Chapter 57 AT THE PARTY
After a while, his voice faded completely, and his full weight slumped against me.
I froze.
I didn’t know what to do.
“Jaxon,” I whispered, staring down at his face—still tight with pain. “I think we need to get you to the hospital.”
“No…” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath. “Find Troy.”
Troy?
Where the hell was he when he was needed the most?
The door suddenly burst open, and Troy rushed in, a suitcase clutched tightly in his hand. His frantic gaze swept across the room before locking onto mine.
“Oh my God—Jaxon!”
He was on his knees in seconds, dropping beside us. His eyes searched my face briefly, as if silently asking how bad it was, before snapping back to Jaxon.
“How long has he been like this?” Troy asked as he flipped the suitcase open. Inside were neatly arranged vials and syringes, too orderly for something that felt so chaotic.
“I—I don’t know,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I just came in and he already looked pale.”
“Help me pull him over,” Troy instructed.
Together, we carefully eased Jaxon onto his back, laying him flat against the cold floor.
Troy didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed a vial and snapped the cap off, the sharp, clinical scent of alcohol filling the room. His movements were fast but precise as he drew the liquid into the syringe. Then he tugged Jaxon’s pants down just enough to expose his hip, swiped the skin with alcohol in a hurried circle, and drove the needle in.
I couldn’t look away.
My eyes stayed fixed on Troy, on how frighteningly composed he was. It was painfully obvious this wasn’t the first time he’d done this.
My gaze snapped back to Jaxon just as a sharp gasp tore from his chest. His breathing grew loud, uneven. His body began to shake violently.
Troy immediately grabbed his hands, holding them tightly together as Jaxon struggled, his breaths turning harsh and desperate. His skin flushed, turning an alarming shade of red.
Something was happening—something serious—but I didn’t understand it.
My hands trembled as I picked up the now-empty vial from the floor. It was plain. No label. Nothing to tell me what had just been injected into him.
Time blurred.
I didn’t know how long we stayed like that—Troy gripping Jaxon’s hands, Jaxon fighting for air, and me standing there, helplessly watching.
Five minutes?
Ten?
I couldn’t tell.
Then, slowly, Jaxon’s breathing began to steady. The violent tremors eased. His eyelids fluttered before finally opening.
“Jaxon,” Troy said urgently, gently tapping his face to keep him focused. “Hey. Stay with me. Are you okay?”
Jaxon’s eyes opened and closed again, exhaustion weighing them down—but this time, he was awake.
“God damn it,” Jaxon muttered, his voice hoarse and barely holding together.
“Why are we still here?” he added, finally lifting his gaze to mine.
Those bright blue eyes—once sharp and commanding—looked dull now, like a sky swallowed by heavy clouds. His stare lingered on me for a brief moment before he turned away, as if holding my gaze took too much effort.
“Are you okay?” Troy asked as he helped him sit up.
“What time is it?”
The way Jaxon ignored Troy’s question made something snap inside me. My fingers curled at my sides, irritation flaring. The poor guy had been panicking, holding him together, and all Jaxon cared about was the damn time?
“If you’re thinking about going to the party, that’s a terrible idea,” Troy said firmly. “You’re in no condition—”
But Jaxon didn’t listen.
He pushed himself to his feet anyway. The moment he stood, his body wavered, his steps unsteady, like he could collapse again at any second.
Troy was instantly at his side, steadying him as Jaxon moved around the room, grabbing his suit jacket, his phone, his watch—anything that made it look like nothing had just happened.
“I’ll see you downstairs in the car,” Jaxon said flatly. “We’re already late for the party.”
And just like that, he headed for the door.
I stood there, watching him, disbelief settling heavy in my chest. Honestly, if I were Troy, my patience would have run out minutes ago.
I pushed myself up and crossed the room to grab my heels, which I’d abandoned halfway earlier.
“How do you put up with him?” I muttered to Troy as I slipped my heels back on and picked up my handbag from the floor. “He’s so annoying.”
“Yeah,” Troy replied, closing the suitcase with a soft click. “He is.”
But there was something else in his voice—something tired. Something burdened.
I wanted to ask.
I wanted to know what was wrong with Jaxon. Why there was no mention of a hospital. Why whatever had just happened felt… routine.
But I swallowed the questions and followed Troy out instead.
By the time we reached the car, Jaxon was already seated in the back, his head tilted against the seat, eyes closed as if he’d passed out.
I let out a quiet sigh and slid in beside him, staying close—just in case.
I glanced at the time.
Almost 9:00 p.m.
The car pulled away, silence stretching thick between us, making the night feel heavier, duller than it had any right to be.
It didn’t take long before Troy turned into an estate, driving down the quiet road before stopping briefly at the far end. Then he continued into another compound and finally pulled over.
Luxurious cars filled the compound, their polished surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the lights. At the far end stood a massive mansion—grand, intimidating, impossible to ignore.
Jaxon was the first to step out of the car. Without sparing me a glance, he moved toward Troy, leaning slightly into the front seat.
“Stay with her until I get back,” he said quietly before straightening and walking away.
I watched him head toward the mansion, but before he could enter, two security men approached and guided him toward a different entrance—one that looked far more guarded than the rest.
“Where is he going?” I asked as Jaxon disappeared behind them.
“To meet the birthday celebrant,” Troy replied casually.
A birthday party?
Great. Now the only question was—whose?
We both got out of the car, and Troy offered me his hand. I hesitated for half a second before taking it, letting him lead me toward the entrance where the security guards stood.
“Just smile and let me do the talking,” Troy murmured as we approached.
At first, they blocked our path, their expressions unreadable. Then Troy presented the invitation and added calmly,
“We’re with the Lennox.”
That did it.
They stepped aside immediately, granting us access without another word.
The moment we entered the hall, I was hit with the overwhelming sight of it all—people of various status moving about effortlessly, dressed in expensive fabrics, champagne glasses gleaming in their hands as laughter and chatter filled the air.
I took a slow, steadying breath.
“Are you okay?” Troy asked, his gaze searching my face.
“I just want to find this Gray Hushman,” I muttered, “so I can get the fuck out of here.”
Troy’s POV
I could tell instantly how uncomfortable she was. The way her shoulders tensed, how her grip on my hand tightened—it was all there.
A smile tugged at my lips as I gently patted her hand, trying to ground her.
“Relax,” I said softly. “And by the way, you look stunning tonight. I almost didn’t recognize you back at the boutique. For a second, I thought an angel had finally descended to take Jaxon away.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. The tension was still there, lingering.
“Thanks, Troy,” she said quietly, “but I’m not cut out for this. The dressing, the luxury, the mansion—everything. Your hard-headed boss wouldn’t understand that.”
“I know,” I replied. “But don’t worry. I’ll stay right here with you until we—”
My words died in my throat.
Across the room, I saw him.
Jaxon’s father.
Standing there, deep in conversation with the boss.
My heart skipped violently.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I muttered.
“Who?” I heard Nancy ask behind me.
But my feet were already moving before I could stop myself.