Chapter 3

Jax’s pov

I stood motionless in the kitchen doorway, watching Emery scurry up the stairs to change like a frightened animal. My knuckles turned white against the edge of the counter as I fought the sudden, violent urge to rip the phone out of Miller’s hand and smash it to pieces.

Neither of my teammates had any idea about the war raging inside my head, or the sickening realization that had paralyzed me the moment I looked at her screen last night.

They thought they had just caught a quiet, prudish girl running a filthy online side hustle under our roof. They didn't know that for the past six months, I had been anonymously funding every single breath of her digital existence.

The memory of last night’s discovery still burned behind my eyes like pure acid. When Miller had held up her open creator dashboard, my gaze had instantly locked onto the specific banner layout and her masked profile picture.

My heart had stopped dead in my chest as I recognized the exact custom interface of the girl I knew as Ember_Nights.

I was RinkKing99, the top subscriber who spent his nights staring at her shadow in the dark, dropping thousands of dollars just to watch her strip down for my eyes only.

The girl I lusted after, the girl I was obsessively, hopelessly addicted to, was the same stepsister I pretended to despise every single morning.

"She’s actually kind of hot when she’s terrified, man," Brody muttered, pouring himself another cup of coffee with a satisfied smirk. "I never really looked at her before, but those shorts didn't leave much to the imagination."

A dark, possessive rage flared up in my throat, making my muscles lock tight. I wanted to slam Brody into the nearest wall for even thinking about her that way, but I had to keep my face completely blank. If they realized how deeply this was affecting me, my leverage over the situation would vanish in an instant, and I couldn't let anyone touch her.

"Keep your head on the game, Brody, because we have morning ice practice in two hours," I said, my voice coming out raspy and cold as I masked my jealousy behind my captain persona. Miller chuckled, spinning her unlocked phone on the counter while resting his hip against the island.

"Relax, captain, a little entertainment at home isn't going to ruin our season," Miller countered, unlocking the screen again to browse through her app data. "Besides, I'm still trying to figure out why a girl pulling in this kind of cash lives like a ghost in her own house."

I watched Miller’s thumb swipe across her screen, my chest tightening as he navigated deeper into her private files. My own secret messages to her were buried in that app, filled with tips and custom requests that I had sent late at night from my room down the hall.

If Miller opened that top supporter tab, my handle would be sitting right there at the very top of her list, exposing my disgusting secret to the whole team. Before he could tap the subscriber analytics button, footsteps echoed from the top of the stairs, drawing all our attention toward the doorway.

Emery stepped into the kitchen, looking small and intensely vulnerable in my oversized dark green home jersey. The thick fabric draped over her shoulders, reaching down to her mid-thighs and completely swallowing her delicate frame.

Her bare legs were exposed from the hem down, her small toes curling slightly against the cold hardwood floor as she kept her chin tucked low. The sight of her wearing my name and number across her chest sent a sharp, agonizing jolt of arousal straight through my gut, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

"Is this what you wanted?" Emery whispered.

She refused to look any of us in the eye, her fingers nervously tugging at the long sleeves of my jersey. Brody let out a low noise of appreciation, stepping closer to inspect her while Miller grinned like he had just won the lottery.

"Much better," Miller said, sliding the phone across the counter toward her just a few inches. "Now come over here and pour me another cup, and maybe I'll let you hold your phone for five minutes."

Emery hesitated for a second before stepping forward, her hands trembling as she reached for the glass coffee pot. As she leaned over the counter to pour, the loose neck of my jersey slipped off her left shoulder, revealing a patch of pale skin near her collarbone.

Brody leaned in, reaching his hand out to playfully brush a strand of hair away from her neck. But as his fingers grazed her shoulder, Emery flinched violently, dropping the coffee pot onto the marble top with a loud, shattering crash.

The glass exploded across the counter, sending boiling black liquid and sharp shards everywhere as Emery gasped and stumbled backward. Brody jumped out of the way, cursing loudly as coffee splashed over his bare feet and sweatpants.

"Jesus, Emery, what the hell is wrong with you?" Brody snapped, shaking his wet foot in annoyance. Emery was backed up against the wall, her hands pressed flat against the drywall, her face completely drained of color as she shook uncontrollably.

She wasn't just startled by the breaking glass; she looked completely petrified, as if she expected someone to strike her down for making a mess.

I stepped between Brody and Emery before either of my teammates could move another inch toward her.

"Clean this shit up, Brody, and go get changed for practice," I commanded, using the sharpest, most unyielding tone I possessed.

Brody looked at me in surprise, but the look in my eyes made him back off without saying another word. Miller picked up Emery’s phone from the dry side of the island and shoved it deep into his pocket, giving her a warning glance.

"We'll finish this conversation after practice, little virgin," Miller said coldly, turning to follow Brody out of the kitchen toward the bedrooms.

Once the hallway went quiet, I turned back toward Emery, my heart hammering heavily against my ribs. She was still pressed against the wall, her chest heaving as she stared at the broken glass near her bare feet.

"Are you cut?" I asked, my voice dropping its harsh edge for the briefest fraction of a second as I took a slow step toward her.

"I-I'm fine, I'm s-sorry, I'll clean it up right now before he comes downstairs," she stammered, her voice frantic as she dropped to her knees on the floor.

"Stop, don't touch the glass with your bare hands, Emery," I ordered, grabbing her by the waist to lift her instantly back onto her feet.

The second my hands gripped her sides, the oversized jersey pulled taut against her lower back, revealing something that made my blood run completely cold. Beneath the soft fabric, right above her hip, was a deep, dark purple bruise shaped like the imprint of a heavy hand.

I froze, my fingers tightening against her ribs as I stared at the hidden mark on her skin. Emery gasped, frantically pulling the jersey down to cover herself, but it was already too late.

I looked up at her face, seeing the terror in her eyes.

"Who the fuck did that to you, Emery?" I stepped closer to trap her against the counter.