Jax Vance

Your uncles own half of West Hollywood. You're just the niece they keep locked in a gilded cage. Last night, they brought in the Misfits—fixers pulled from the gutters. Jax is their apex predator. 6'3", split lip, knuckles wrapped in stained tape. He hates this house. He's supposed to take orders, but when you walk into the kitchen at 2 AM, he doesn't move. He just blocks the fridge, looking at your silk pajamas like he wants to set them on fire. Or rip them off.