Chapter 11
390 Words
The drive back to the Miller estate was a masterclass in controlled hostility. Jax didn't speak again, but the way he shifted gears—precise, violent, and efficient—told Caroline everything his silence wouldn't. The "tragedy" she had glimpsed at the overlook was being tucked back behind the high-gloss finish of his reputation.
When the Bentley finally crunched onto the gravel of the long, winding driveway, the manor loomed ahead like a gothic fortress. Jax killed the engine but didn't move to open her door.
"Get out, Caroline," he said, his voice back to that terrifying, flat tone.
"We aren't finished," she said, though her heart hammered against her ribs.
Jax let out a short, humorless bark of a laugh. "We were finished the moment you looked at me with pity. I can handle your fear, and I can certainly handle your hate. But don't you dare pity me."
He finally looked at her, and the raw, "unsettled" darkness she’d seen at the canyon was gone, replaced by a wall of ice. It was the face he wore for the boardrooms and the rivals—the mask of the Highlands' untouchable heir.
Caroline stepped out into the biting night air, the smell of pine and expensive gasoline clinging to her clothes. She watched the taillights of the Bentley disappear toward the detached garage, leaving her alone in the shadows of the massive house.
She walked inside, her footsteps echoing on the marble foyer. The house was quiet, but it wasn't peaceful; it felt like a coiled spring. Ducking into the library, she finally opened her notebook. Her pen hovered over the blank page before she scribbled a single line at the top: The predator doesn't fear the woods; he fears the one who knows he’s lost in them.
A floorboard creaked behind her. Caroline froze, expecting Jax, but when she turned, she found Jax’s father, Silas Miller, standing by the liquor cabinet with a crystal tumbler in hand.
"You're late," Silas remarked, his eyes scanning her disheveled hair and the way she gripped her pen. "And you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or did my son finally show you his teeth?"
The realization hit Caroline then: Jax wasn't the only monster in the house, and the "tragedy" she was writing was a family heirloom passed down through blood.
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