Chapter 289 - 0289: Jaxx, A Gentleman?

Chapter 289: Chapter 0289: Jaxx, A Gentleman?

Elena’s Point Of View

I woke up with the kind of heavy, syrupy lethargy that only comes after a night of absolute chaos... the good kind. The kind that makes your muscles hum with a dull, lingering ache and your skin feel sensitized to the mere touch of the silk sheets. I stretched, my limbs feeling like lead, and let out a long, shaky breath.

For a second, I just stared at the ceiling, replaying the way Jaxx had looked at me against that wall, the sheer, unhinged intensity of it. The memory sent a shiver down my spine, equal parts thrill and trepidation.

"Stupid," I whispered to the empty room, my voice raspy. "You’re so stupid, Elena." But even as I said it, I couldn’t quite convince myself I meant it. There was no denying the warmth still pooling low in my stomach, the traitorous way my body remembered things my mind wanted to scold away.

I rolled over, expecting to find a wall of warm muscle and arrogant smirks, but the bed was cold. Empty. I blinked, a tiny spike of disappointment pricking at my chest before I saw it: a slip of paper resting on his pillow. The sight of it made something flutter in my stomach, something I wasn’t ready to name. I grabbed it, my heart doing a traitorous little skip, as though it already knew the note would undo me.

Hey Bambina, good morning. Trust you slept nice considering how you begged for more in the middle of the night. I have some deals to attend to, I’ll be back soon. Be good. - J.

My face didn’t just flush; it felt like it was actually on fire. Heat crawled up my neck and spread across my cheeks, prickling all the way to my ears. I crumpled the note, then immediately bottled the urge to throw it, smoothing it out again while my eyes narrowed at the "begged for more" part. The arrogance dripped from every word, and yet I found myself reading it again, as if some masochistic part of me wanted to relive the embarrassment.

"Begged? I did not beg. I requested. Strongly," I muttered, huffing as I climbed out of bed. The cool air hit my skin, making me acutely aware of how little I was wearing. "And ’be good’? What am I, a golden retriever? I’m not a troublemaker like him." Still, I tucked the note into my bag before I could stop myself, telling myself it was only so the maids wouldn’t find it, though I knew that was a lie even as I thought it.

I padded into the bathroom, feeling the plush rug under my feet, and found the extra toothbrush he’d somehow had the foresight to buy. The gesture was oddly thoughtful for someone who seemed to operate purely on instinct and impulse, and it needled at something soft in my chest that I didn’t want to examine too closely. After scrubbing the taste of sleep away, I ventured into the walk-in closet.

I stopped dead in the doorway, my breath catching. It wasn’t just a closet; it was a boutique. Rows of dresses, silks, linens, and cashmeres hung in perfect order, organized by color and style, as though an entire team had curated a wardrobe for a woman who didn’t officially live here.

I sifted through the hangers, my fingers brushing over a sun-yellow sundress that looked far too innocent for this house. "How does he even know my size?" I wondered aloud, pulling the fabric against me. It was perfect. A perfect fit for a life I hadn’t asked for but was currently wearing.

The thought unsettled me more than I wanted to admit. How much had he planned? How long had he been watching? The questions circled like vultures, refusing to let me enjoy the softness of the fabric without also feeling the chill of how calculated this all seemed.

I dressed quickly, slipping into some flat leather slides, and spent a few minutes taming my hair and applying a light layer of makeup from the mini kit I’d stashed in my bag. I looked in the mirror and saw a woman who looked far more put-together than she felt. The reflection staring back at me seemed like a stranger... someone who belonged in this world of luxury and danger.

I wasn’t sure I recognized her anymore, and the thought lodged itself uncomfortably beneath my ribs.

Stepping out into the hallway felt like navigating a labyrinth. Everything was too big, too quiet, and smelled too much like old money and secrets. My footsteps echoed softly on the marble floors, each one sounding too loud in the cavernous silence. A maid appeared almost out of thin air, startling me. She bowed her head respectfully... too respectfully, it made my skin crawl a little, and gestured for me to follow.

"This way, Miss Elena. Breakfast is served in the conservatory," she said, her tone clipped and practiced.

The formality of it all felt suffocating. I wanted to tell her to just call me Elena, to stop treating me like I was someone important, but the words died in my throat. I followed her through the winding corridors until we reached a bright, glass-walled room flooded with the morning sun.

The light was almost blinding after the dim hallways, and I had to blink several times to adjust, little spots dancing at the edges of my vision.

Jaxx’s grandfather was already there, sitting at a glass table with a newspaper and a cup of coffee that smelled divine. He looked up, and the stern lines of his face softened into a genuine smile that reached his eyes. The warmth in his expression caught me off guard, making my chest tighten with an unexpected emotion, something close to longing for a kindness I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

"Good morning, Grandpa," I said, feeling a strange warmth at using the name. It felt both foreign and oddly natural on my tongue, like trying on a coat that somehow already fit.

"Good morning, angel," he replied, gesturing to the seat opposite him, his voice carrying a gentleness I hadn’t expected. "How was your night? I trust my grandson didn’t keep you up too late with his brooding."

