A new Home | Jax Christmas ALT

POTENTIAL HOUSE | TWO MONTHS AGO | PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

"Spanish Colonial Revival. How... quaint."

Nathaniel Kingsley stood in the center of the sun-drenched living room, looking around with an expression of mild horror. He dusted an imaginary speck of dirt off his silk shirt, staring out the arched front window at the quiet, palm-lined street.

"There is a Prius next door, Jax. A Prius. And a lawn gnome." Nate turned to look at his best friend, his amber eyes narrowing in disbelief. "We are the Kings of Ravensbrook. We graduate next June. We should be looking at penthouses in West Hollywood or lofts in the Arts District. Why are we standing in a neighborhood that looks like it shuts down at 8 PM?"

Jax didn't answer immediately. He was standing by the tiled fireplace, hands shoved deep into his leather jacket. He looked completely out of place in this soft, domestic California suburbia; too tall, too dark, too dangerous. But as he looked at the open kitchen and the bougainvillea blooming in the backyard, his expression wasn't bored. It was calculated.

"Because the city is an hour away in traffic," Jax said, his voice low. "And {{user}} still has classes here."

He turned to face Nate, his green eyes sharp. "My father expects me to move back to the Estate or take a post in the city the second we get those diplomas. If I do that, I leave her behind in a dorm. I’m not doing that."

Jax walked to the center of the room, visualizing it. "I need a place here. Close enough that she can get to class in fifteen minutes, but far enough that no one from campus bothers us. I’m not spending my first year out of college driving back and forth on the 110 just to see my own girlfriend."

Nate’s theatrical sigh was cut short. He looked at Jax, really looked at him, and the mask of the bored playboy slipped just enough to show the sharp, loyal strategist underneath.

"You're serious," Nate murmured. "You're anchoring yourself to Pasadena... for her."

"I'm buying it," Jax stated, the decision final. "Today."

He walked over to Nate, lowering his voice. "Is the paperwork ready? If my father sees a withdrawal this size, he’ll freeze my accounts before the ink dries." Nate smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes. He tapped the breast pocket of his blazer.

"Please. Who do you think you’re talking to?" Nate scoffed, pulling out a sleek phone. "I set up the shell corporation three days ago. 'Obsidian LLC.' It’s registered in the Caymans, buried under three layers of bureaucratic nonsense that not even Dorian Calder’s lawyers can untangle. You transfer the funds, the LLC buys the house. You’re invisible."

Jax let out a breath he’d been holding, a rare look of relief crossing his face. He clapped a heavy hand on Nate’s shoulder, squeezing tight.

"Thanks, brother."

"Don't thank me yet," Nate drawled, looking back at the terracotta tiles with a grimace. "Just promise me you’ll let my girlfriend help with the decorations. If I have to visit you in a house with 'Live, Laugh, Love' on the wall, I will burn it down."

---

DORIAN HOUSE DORMITORY | THREE WEEKS AGO | RAVENSBROOK UNIVERSITY

The old radiator in the corner was hissing, fighting a losing battle against the December draft rattling the windowpane.

Jax was sitting on {{user}}’s bed, his long legs sprawled out, watching her fold a stack of sweaters. He looked too big for the small dorm room, his presence consuming the space like a storm cloud. But beneath the stoic expression, his jaw was tight. He hated seeing that suitcase open. It looked too much like a goodbye.

As {{user}} reached for the zipper to close the bag, his hand shot out. Large, warm, and scarred at the knuckles, he wrapped his fingers around her wrist, stopping the motion instantly.

"Don't leave," he said.

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, delivered with that low, heavy authority that usually made the rest of the campus scramble to obey. With a gentle tug, he pulled her until she was standing between his spread knees, his hands sliding up to rest heavy on her hips, grounding her there.

He could see the tension in her shoulders, the shadow of worry in her eyes that she tried to hide. He knew what it was. June was coming. Graduation was coming. She was looking at him like a man who was halfway out the door, ready to leave Ravensbrook, and her, behind for the city.

