Page 68 of Lennox Lane

Lennox had stared at both of them, irritated and exposed.

Then KC said the thing that had followed him for days.

“Lane doesn’t need a man to rescue her. She already rescued herself. She needs a man who won’t make her regret resting.”

Back in his bedroom, Lennox picked up his jacket from the chair and slid it on.

He understood now.

Not fully. Maybe he never would. Lane’s pain belonged to Lane. Her story was not his to master, solve, or sanitize. But he understood enough to know KC had been right. Lane didn’t need saving. She needed somewhere safe to put the sword down.

Not forever.

Not all at once.

Maybe not even for long.

But long enough to sleep. To laugh. To eat a meal she loved without checking for the cost. To dance without watching every exit. To let someone else be angry with her, not because she could not hold it, but because she should never have had to hold it alone.

Lennox looked at the mirror again.

There he was.

The Midnight Ledger.

The son of a man who had used power like a weapon and love like a leash. A man who had inherited a name he never wanted and spent years trying to make it mean something less ugly. A man who had messed up with Lane enough times to know desire without accountability was just another form of harm.

He was done with half measures. Fear would no longer be dressed as distance. He was finished thinking all his eggs were safer scattered across baskets he did not even care about. Lane Sanders was worth putting every egg in her basket.

She was worth the risk of looking foolish if he was told no. He would put back together every car she threatened to dismantle as long as she was in his life. She was worth showing up without a firewall between his mouth and his heart, and he would do whatever it took for her to feel comfortable putting him in that spot in her life.

Not as her owner.

Not as her savior.

As the soft spot.

A knock sounded lightly from the hall.

“Robot?”

His chest warmed.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous that one woman could call him Robot and make it feel like both an insult and a blessing.

“Yeah?”

“I’m coming down. If you make one comment that sounds like we’re committing crimes, I’m staying home.”

He smiled. “I’ll behave.”

“That has not been historically supported by evidence.”

He stepped out of the bedroom and headed downstairs. “I’m building a new record.”

“It’s very short.”