I sat down, my face heating up again as a waiter placed a plate of poached eggs and avocado in front of me. The food looked exquisite, almost too beautiful to eat. I picked up my fork, buying myself a moment before answering.

"It was... quiet. Mostly. Thank you for asking," I said, hoping he couldn’t see through the lie. The knowing glint in his eye suggested he probably could, and I fought the urge to squirm under his gaze.

He chuckled, folding his paper with deliberate precision. "I doubt anything involving Jaxx is ever truly quiet. He’s a storm in a bespoke suit." He watched me eat for a moment, his gaze observant but not unkind, the kind of look that suggested he’d spent a lifetime reading people and rarely got it wrong. "So, tell me, Elena. What do you do when you aren’t being dragged to high-society galas by possessive men? Jaxx mentioned you’re quite the busy woman."

"I run my own company," I said, feeling a spark of pride cut through the morning haze. The words came easier than I expected, steadier, as though simply talking about my work reminded me of who I was outside of this gilded, dangerous house. "It’s a logistics and supply chain firm. We handle everything from high-end distribution to warehouse management. It’s a lot of moving parts and even more late nights, but I love the control of it." I paused, realizing how true that was... the control, the independence I’d fought so hard to build, brick by brick, with no one’s help but my own stubbornness.

His eyebrows climbed a little higher, genuine interest flickering in his weathered features. "A logistics firm? That’s no small feat for someone so young. I assume business is good if you’re holding your own in this shark tank."

I nodded, taking a sip of the freshly squeezed orange juice. The tartness grounded me, brought me back to the present moment, away from the swirl of nerves still tangled in my chest. "It’s growing. I actually just recently opened a brand new branch on the Eastern side of the country. It was a massive undertaking... navigating the local regulations and setting up the infrastructure from scratch, but we’re officially operational." A smile tugged at my lips despite myself. "It’s my ’baby,’ I guess you could say."

"The East, eh?" He hummed, looking impressed in a way that seemed difficult to earn from a man like him. "That’s a tough market to crack. Lots of old-school competition. It takes a certain kind of iron will to plant a flag there and make it stick." He studied me with new appreciation, as if seeing me clearly for the first time, his gaze lingering thoughtfully. "It seems you and my grandson have more in common than I thought. You’re both builders."

"Maybe," I laughed softly, the sound surprising me with its ease. "Though I prefer building warehouses over... whatever it is he’s building in those ’meetings’ of his."

"He’s a complicated man," Grandpa mused, sipping his coffee with the air of someone who’d spent decades trying to figure out that very complication. The steam rose between us, curling in the morning light, and for a moment he seemed to drift somewhere far away, somewhere older and heavier than this sunlit room. "But since you’re clearly a woman of keen observation, tell me, what do you think of the subtext of my grandson? Give me the honest version, not the one you think I want to hear."

I paused, my fork hovering over my plate. The question hung in the air, weighted with more significance than it should have carried. I thought about Jaxx... the way he’d washed my hair with such terrifying gentleness, and the way he looked when he thought I wasn’t watching. That last one unsettled me most of all, the vulnerability I’d glimpsed beneath all that armor, the flash of something lonely in his eyes before he’d caught himself and smoothed it away again.

"He’s stubborn," I began, counting on my fingers as if tallying evidence. "He’s incredibly overwhelming. He has this... this arrogance that should be illegal, and he treats ’no’ like it’s a suggestion in a foreign language he hasn’t learned yet." The frustration in my voice was real, earned through countless battles of will, each one leaving me equal parts exhausted and, infuriatingly, a little exhilarated.

Grandpa laughed, a dry, raspy sound that spoke of too many cigars and not enough sleep. "I can imagine. He got that from his mother’s side, unfortunately."

"But," I continued, my voice softening despite my best efforts to remain detached, "his better qualities... they kind of overshadow the headache. He’s surprisingly caring. He notices the small things." I thought of the blanket he’d draped over me, the way he’d remembered how I took my coffee, small gestures that felt disproportionately large coming from a man built like a fortress.

"And I never thought I’d ever use this word for him in my entire life, but... he’s kind. In his own twisted way, he’s a gentleman."

The old man froze, his coffee cup suspended halfway to his lips. His eyebrows shot up toward his receding hairline, disappearing beneath the wisps of silver hair. He stared at me for a long beat, as if checking to see if I was joking or perhaps delirious. The silence stretched between us, filled with his obvious disbelief, broken only by the faint clink of his cup finally meeting the saucer. He looked at the empty chair where Jaxx usually sat, then back at me, a look of profound, amused disbelief crossing his weathered features.

"Jaxx?" he repeated, testing the word as if it might mean something different in this context. A slow smirk spread across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "A gentleman?" He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as if he’d just heard the funniest joke of the century. The leather creaked beneath him, punctuating his amusement.

"Well..." He paused, his expression shifting to something almost tender, something that looked like hope, as if he hadn’t realized until this very moment how much he’d wanted someone to say exactly that about his grandson. "I guess he is to you."