Her Mischievous Prince

POV: JAXON

There were three things I was crazy about in this world—drums, big bikes, and tattoos. Of course, drums came first. I learned to play when I was eleven, purely out of spite.

My mother had decided it would be “tragic” if her sons were the only non-musical children in her social circle. So she signed us up for lessons like she was enrolling us in a competition we didn’t know we were part of.

Lee, ever the golden child, chose piano: soft, respectable, and applause-worthy. I chose violence. The first time I slammed those sticks down, the crash of cymbals ricocheted off the walls of our house like a declaration of war. If my parents weren’t going to pay attention to me, I was going to make them. Even if it meant rupturing their eardrums.

It worked…briefly. Then the divorce happened. Lee quit piano the week after the papers were signed, but I didn’t quit playing the drums. I just got louder, until it became my primary career.

I got my first tattoo at eighteen, pestering Colin for weeks to sign as my guardian until he finally snapped.

“Fine, but if your dad murders me, I’m haunting you.”

Good times. I told myself I’d only get one, but the needle buzzing against my skin felt like a promise, and so I got hooked. For me, it felt like pain with purpose. Art you carried forever.

Then I bought my first bike after we got famous, and suddenly freedom had a sound. It was the growl of an engine vibrating through your bones.

Somewhere along the way, that obsession turned into me opening a few custom motorcycle garages because apparently I enjoyed financially enabling my bad decisions. But honestly? Building those businesses with my own hands became one of the only things that ever felt completely mine outside of music.

It had been months since I’d ridden one of my babies because of our tour schedules and studio time, plus interviews. Lucid Mantra had been nonstop, but today officially marked one and a half months of freedom.

Maverick and I were tuning our bikes in my garage, the smell of gasoline thick in the air, metal gleaming under the afternoon sun that slanted through the open door.

We were heading to Sky’s beach house. Surf, beer, and no responsibilities. Maddox and Sky were already on their way. I couldn’t help but feel that life was good, which was exactly why my father’s Bentley rolled into the driveway.

I didn’t look up at first. I just muttered, “Of course. Why wouldn’t a luxury sedan show up at a sacred biker moment?”

The car door opened with that soft, expensive click that screamed, “I cost more than your entire garage.”

“Hey, Mr. P!” Maverick called cheerfully, because Maverick was incapable of not being charming.

It was sickening how he wasn’t even trying while the rest of us kept failing in that department.

I wiped my hands on a rag and glanced up, and there he was, Xavier Prince, in his impeccable suit, impeccable posture, and impeccable ability to suffocate me with responsibility.

And beside him was Elvie, his new wife.

It was still weird to say because it was fairly new. They got married like two impulsive teenagers in Vegas. There was no warning and dramatic buildup. One minute she was his executive assistant, the next minute she was Mrs. Prince.

I didn’t even have a clue that they were dating or fucking whatever which way. It was beyond me really, plus I didn’t even want to think about my father’s sex life because, gross.

Until now, I still half-expected Ashton Kutcher to jump out and yell, “You’ve been punked!”

What my father wanted, my father got, I guessed, including grooming me to take over his company when he retired.

“So,” I said, leaning against my Harley. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Dad? If you’re looking for a wedding gift, I’m still having it gift-wrapped. Very rare and expensive. It’s called Emotional Processing.”

Maverick snorted, but Dad didn’t. Instead, he walked past me, eyes sweeping over my Harley-Davidson Pan America 1250 Special like he was assessing a hostile takeover.

“Maverick, son,” he greeted in that low boardroom voice as they shook hands. “Have you met my wife, Elvie?”

The word made me and Maverick slightly flinch. Him, because he didn’t know. Me, because I hadn’t gotten used to the idea yet.

Maverick blinked, just once, but recovered fast. “Congratulations, ma’am. Mr. P. That’s…amazing news.”

Elvie smiled warmly, her Filipino accent soft but noticeable. “Thank you, Maverick. It’s nice to see you.”

I kept busy tightening a bolt, pretending I wasn’t eavesdropping. Small talk was torture. It was like verbal limbo—how low could we go without saying anything meaningful?

But then Dad cleared his throat. “I hope you’ve cleared your schedule for the next three weeks starting tomorrow, son.”

I froze.

“Uh. Come again?”

“The lake house,” he said slowly. “I told you two days ago.”

I stared at him. “Dad. I swear I wasn’t drunk two days ago. Mildly distracted? Yes. Possibly thinking about tacos? Also yes. But I do not recall agreeing to three weeks of…what exactly?”

“Family time.”

The way he said it made it sound like a merger, so I almost laughed. Maverick’s eyes slid to mine. His facial expression told me he was enjoying this.

