for a severed limb.

"I don't want it," I said.

"You're being ridiculous. Moving back into the dorms? Why? We have the apartment."

"You have the apartment," I corrected, snapping the suitcase shut. "I'm done paying half the rent for a place where I'm treated like a guest."

"Stop saying that." He strode over and grabbed a stack of books from my desk, ostensibly to 'help.' Underneath lay my journal. The leather-bound volume where I wrote about him. About us.

He didn't even check what it was. He tossed it into the black trash bag I was using for actual garbage.

"Oops," he said, the apology flat and insincere. "It looked like trash."

I watched my secrets, my pain, and my love land on top of a banana peel. A fitting resting place.

"It is trash," I said, my voice cold. "Leave it."

I walked to the closet. I pulled out the matching hoodies we’d bought freshman year. The photo album from our second anniversary. The scarf I’d knit him—a project that had taken me three agonizing months of learning to purl.

I didn't hesitate. I dropped them all into the black plastic bag, right on top of the journal.

Jax’s eyes widened, genuine shock cracking his annoyance. "Eliana, that's... that's our stuff."

"It's just stuff, Jax."

He stepped forward, grabbing my arm. "Stop it. You're scaring me. You're acting like... like you're actually leaving."

"I am."

His phone rang. The shrill, demanding ringtone cut through the tension like a knife.

He glanced at the screen. *Catalina*.

He hesitated. For one singular, suspended second, he looked at me, then at the phone. The choice hung in the air.

"Answer it," I said.

He swiped the screen. "Cat?"

I turned my back on him and resumed packing.

"What? Who?" Jax’s voice pitched up. "Where are you? Lock the door. I'm coming."

He hung up, panic erasing his earlier annoyance. "Cat says someone is following her. A guy in a hoodie. She thinks it's that guy from the rival team I got into a fight with last year."

"Of course she does," I said, my tone flat.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means she needs you to leave me. Right now."

"She's in danger, Eliana! She said if anything happens to her, her dad will pull the funding for my dad's merger. I have to go."

The transaction was crystal clear. His loyalty wasn't just blind; it was bought and paid for.

"Go," I said.

"I'll be back," he said, already rushing to the door. "Don't leave until I get back. We need to talk about this."

"Goodbye, Jax."

He didn't hear me. He was already sprinting down the hall, his footsteps fading.

I finished packing in silence. The room was bare now. The walls were white and empty, mirroring the hollow feeling in my chest.

My phone buzzed against the desk. Mason.

*Jax just peeled out of the parking lot like a maniac. Said Cat's in trouble. You okay?*

*I'm fine,* I typed back, realizing it was the truth. *I'm finally fine.*

I dragged my suitcases to the door, the wheels rumbling against the floor. I looked back one last time. The black trash bag sat in the corner, a plastic tomb holding three years of my life.

I walked over to the window. Below, Jax’s car sped away, blowing through a stop sign before disappearing around the corner.

He was chasing a lie.

I turned my back on the window, picked up my keys, and walked out the door. I didn't bother to lock it. I didn't care who got in. There was nothing left to steal.