POV Bella
My heart slammed against my ribs—hard, erratic, wrong.
Not now. Please, not now.
"Well, well." Laila's voice cut through the air like a blade. "Is little Miss Perfect coming to the races with us tonight?"
She positioned herself between Ajax and me, her body language screaming ownership. Her gaze tracked from my swollen lips to my disheveled hair, and her perfectly glossed mouth curved into something venomous.
"No." I forced the word out steady despite my racing pulse. "I have responsibilities at home."
"Of course you do." Laila's laugh shattered against the concrete walls. "Straight-A students need their beauty sleep. Wouldn't want to miss your 8 AM lecture tomorrow, would you? Some of us can handle a little excitement without running home to mommy."
"Laila, ease up." Ajax's voice carried that casual tone I'd heard him use with her countless times. "Not everyone can function on three hours of sleep and Red Bull like you."
He bumped her shoulder playfully, and she leaned into him with practiced ease. The familiarity of their interaction—after what we'd just done, after how he'd touched me—sent nausea rolling through my stomach.
"It's just a joke," Ajax said, catching my expression.
Just a joke. Like I was just a joke. Like the last thirty minutes meant nothing.
"Right." I grabbed my bag, my fingers trembling as I pulled his jacket tighter. "I should go."
"Wait." Laila's manicured hand caught my arm, nails digging in slightly. "Is that Ajax's jacket?"
The garage went silent. Jake whistled low. Delaney's eyebrows shot up.
"Maybe you should give it back." Laila's voice dropped to pure predator. "Wouldn't want people getting the wrong idea about what you mean to him."
"Laila—" Ajax started.
"What? I'm just saying, borrowing clothes implies something... intimate." She stepped closer, perfume overwhelming. "And we all know Ajax doesn't do intimate. He does fun. Temporary. Disposable."
"That's enough." Ajax moved forward, but his voice lacked real heat.
"Is it?" Laila turned to him, pressing her hand to his chest. "Baby, you're confusing the poor girl. Making her think she's special when we both know she's just—"
"She's wearing my jacket because I gave it to her." Ajax's voice carried sudden edge. "I like seeing her in it. Lets everyone know exactly who she belongs to."
The crew erupted in whistles and catcalls. Jake slapped Ajax's back. "Finally staking your claim, brother?"
"About time," Delaney added. "The sexual tension was getting painful to watch."
But the words—who she belongs to—ignited fury in my chest. I belonged to no one. Especially not someone who treated me like a trophy to display or hide depending on his audience.
"Then it's yours." I stripped off the jacket with deliberate precision, the garage's cold air hitting my skin like punishment. I pressed the leather into Laila's eager hands. "Consider it a gift."
"Bella—" Ajax reached for me.
"Don't." I stepped back, the chest pain intensifying. "Just... don't."
"Come on, princess." Jake's voice held mockery. "Don't be dramatic. It's just a jacket."
"Everything's just something with you people, isn't it?" The words erupted before I could stop them. "Just a joke, just a jacket, just a game. Nothing means anything."
"Not true." Ajax moved closer, his crew watching with rapt attention. "Some things mean—"
"What? Tell me what means something to you, Ajax." I met his gaze directly. "Because from where I'm standing, you're exactly what everyone says. All performance, no substance."
Silence crystallized in the garage. Laila's triumphant smile made my stomach turn.
"Harsh, princess." Jake's voice carried new respect. "Didn't know you had claws."
"There's a lot you don't know." I shouldered my bag, black spots dancing at the edges of my vision. "Enjoy your race."
I pushed past them, ignoring Ajax calling my name, ignoring the pain exploding through my chest with each step. The cold spring air hit like a slap, but I kept moving.
Three blocks. I made it three blocks before collapsing against a brick wall, fumbling for my medication with shaking hands. The pills scattered across the sidewalk.
"Shit, shit, shit."
I dropped to my knees, gathering them desperately, shoving three into my mouth dry. My phone screen swam as I called for a taxi.
Fifteen minutes. I barely caught the words on the screen.
I pressed my back against the wall, counting heartbeats that refused to steady. No messages from Ajax. I hated myself for checking, hated more that it hurt.
By the time I slid into the back seat, the phone was still blank, so I set it face down.
The taxi driver kept glancing at me in the mirror. "You okay, miss? You don't look so good."
"Fine." The lie came automatic. "Just tired."
But when we pulled up to the estate, my legs barely held. I fumbled with bills, overtipping in my desperation to get inside.
"Bella?" My mother's voice echoed from the foyer. "Darling, you're freezing. What happened to your jacket?"
"Lost it." I gripped the bannister, the stairs stretching impossibly long.
"Bella, you're burning up." Her cool hand pressed to my forehead. "Richard! Call Dr. Harrison!"
"Mom, I'm—"
The world tilted. My mother's panicked face blurred as my knees buckled.
"Catch her!" My father's voice, distant and distorted.
Strong arms—not Ajax's, never Ajax's—lifted me. The familiar smell of my father's cologne mixed with my mother's perfume as they carried me to the couch.
"Her medication," Zane's voice cut through the fog. "She needs the emergency dose."
Hands on my wrist, checking my pulse. Pills pressed between my lips. Cool washcloths on burning skin.
"What triggered this?" Dr. Harrison asked later.
"Stress," I managed. "Just stress."
But it was more than stress. It was a leather jacket and garage kisses. It was a boy who touched you like you mattered then laughed with other girls. It was wanting things you couldn't have with time you didn't possess.
"She needs rest." Dr. Harrison's voice faded in and out. "Complete rest. Her heart can't take much more strain."
My phone sat silent on the nightstand. Still no messages.
Ajax Spencer had given me his jacket, claimed me in front of his friends, then let me walk away into the cold without it.
Maybe Laila was right. Maybe I was just another temporary entertainment in his catalog of disposable girls.
The fever pulled me under, but even in dreams, I couldn't escape the memory of his hands on my skin or the sound of his laughter as I fled into the night.