Chapter Thirty-One
Estelle
The VIP box was a world away from the chaos of the hallway where gunshots had echoed just hours before.
Plush leather seating curved around a glass wall overlooking the arena, giving us an unobstructed view of the ring below.
The space was perfectly climate-controlled, the air crisp and cool against my still-flushed skin.
Adrian had transformed from menacing sentinel to frantic host, directing staff who wheeled in cart after cart of food, tasting random portions as if determining whether it was safe.
A charcuterie board stretched nearly the length of the room, piled with meats, cheeses, and fruits I couldn't name.
Towers of pastries and desserts stood like edible skyscrapers beside buckets of ice housing bottles of champagne. The display was overwhelming for someone who'd spent the last year stretching every grocery dollar.
“Eat,” Connor instructed from across the room, his voice leaving no room for argument. He sat with Sierra still in his lap, her head tucked under his chin as he glanced back at Adrian .
“You too, Star,” Adrian called, using the nickname I still wasn't used to. He was arranging what looked like an elaborate cat habitat in the corner: a portable litter box, a plush bed, and cute toys.
“Jax will kill us if you faint from hunger during his big moment.”
Adrian appeared at my side with a plate in each hand, loaded with thick sandwiches cut into neat triangles. "Real food first," he announced, his green eyes softer than I'd ever seen them. "Not the rich people shit. You need protein after shock."
He handed one plate to me, then crossed to Connor and Sierra. "Bee, you too. Meat and cheese, none of that weird sauce you hate."
Sierra looked up from Connor's chest, managing a small smile. "You remembered."
"I remember everything," Adrian smiled, his voice carrying an odd note of pride. "It's my superpower. That and looking hotter than Jax while doing it."
Despite everything, I found myself smiling as I took a bite of the sandwich. It was perfect—loaded with cheese, actual deli meat instead of processed canned food, fresh bread that didn't taste like cardboard. I hadn't realized how hungry I was until food touched my tongue.
"Good," Adrian murmured, and there was so much care in his voice.
"Now you." He nudged Sierra's plate toward her. "Connor, make sure she eats. You know she gets shaky.”
Connor's arms tightened around Sierra, his dark eyes flicking to Adrian with what might have been gratitude. "Always do."
As I ate, I watched Adrian work. He wasn't just playing host—he was orchestrating care. He appeared with glasses of apple juice after announcing they were indeed not spiked, and dimmed the lights slightly when he saw me squint at the brightness.
"How do you do that?" I asked when he settled beside me, his own sandwich forgotten as he focused on making sure I was eating.
"Do what?" But his eyes were already scanning me, cataloguing every micro-expression.
"Take care of people. See everything. "
Something flickered across his face—vulnerability, maybe, or old pain. “I learned young. I got good at reading people.”
As we ate, Toffee emerged from his carrier, stretching luxuriously before sniffing at his new accommodations. Adrian beamed like a proud parent, watching the cat munch on meat he’d placed near the carrier. “See? He approves.”
The lights in the arena suddenly dimmed, and the crowd roared in anticipation. Connor shifted Sierra in his lap so she could see better, his arms never leaving her waist.
“It's starting,” he explained, his expression intensifying as he focused on the ring below.
Adrian settled on the other side of me, handing me a plate of sugary pastries and tarts with a look, telling me I definitely wasn’t allowed to refuse.
A spotlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the tunnel from which the fighters would enter. The announcer's voice boomed through the speakers, introducing the challenger first—a hulking figure in black and red, his entourage trailing behind him like a pack of wolves.
“Rodriguez,” Connor commented, his fingers absently stroking Sierra's hair. “Strong right, weak defense on his left side. Jax will exploit that.”
“If he doesn't kill him first,” Adrian muttered. He'd somehow produced that knife again, flipping it between his fingers with practiced ease. “Look at his face.”
The announcer's voice rose to a fever pitch as he introduced Jax. The crowd erupted, the noise vibrating through the thick glass. The spotlight swung to the opposite tunnel, and I gasped.
Jax emerged like something from another world.
He was golden, powerful, and dangerous. He wore a cream silk robe embroidered with golden thread, the fabric rippling as he walked with measured strides. His hair was styled to perfection, his expression a mask of cocky indifference as he acknowledged the crowd with raised fists .
But his eyes... his eyes were winter blue and burning with something that made my skin prickle.
Rage. Pure, focused rage.
“Oh,” I whispered, unable to look away.
“Yeah,” Sierra said softly from Connor's lap. “First time I saw them fight, I couldn't believe they were the same men.”
Below, Jax shrugged off his robe, revealing a torso sculpted from years of discipline, every muscle defined, skin gleaming under the lights, the snake tattoos coiling up his arms seeming almost alive as he stretched. He was beautiful and lethal, a predator preparing to strike.
And he was mine. Even with today’s events, the thought of that man being mine made me feel giddy, like I was living in a strange dream.
“He's angry,” I observed, watching as he paced his corner, eyes never leaving his opponent.
Adrian nodded, the knife momentarily stilling in his hand. “Someone tried to hurt what's his. Of course he's angry.”
I was what was his. The knowledge sent warmth and pride through my chest. That beautiful, dangerous man with millions watching him this very moment, belonged to me, and I belonged to him.
The referee called the fighters to center ring. Jax touched gloves with Rodriguez, but there was nothing sportsmanlike in the gesture; it was cold. When he turned back to his corner, his eyes flicked up to our box, finding me instantly despite the distance.
Something in his face softened for just a heartbeat before the bell rang.
“First round is assessment,” Connor explained, offering Sierra a bite of pastry. “Jax will test his defenses, look for openings.”
