Chapter 3

Jax's office was a study in controlled chaos. The walls were covered with maps marked with territorial boundaries, surveillance photos, and what looked like operational plans. A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface littered with paperwork and a laptop. Behind it sat the man who had destroyed my life in less than an hour.

I stood before him, still in my wedding dress, now wrinkled and stained from the struggle. My veil hung limply to one side, a mockery of the dreams I'd had just hours ago.

"Sit," Jax commanded, gesturing to a chair across from his desk.

I remained standing. Small defiances were all I had left.

His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You'll learn to follow orders eventually."

"The only thing I'm learning is how quickly people can show their true colors," I spat, thinking of Ethan's betrayal.

Jax leaned back in his chair, studying me with those cold black eyes. "Let me explain the rules, Aria Thorne. You belong to the club now. Specifically, to me." He tapped his fingers on the desk. "You will work to pay off Ethan's debt. Whatever it takes."

"I don't belong to anyone," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "This isn't legal. You can't just—"

"Legal?" Jax laughed, the sound like gravel. "We make our own laws here."

I swallowed hard. "How much does he owe?"

Jax's smile turned razor-sharp. "Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet. "That's impossible. We don't even have that kind of money."

"Ethan found a way to lose it anyway." Jax shrugged. "Drugs, gambling, women who charge premium rates. Doesn't matter now."

"It would take me decades to pay that back," I whispered, thinking of my librarian salary.

"Decades?" Jax chuckled. "You couldn't earn that in ten lifetimes doing whatever it is you do."

The door opened without a knock, and a woman entered carrying a bundle of black leather clothing. Her hair was cropped short on the sides with a strip of longer hair down the middle, dyed jet black with streaks of purple. Tattoos covered both arms—snakes, roses, and the same wolf logo the men wore on their jackets.

"This is Raven," Jax said without looking up. "She'll get you settled."

Raven tossed the clothes at my feet. They landed with a soft thud on the hardwood floor.

"Arms up," she ordered, her voice surprisingly soft but brooking no argument.

"What?"

"Your wedding dress," she said, as if explaining to a child. "It needs to go. You can't walk around here looking like you just escaped from a Disney movie."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "No."

Raven's eyebrow arched. "Look, princess, I don't care if you're Jax's new toy or what. But around here, you wear the colors. You're property of the Dark Night Wolves now."

"I am not property," I hissed.

Jax's patience evaporated like morning dew. He stood in one fluid motion, his chair scraping against the floor. From his desk drawer, he withdrew a knife with a gleaming blade that caught the light.

"Last chance," he said quietly.

When I didn't move, he approached me slowly, the knife held loosely at his side.

I expected threats, violence—something overtly terrifying. Instead, Jax stepped behind me and began cutting away pieces of my wedding dress with surgical precision.

The first slice severed the sleeve from the bodice. The second cut along the neckline, sending the delicate lace veil fluttering to the floor.

"Stop!" I gasped, trying to cover myself as fabric fell away.

But Jax continued methodically, his movements almost gentle as he destroyed the symbol of everything I'd believed in. With each cut, he stripped away more than just material—he was cutting away my past, my future, my identity.

When he finished, my wedding dress hung in tatters around me, reduced to strips of white satin that barely preserved my modesty.

"Now change," Raven said, pushing the leather clothing toward me.

With trembling hands, I picked up the garments. The leather pants were tight, designed to showcase every curve. The crop top bore the club's wolf logo emblazoned across the front in silver thread that caught the light.

I stepped into the pants, sucking in my breath as they molded to my thighs and hips. The zipper strained slightly as I pulled it up.

"Funny," Jax murmured, watching me dress. "Isabella used to complain about how tight these were."

My hands froze on the zipper. Isabella? Who was that?

Raven shot Jax a warning look but said nothing.

I tugged the crop top over my head. It was even tighter than the pants, stretching across my ribs and barely covering the essentials.

Jax circled me slowly, his eyes taking in every inch of my body displayed in their colors.

"Perfect," he said finally, nodding his approval. "You look like you belong to me now."

The leather felt foreign against my skin—cold, restrictive, nothing like the soft fabrics I was used to wearing. It marked me as something I wasn't—one of them.

"How does it feel?" Jax asked softly.

"Like you've taken everything from me," I whispered.

"No." He stepped closer until I could feel his breath on my face. "I've taken everything that made you weak. Now we'll see what's left."

His fingers traced the wolf logo on my chest, pressing just hard enough to make me flinch.

"And what's left," he continued, "belongs to me."