Chapter 7

Scarlett POV:

The sound that left my lips wasn't a word. It was a raw, guttural noise of pure rage. My hand moved on its own, the crack of my palm against her cheek echoing in the narrow hallway.

Daisy-Mae stumbled back, her hand flying to her face, a look of shock in her wide, innocent eyes.

And just at that moment, Jax rounded the corner.

He stopped dead, his gaze flicking from Daisy-Mae's reddening cheek to my raised hand. His face, already cold, turned to solid ice. He didn't say a word. He didn't have to. I knew that look. It was the look he got right before he destroyed something.

My heart hammered against my ribs for the rest of the evening. Every smile, every toast felt like a lie. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for his revenge to strike.

The party reached its peak. My father stood at the microphone on the grand stage, beaming with pride. "And now," he boomed, his voice filling the ballroom, "I have the great pleasure of announcing the engagement of my beloved daughter, Scarlett, to the man who will one day help her lead this empire!"

A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone leaned forward, their eyes fixed on Jax.

Across the room, I saw Sterling Prescott. He caught my eye and subtly tapped his heart twice with his fist, a silent question. I gave him the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. I won't back down.

Suddenly, the giant screens behind my father, which had been displaying a slideshow of my childhood photos, flickered and went dark. A moment later, they lit up again.

But it wasn't my face on the screen. It was a picture of my bathroom, steam still hanging in the air. And a shot of my back as I stepped out of the shower. Then another, of my underwear drawer, left slightly ajar.

A wave of confused murmurs went through the crowd. My blood ran cold.

Then, the images were replaced by a video. It was me, in my bedroom, late at night. I was clutching one of Jax's denim work shirts to my chest, my face buried in the fabric, tears streaming down my cheeks. It was a moment of private, pathetic heartbreak, now broadcast for the entire world to see.

The room erupted. Laughter, cruel and sharp, mixed with gasps of shock. I was naked, exposed, my deepest vulnerability turned into a public spectacle.

It was him. It had to be him. This was his revenge for slapping Daisy-Mae.

My father, his face purple with rage, was shouting at the technicians, but they couldn't stop it. The video was on a loop.

Then, a figure broke from the crowd. It was Sterling. He didn't hesitate. He vaulted onto the stage, grabbed a heavy champagne stand, and with a roar of fury, smashed it directly into the projector.

Sparks flew. The screen went black.

In the ringing silence that followed, Sterling walked to the edge of the stage, his chest heaving. He looked directly at me, his eyes burning with a protective fire I had never seen from Jax.

He grabbed the microphone from my stunned father's hand.

"There seems to be some confusion here tonight," he announced, his voice shaking with controlled fury. "So let me make it perfectly clear. The man Scarlett O'Connell is going to marry... is me."