Chapter 3

Josephine Cole POV:

Jax' s eyes locked onto mine. For a split second, I saw a flicker of something-panic, maybe even guilt-before his expression hardened into a mask of cold annoyance.

He gently pushed Brooklyn behind him, a protective gesture that felt like a slap in the face, and started walking toward me.

"Josephine," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "What are you doing here?"

He stopped a few feet away, his towering frame casting a long shadow over me. He looked me up and down, taking in my simple black dress, the dark circles under my eyes. A flicker of something that might have been pity crossed his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the question so absurdly false it made me want to scream.

He reached for my arm, but I flinched away as if his touch were fire. "Don' t touch me."

"Why are you here, Jo?" I asked, my voice a broken whisper that didn' t sound like my own. "In our home? With her?"

Brooklyn peeked out from behind him, her face a perfect picture of wide-eyed innocence. It was the same look she' d perfected in high school, right before she' d get me suspended for something she' d done.

"Oh, Josephine," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "I' m so sorry. Jax told me you two were having problems. I didn' t mean to intrude."

She stepped forward, placing a delicate hand on Jax' s arm. "Maybe I should go, Jax. This is clearly a bad time."

She was playing the victim, positioning me as the hysterical, intrusive ex-wife. It was a masterful performance.

"Stay right here, Brooklyn," Jax commanded, his eyes never leaving my face. He saw her as fragile, in need of his protection. He saw me as the threat.

"Don' t you dare speak to me, Brooklyn," I snapped, my gaze finally turning to her. The sight of her smug, beautiful face made my stomach churn.

Tears instantly welled in Brooklyn' s eyes. It was a talent she had, crying on command. "I... I was just trying to be nice," she whimpered, turning her face into Jax' s chest. "She' s scaring me, Jax."

"She' s right, Jax," Brooklyn sobbed, her voice muffled against his expensive shirt. "This is all my fault. If only Bartholomew hadn' t gotten sick... if the vet hadn' t insisted on the helicopter..." She was twisting the knife, reminding him, reminding me, of the choice he had made, but framing it as an unfortunate accident.

Jax' s arms tightened around her, his jaw set. He looked at me, his eyes filled with disappointment, as if I were the one being unreasonable. "Josephine, stop it. You' re upsetting her."

My heart, which I thought had already been shattered into a million pieces, broke all over again. He was defending her. He was defending the woman whose selfish whim had cost my sister her life.

My mind flashed back to high school. To Brooklyn and her friends cornering me in the locker room, holding me down while they cut off chunks of my hair with a pair of craft scissors. To them slipping a dead frog into my cello case, its guts smearing all over the polished wood I had saved for months to buy.

I remember running to Jax, who was a senior then, the terrifying, magnetic boy everyone was afraid of. I had shown him my ruined instrument, my butchered hair, tears streaming down my face.

He had held me, his hands surprisingly gentle, and promised, "I' ll make them pay, Jo. I swear. No one ever gets to hurt you again."

And now, here he was, holding that same girl in his arms, protecting her from me. The irony was so bitter it tasted like poison.

I must have been silent for too long, lost in the wreckage of the past, because Jax' s expression softened slightly. He took a step forward.

"Jo, let' s not do this here," he said, his voice dropping to the low, persuasive tone he used in boardrooms. "Get in the car. I' ll take you home."

"We are home," I said, the words hollow.

Brooklyn, ever the actress, wiped her fake tears and stepped toward me, her hand outstretched. "Josephine, let' s just put this all behind us. We can be friends..."

The thought of her hand touching me was so repulsive that I recoiled instinctively, pulling my arm back sharply. "Get away from me."

It was a small, defensive movement, but Brooklyn used it. She let out a theatrical gasp, stumbled backward, and collapsed onto the pristine lawn in a heap, as if I had shoved her with all my might.

"Ow!" she cried, cradling her ankle. "You pushed me!"

Jax was at her side in an instant, his face a mask of thunderous rage. He looked from her feigned tears to my stunned face, and his eyes hardened.

"What the hell did you do, Josephine?"