Too Late: The Don's Regretful Pursuit

The Charity Gala was the apex of the social season for the families, a dazzling display of teeth disguised as smiles. It was less about philanthropy and more about a showcase of raw, dynastic power.

I wore black. It was a simple, sleek column of silk that covered more than it revealed, feeling less like evening wear and more like mourning clothes for a funeral that hadn't happened yet.

Catalina, predictably, wore red. A violent, arterial crimson that demanded the room's attention. She coiled around Jax's arm like a second skin, claiming him with every touch.

I stood by the champagne tower, nursing a glass I had no intention of drinking, watching them. They looked like a jagged, perfect power couple. He was the dark, dangerous king, and she was his vibrant, chaotic queen. I was merely the shadow cast in the corner.

Catalina was currently holding court with a phalanx of the older wives. I drifted closer, keeping my back to them, letting their voices wash over me.

"Oh, Jax is terribly protective," Catalina was saying, her voice carrying clearly over the polite swell of the string quartet. "You know, back when we were barely teenagers, he actually took a bullet for me."

I froze. The glass in my hand felt suddenly fragile.

"A bullet?" one of the wives gasped, clutching her pearls.

"Yes," Catalina sighed, the sound thick with dramatic flair. "It was a mess with the Irish mob. My father owed them debts he couldn't pay. They came for me to send a message. Jax... he didn't even hesitate. He drove straight into their territory, alone. He got me out, but he took a shot to the shoulder in the process. He hid the wound from his father for weeks so no one would know he risked the fragile truce just for me."

The air left my lungs.

I knew that scar. I had traced the raised, jagged ridge of it with my fingertips a thousand times in the dark. He had told me it was a training accident. He had told me he fell on a rusted fence.

He had lied.

He had risked a faction war for her. Before we were even engaged. Before the contracts were ink on paper.

"He's always been my guardian angel," Catalina continued, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "Even now. He told me, 'Cat, as long as I breathe, no one touches you.' Isn't that romantic?"

The wives cooed in unison.

I felt sick. Physically, violently sick. The room began to tilt on its axis.

I thought of all the times I had begged him to stay home because I had a bad feeling. All the times he had dismissed my intuition as paranoia. All the times he had told me his duty to the family came first.

It wasn't duty. It was preference.

He would burn the world to ash for her. For me, he wouldn't even skip a board meeting.

I turned to leave, needing air, needing to be anywhere that wasn't this suffocating ballroom.

Catalina was suddenly in front of me. With a calculated stumble, she "accidentally" bumped into me, tipping her glass. A splash of dark red wine bloomed across the front of my black dress.

"Oh, Eliana! I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, though her eyes gleamed with pure, unadulterated malice. "I was just telling the ladies about Jax's heroics. Did you know about the time he broke a man's hand just for looking at me wrong?"

She leaned in close, the scent of expensive perfume and alcohol cloying in my nose, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He never did that for you, did he? You're too safe. Too boring. Jax likes the fire. He likes the damsel in distress."

She wasn't just marking her territory. She was salting the earth so nothing would ever grow there for me again.

"You're right," I said, my voice surprisingly steady, devoid of the tremor I felt inside. "He never did."

Because he didn't love me. He owned me. There was a chasm of difference.

"Eliana?"

Jax appeared behind Catalina. He looked breathless, his eyes scanning her face with frantic intensity. "Are you okay? I saw you stumble."

He didn't look at me. He didn't see the wine soaking into the silk at my waist. He didn't see the devastation fracturing my gaze. He only saw her.

"I'm fine, Jax," Catalina cooed, leaning into his solid frame. "Eliana and I were just talking about old times."

Jax finally looked at me. There was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual mask of command. "Eliana, go clean up. You look messy."

Messy.

I looked at him. Really looked at him. The sharp jawline I used to kiss. The broad shoulders I used to cry on.

He was a stranger.

"I'm leaving," I stated.

"Don't be dramatic," he snapped, his patience thinning. "Go to the bathroom, fix your dress, and come back. We have to take press photos later."

"No," I said.

I turned and walked away. I walked past the security detail, past the valet who scrambled to offer the car. I walked out into the cool, biting night air of the city.

I hailed a taxi. A beat-up yellow cab. The kind of car a Mafia princess never steps foot in.

I slid into the backseat.

"Where to?" the driver asked, eyeing my dress in the rearview mirror.

"Anywhere," I said, staring out at the blurring city lights. "Just drive."