“Me, Elvie, Lee, you,” Dad continued, “and Riley. We’re all going.”

“Riley?” I echoed.

“My daughter,” Elvie softly answered.

I straightened. “You have a daughter?”

“Yes,” she answered.

I blinked. “Like…a small one? Elementary school? Braces? Still believes in Santa?”

Elvie hesitated. “She’s twenty-five.”

The rag slipped from my hand.

“Twenty—” I coughed. “Twenty-five.”

“That is correct,” Dad said, watching me carefully.

“Wow. That’s…wow. Good for her. Fully formed adult. Taxes and everything,” I babbled because really, the surprises kept coming.

Maverick bit his lip to stop smiling.

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t know you had a kid.”

“She didn’t think it was important to discuss,” Dad replied.

“Not important? Dad, that’s like saying, ‘Oh by the way, I bought a yacht and also a human.’”

Elvie’s shoulders shook slightly, trying not to laugh. In my defense, I genuinely had no idea she even had a daughter. Every time I’d had to stop by, I would attend whatever meeting I was dragged into, exchange the bare minimum number of words with whoever was there, and then disappear before anyone could rope me into another corporate conversation.

“So.” I continued, trying to process this. “We’re all going to the lake house. For three weeks. Like a reality show.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Dad said.

“I’m not exaggerating. Keeping Up with the Princes. I’m envisioning dramatic music already too.”

Xavier Prince didn’t like that at all, so he gave me The Look.

I sighed. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I had plans.”

“With your band?” he asked pointedly.

“With my sanity.”

His jaw tightened. “This is important.”

Something in his tone made me stop and think. It didn’t sound like he meant business or that he was commanding me. It sounded heavier.

I glanced at Elvie and noticed that she looked hopeful and nervous at the same time.

“Is Riley…excited?” I asked casually.

“She’s looking forward to meeting you,” Elvie answered.

I frowned a bit because I knew it was a lie. “Meeting me? Why does that sound ominous?”

Dad firmly clapped my shoulder. “Be there tomorrow. That’s all I’m asking. You’re welcome to join us, Maverick.”

Asking? That was new.

“I’d love to come, Mr. P, but I’ve got some commitments lined up.” Maverick jumped in smoothly.

Liar. The man’s only commitment was deciding which of his clubs to bless with his presence.

Dad nodded and said, “Another time then.”

“Definitely,” Maverick answered.

My father then turned back to me, pinning me with just enough glare to let me know that he was serious. “Tomorrow, Jaxon.”

I swallowed whatever protest was brewing and said, “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

Satisfied, he headed back to the Bentley with Elvie. She gave me a small wave before slipping inside. And as the engine purred, silence filled the garage. When the car disappeared down the street, Maverick let out a long whistle.

“Twenty-five.”

“Shut up,” I said.

“You’re getting a stepsister.”

“Shut up,” I repeated.

“Three weeks. Same house.”

I grabbed a rag and threw it at his face. “If you say anything remotely close to what you’re thinking, I will run you over.”

He laughed, pulling the rag off. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. Your eyebrows did.”

I exhaled hard, scrubbing oil from my hands. My reflection in the chrome looked amused. But underneath? Something unsettled stirred.

Dad never did anything without strategy. Three weeks, and all of us together. The lake house wasn’t just some cabin—it was isolated, quiet, and controlled.

“Why do I feel like this is a setup?” I muttered.

Maverick tilted his head. “For what?”

“I don’t know. Intervention? Corporate brainwashing? Forced bonding exercises?”

“Trust-falls,” he suggested.

“If that man asks me to trust-fall with him, I’m jumping into the lake.”

I swung my leg over my Harley, gripping the handlebars. The familiar weight steadied me.

“You good?” Maverick asked, softer now.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just…weird.”

“Because of the wife?”

“Because of everything,” I admitted. “He doesn’t show up in person unless it matters.”

Maverick studied me. “Maybe it does.”

The garage felt smaller suddenly, so I shoved the helmet on before I could overthink it.

“Let’s go before I start having feelings.”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t want that.”

Our engines roared to life, vibrations rattling through my chest, drowning out the noise in my head. Wind hit my face as we shot down the street, the world blurring into motion and sunlight.

In an instant, I felt free. At least for now. But as we sped toward the coast, one thought lingered stubbornly in the back of my mind.

Twenty-five. What kind of woman was Riley? And why did I suddenly feel like this “family vacation” was about to flip my entire world upside down?

Because something in my gut told me this wasn’t going to be a normal trip. And I had no idea just how complicated this was going to be.