Jax's Little Obsession

Chapter 30

Jax’s Pov

Arriving at Worth estate slammed shut behind me, the sound echoing through the cold, marble foyer like a gunshot. I walked into the main study, knowing exactly what was waiting for me.

My father, Halton , sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a single lamp cutting sharp shadows across his unforgiving face. He didn't look up when I entered, but the air in the room instantly turned heavy, thick with the suffocating pressure of a trap snapping shut.

"You're late, Jax," Halton said, his voice cold, flat, and absolute. He finally raised his eyes, fixing me with a stare that had haunted my entire life. "And more importantly, the board meeting is tomorrow morning, yet the downtown redevelopment clearance is still stalled. Explain yourself."

I stood straight, my hands sliding into the pockets of my trousers to hide the slight clenching of my fingers. "The logistics are complicated," I said, keeping my tone completely level. "We need to re-evaluate the zoning permits before we push the demolition crews through."

Halton stood up slowly, leaning his weight onto his palms against the desk. "Logistics? You have never cared about logistics before. Dahlia tells me you are the one holding up the signatures. There is only one variable that has changed in your life recently, Jax. A mechanic girl from the south side."

My jaw tightened so hard I felt a sharp pain in my back teeth. "Maya has nothing to do with this."

"Do not lie to me!" Halton barked, his voice cracking like a whip across the quiet room. He walked around the desk, stopping just a few feet away from me. He looked at me with pure disgust. "Emotional weakness is a disease in our family. It rots you from the inside out. If you let a stray girl dictate the moves of Worth Holdings, you are finished. A Worth does not care. A Worth conquers and discards."

The words triggered a dark, sharp memory from my childhood. I was eight years old, standing in this exact room, crying because my father had forced me to cut ties with the only friend I had made at school.

I remember falling to my knees, begging him to let me stay, and Halton standing over me, telling me that tears were a weapon our enemies would use to destroy us. He locked me in the dark study for twenty-four hours to teach me that caring was a crime punishable by total isolation.

I looked at my father now, seeing the man who had tried to hollow out my soul and turn me into a cold, breathing machine.

"I am not you," I said, my voice dangerously low.

Halton's eyes narrowed into slits. "If you cross me on this project, Jax, you will lose everything. Your inheritance, your position, your name. Do not test me."

I didn't answer. I turned around and walked out of the study, leaving him shouting behind me. I drove straight through the dark city streets until I reached the quiet corner near the old workshop where Maya was waiting.

When I stepped into the dimly lit garage, the heavy armor I had carried all evening felt too exhausting to hold. Maya was sitting on an overturned milk crate near the workbench, wiping grease off her hands with a rag. She looked up the second I walked in, and her sharp dark eyes instantly narrowed. She didn't ask me how my day was. She didn't smile. She just saw right through the cracked mask I was wearing.

She stood up, walking over until she was standing right in front of me. "What happened?" she asked softly, her voice missing its usual teasing edge.

I looked down at her, feeling a knot of pure exhaustion tighten in my chest. "My father."

Maya didn't push. She didn't demand answers or make a sarcastic joke about wealthy family drama. Instead, she simply turned back to the milk crate, patted the dusty metal surface beside her, and sat back down.

"Sit," she said quietly.

I walked over and sat down next to her, our knees almost touching. The silence between us wasn't tense anymore; it was heavy, filled with the kind of understanding I had never experienced with another human being. I stared down at the concrete floor, feeling the ghosts of my childhood pressing in on me.

"He thinks care is a disease," I whispered, the words barely audible over the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner. "He spent my whole life training me to be a weapon. Every time I showed weakness, every time I cared about something that didn't bring profit, he punished me. I was supposed to be a machine that made him richer."

I finally lifted my head, looking into her eyes, expecting to see pity. I hated pity. But there was no pity in Maya's face. There was only a fierce, unyielding warmth that felt like sunlight breaking through ice.

She didn't offer empty reassurances. She just looked straight into my eyes and said, "You don't have to be a weapon with me, Jax."

The simplicity of those words hit me harder than any blow my father had ever landed. My breath hitched.

For a second, looking at her soft lips in the dim garage light, every instinct screamed at me to pull her close, to kiss her, to lose myself in the physical heat of her. I leaned in, closing the distance, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Then I stopped.

I pulled back just an inch, realizing that kissing her right now wouldn't fix anything. This moment wasn't about passion or possession. It was about something much deeper, something terrifyingly real. It was the first time in my entire life I had ever stripped away my armor and let someone see the broken pieces underneath.

Instead of kissing her, I slowly raised my hand, turning my palm upward.

Maya looked down at my hand for a fraction of a second. Without a word of hesitation, she reached out and slid her small, warm hand into mine, intertwining her fingers securely with my own. Her grip was strong, steady, and completely grounding.