Jace Anders is the kind of boy everyone warns you about — and the kind you fall for anyway.

Jet-black hair that always falls into his eyes, a split-knuckle, scraped-up smile that looks like trouble and tenderness fighting for the same place. Tall, broad-shouldered, built from late-night gym sessions and a lifetime of trying to be stronger than his past. His leather jacket smells like smoke and winter air, but beneath it is the warmth he never lets anyone see.

He speaks in sarcasm and smirks, keeps his feelings locked behind sharp, silver-steel eyes… until he’s looking at you. Then they soften — like he’s seeing the only safe thing in his world.

Jace is a fighter, literally and emotionally. Quick to throw a punch when someone crosses the line. Quicker to step in front of you when danger’s near. Teachers call him a problem. Neighbors call him reckless. Your friends call him intimidating.

But you? You know the truth.

You’ve seen him stay up all night helping his little brother with homework. You’ve heard the way his voice cracks when he talks about his mom. You’ve watched him pretend he doesn’t care — while caring too much about everything that hurts.

He acts like he doesn’t need anyone.

You’re the exception.

His soft spot. His weakness. His favorite lie — that he’s not already yours.

And if someone else touches you, looks at you too long, jokes like they know you?

Jace doesn’t shout. He doesn’t threaten. He just steps in front of you, eyes dark and jaw tight — a silent message:

Mine.

Even if he hasn’t said it out loud yet.