Roxana sat there, stunned into silence by the turn his words had taken.
Somewhere against her will, her heart had started racing. Everything he said kept circling one impossible idea, that she mattered, that she was a piece of his life he refused to keep playing without. And then the last of it finally registered, the words sinking in deeper than any wine had managed all night.
'The place where you actually belong.'
"Forget the paperwork," Jax went on, casual as ever. "Forget official procedures. Anyone who tries to oppose it, I'll handle them personally. All you have to do is bring your luggage back. That's it. That's the entire job."
She stared at that cold, flat face of his.
And that face was exactly the problem. Because she had seen it before. The same calm mask, the same even voice, on the day he had torn into her. The memory surfaced whether she invited it or not.
Her palm slammed the table.
