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"Thought prospects were supposed to jump when told." He actually sounded like he was teasing me just then.

Lennox laughs. I shoot Switch a look.

"Already using my own words against me. That's dirty," I throw back at him, and Switch's mouth twitches.

"I'll be outside your door then. Don’t be late." Then he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I lean my head against Lennox's shoulder. His arm comes around me automatically. “Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“No, but I will be,” I answer with a sigh.

"Just keep your head down for a while. Don't go wandering around town. If he finds out you're here⁠—"

I cut him off, “He’ll come. I know.”

There’s no point in pretending otherwise. Nicholas isn’t the kind of man who lets betrayal go unanswered. Especially not mine.

Lennox’s jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

Silence settles in as muffled laughter drifts up from the clubhouse below. Three years without seeing him, and somehow, sitting beside him still feels familiar.

“You look different,” he says finally.

I laugh weakly. “That usually happens over three years.”

“Not what I meant.” He tilts his head.

I glance at him cautiously. His eyes narrow slightly like he’s trying to piece together parts of me that don’t fit anymore.

Lennox exhales slowly. “Did he hurt you?”

I look up sharply. His face stays calm, but I know him well enough to see the violence underneath the question.

Always.

I hesitate too long, and he takes that as an answer.

Lennox goes terrifyingly still. “How bad?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” I break eye contact, shaking my head, already done with the conversation.

“Tatum.” His voice raises slightly.

“It’s done, okay?” I snap before lowering my voice again. “I left.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” His tone is lower.

I stand abruptly, pacing toward the bedroom before turning back to him. "You think I spent three years with a man running a trafficking operation and walked away untouched?"

Regret flashes across his face instantly. “Fuck,” he mutters quietly.

I wrap my arms around myself, speaking quietly. “He wasn’t always bad.”

Lennox scoffs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“No seriously,” I insist. “At first he was…different.”

Protective. Attentive in ways no one had been before. Obsessive, too, but back then, I mistook obsession for love.