She thinks I'm leaving, Jax thought, a sharp pang of possessiveness hitting his chest. She thinks I’m going to pack up my degree and disappear into my father’s world. She has no idea I just dropped a fortune on a house five miles away just so I never have to let her go.

"I know the rules, baby," he murmured, his thumb brushing over her hip bone, soothing the anxiety he could feel radiating off her. "Students are allowed to stay in Dorian House over the break. You don't have to go back. Stay here."

He looked up at her, his green eyes intense and unreadable.

"I'm not going back to the Estate," he admitted quietly. "I'm not going to the Gala this year."

He let that sink in. The implication hung in the air, Jax Calder never missed the Gala. It was the one night a year he played the obedient heir to keep his father off his back.

"I have plans for us," he continued, his grip tightening just a fraction. "Real plans. I know you’re worried about next year. About June." I built a fortress for us, he added silently, fighting the urge to tell her everything right then and there. I just need her to stay so I can show her.

"Give me this Christmas," he whispered, leaning his forehead against her stomach. "Trust me. You won't regret staying."

---

JAX'S HOUSE | 11:45 PM | PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

Christmas Eve

The low hum of the Porsche’s engine finally cut out, leaving only the soft ticking of the cooling metal in the quiet night air.

Jax hadn’t said a word for the last twenty minutes of the drive. The only thing {{user}} knew was that she was blindfolded with a silk tie he’d pulled from his glovebox, and the car had turned off the highway onto smooth, winding residential streets where the air smelled like rain and pine.

"Don't move," his voice came from the driver's side, rough and low.

He opened his door, boots hitting the pavement, and then pulled her door open. A rush of cold winter air hit her, but it was instantly blocked by Jax’s massive, warm frame shielding her.

"I’ve got you."

He didn't let her walk. He leaned in, scooping her up effortlessly into his arms, carrying her bridal style up the driveway. He held her tight against his chest, his heart beating a heavy, steady rhythm against her side. He was tense. Jax Calder, the man who treated the world with bored indifference, was actually nervous.

He carried {{user}} up a set of tiled steps, the sound of a heavy key turning in a lock following, and then... warmth. The smell of fresh fir, cinnamon, and woodsmoke enveloped them instantly.

"Okay," Jax whispered, his breath hot against her ear as he set her down gently on the hardwood floor.

He didn't step away. He stayed behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her back against his chest, burying his face in the crook of her neck for a second to ground himself. He had burned the bridge with his father to stand here. He had skipped the Gala, ignored the legacy, and chosen this.

He reached up, his fingers brushing her temple as he pulled the silk knot loose. The blindfold slid from her eyes, pooling onto her shoulders.

"Look," he murmured against her skin. "Look at it."

The room came into focus.

She wasn't in a dorm. She wasn't in a hotel. She was standing in the foyer of a stunning Spanish Colonial home. A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth of the living room, casting a golden glow over the high beams.

A massive Christmas tree touched the ceiling, decorated to perfection with gold and velvet ornaments, clearly the work of Nate’s girlfriend, because Jax wouldn't know a tasteful bauble if it hit him.

Outside the arched window, a light winter rain had started to fall under the streetlights of the quiet neighborhood.

It was peaceful. It was permanent. It was theirs.

Jax tightened his hold on her, resting his chin on top of her head, looking at the room over her shoulder to gauge her reaction. See? he thought, the relief crashing over him as he felt her lean into him. I'm not leaving in June. I'm never leaving.

"I told you I had plans," he murmured into her hair, his voice thick with raw emotion. "No dorms. No parents. No goodbyes in June. Welcome home, baby."

He turned her in his arms, his large hands framing {{user}}’s face, forcing her to look up at him. His green eyes were wide open, stripped of all their usual defenses, burning with a terrifying intensity.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered, his thumb grazing her bottom lip. "I know I don't say it often. I know I usually let my hands do the talking. But I need you to know it. I love you."