I watched, mesmerized, as the fighters circled each other. The opponent was aggressive, pressing forward with heavy punches that Jax seemed to slip away from without effort. There was something hypnotic about watching him move. He was fluid yet powerful, each step calculated .
“He's toying with him,” Connor observed, his voice carrying a note of approval. “Making him waste energy.”
The bell rang, ending the first round. From our vantage point, I could see the coiled tension in Jax's shoulders, how his eyes remained fixed on his opponent.
“Is he... enjoying this?” I asked, surprised by the small smirk playing at Jax's lips. It wasn’t his normal one; it was almost evil.
Adrian laughed, a dark, knowing sound. “Oh yeah. Jax loves the game. The control. Making them think they've got a chance before he takes it away.”
The second round began, and the atmosphere shifted. Jax moved with new purpose, his fists connecting with each blow. The opponent staggered, blood spraying from his nose after a particularly brutal hit.
I flinched at the violence, unprepared for how visceral it would feel. Adrian moved closer, his shoulder brushing mine in comfort.
"He knows what he's doing," he told me quietly. "This is what he's trained for."
Sierra reached across the space between us to rub my back softly. “The first time is hard to watch,” she offered. “But it’s oddly pretty, right?”
I nodded. Something was mesmerizing about the controlled violence, the raw power contained in Jax’s every movement.
And yet, when the bell rang again and Jax returned to his corner, his eyes sought mine once more, a silent message across the crowded arena.
I'm fighting for you.
“He's going to end it in the next round,” Connor stated with absolute certainty, pressing a kiss to Sierra's head as she nestled closer to him. “Watch his setup. Three jabs to the body, then the knockout blow.”
“Textbook Lion,” Adrian agreed, his knife now tucked away as he lounged lazily beside me. “Always did like to show off for an audience.” He winked at me, but beneath the playfulness, I saw the same protective watchfulness that had been there since the situation earlier .
As the third round began, I leaned forward, breath held in anticipation. Jax moved with purpose, backing the guy into a corner. Just as Connor had predicted, he landed three rapid jabs to the body, then unleashed a right ‘hook’ that connected with a sickening crack.
The opponent went down hard, his body limp before he hit the canvas. The referee started the count, but the fight was over. Jax stood in the center of the ring, chest heaving, victoriously bloody as the crowd erupted.
“That's our boy,” Adrian said with fierce pride. “Quickest fight of his career.”
Connor nodded once, satisfaction evident in his expression. “He had motivation.”
As the referee raised Jax's hand in victory, he looked up at our box again, his eyes finding mine with unerring precision. Even from this distance, I could see the wild, dangerous pride in his face, the look of a predator who had successfully defended what was his.
And despite everything, I found myself smiling back.
Jax disappeared back through the tunnel, championship belt gleaming over his shoulder this time. Adrian's phone buzzed, and he glanced at it with raised eyebrows.
“Well, that's a first,” he mused, tucking the device back into his pocket. “Jax just told the PR team to go fuck themselves.”
Connor shifted Sierra in his lap, his expression unsurprised. “Press conference?”
“Skipping it,” Adrian confirmed, his knife reappearing between his fingers. “Coach is having an aneurysm.”
Sierra looked up from her place in Connor's arms. “He's never skipped post-fight press before.”
The words had barely left her mouth when security appeared at our door, speaking urgently into headsets. They moved efficiently, clearing a path through the rapidly filling corridor outside our suite.
Less than fifteen minutes later, impossibly fast for someone who'd just fought for a title, the door burst open.
Jax filled the frame, hair still damp from a hasty shower, dressed in a black tank top and designer pants.
His knuckles were bandaged, but his eyes were wild and focused as they locked onto me.
He crossed the room in three long strides, hauling me into his arms before I could even stand. One hand cradled the back of my head while the other wrapped around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground.
“You're okay,” he breathed, his lips pressed to my forehead. “You're okay.”
“I love you, too,” I rushed out, clinging to his shoulders, finally getting to respond to his declaration. He smelled of expensive soap and adrenaline, but my words were fierce and genuine. “I love you. I do.”
He pulled back just far enough to examine my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I know, princess. I love you. So much.” He held me like that for minutes, fingers carding through my hair.
Then he pulled back, and his expression darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “This shouldn't have happened. Not to you.”
“We're leaving,” he announced, turning to address Adrian and Connor while keeping me pressed against his chest. “Now. Skip the hotel. We're going straight to the jet.”
Adrian didn't seem surprised. “Already called it in. Plane’s refueled.”
“What about the press? The… sponsors?” I asked, suddenly aware of the responsibilities he must be abandoning.
“Fuck them,” Jax growled, his arms tightening around me. “You're what matters. The rest can wait.”
Connor stood, still cradling Sierra in his arms, and nodded once. “Security's doubled for the exit. Cars are waiting.”
“No cars,” Jax countered, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I called a helicopter to the roof. Less exposure.”
Adrian whistled, already packing up Toffee's supplies. “Someone's in full commander mode.”
Jax ignored him, his attention returning to me. His hands framed my face, his eyes searching mine. “You good to travel, princess? We’ll be home in five hours.”
Home. Not my apartment. Just home, like it was already decided, already a fact.
“I'm okay,” I assured him, reaching up to touch the bruise on his jaw. “Are you? That looked like it hurt.”
A cocky smile met his lips. “Nothing hurts when I'm with you.” He scooped me up without warning, carrying me out of the room and all the way there.
As our strange procession moved toward the exit, Jax carrying me, Connor holding Sierra like a koala, and Adrian juggling Toffee's carrier and our bags, I knew I’d found something irreplaceable in the storm of my life. Love.