Chapter 31
LEXI
The world felt quieter after.
The air in the room was thick with salt and sweat and something softer—like peace. Morning sunlight slipped through the curtains in thin, golden slats, painting the sheets and Lucas’s bare skin in light that didn’t belong to chaos or fear.
For a long time, neither of us moved. I lay half on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, to the faint sound of waves in the distance, to the fragile stillness we’d built between storms.
Somewhere below, a door closed. A voice called out. And then—like the scent of a memory—came the smell of butter and cinnamon.
I groaned, my cheek pressed to his chest. “Delphine’s croissants.”
His laugh was low and rough, vibrating under my skin. “Doesn’t seem like she takes kindly to people skipping breakfast.”
“She sounds terrifying.”
“I hear she is,” he said, brushing his thumb down my arm. “But I also hear her food’s worth the risk.”
I smiled against him, closing my eyes for one last minute of pretending the world outside didn’t exist. I could almost believe we were just a couple in a big house by the sea, waking to coffee and sunlight instead of locked gates and a target painted on my life.
But pretending never lasted long with Lucas.
“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice softer now.
“I’m thinking.”
He turned his head to look at me. The corners of his mouth lifted, but his eyes stayed serious. “About what?”
I hesitated. “Us.”
He stilled beneath me, but didn’t speak.
“I keep trying to picture what this could look like—if everything weren’t so …” I gestured vaguely at the walls, the world, all of it. “Loud. Complicated. Dangerous.”
His gaze stayed on me, patient and unflinching.
“I’ve spent my whole adult life being managed,” I went on. “My time, my body, my image. I can go anywhere I want, but never without planning. Never without an exit strategy. It’s exhausting, trying to live freely when the world’s already decided who you are.”
“You could stop,” he said quietly.
I blinked up at him. “Stop what?”
“Running yourself ragged for people who don’t deserve you.”
I huffed a laugh. “You make it sound simple.”
“Maybe it is.”
“Lucas,” I said, shaking my head, “you have no idea what it’s like. I can’t even go to the grocery store without someone recording me on their phone. Fame’s a leash. Every move is calculated.”
“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “But you still have a choice. You don’t owe anyone the version of you they made up.”
I studied him. “You sound like someone who’s never had to worry about paparazzi.”
He grinned faintly. “No, but I’ve had people aim worse things at me.”
That pulled a smile from me. “Touché.”
He shifted, propping himself on an elbow, his hand sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “What would you do if it wasn’t like this? If there were no cameras. No expectations.”
I thought about it, tracing idle patterns on his chest. “Sleep late. Get a house with a garden. Take a walk in public without sunglasses. Maybe adopt a dog.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A dog?”
“Yes, a big one. Maybe two. Something loyal that doesn’t care what I look like on the cover of a magazine.”
He smiled, the kind that softened his whole face. “I like that version of you.”
“What about you?” I asked. “If you weren’t … whatever this is.”
He laughed once, low and real. “What?”
I arched a brow. “I was going to say secretive soldier with a mysterious resume, but you tell me.”
He looked away, out the window where sunlight danced on the water. “I’d build something. A place. A life that doesn’t need defending all the damn time.”
His voice had gone quieter, but something in it caught me—a trace of longing I hadn’t heard before.
“You could do that,” I said softly.
“Maybe.” His thumb brushed over my lips. “If I had the right reason to.”
The air between us changed, thickened. For a second, I forgot to breathe.
Something about the way he said it—the right reason—hit me in a place I hadn’t touched in years. I used to want that. The whole thing. Marriage. A home that wasn’t rented out to my production company every other month. Kids whose laughter filled hallways that didn’t echo with emptiness.
When I was younger, it was an innocent dream. Simple. A husband who’d love me for who I was. A little house near the water, maybe. A life where no one knew or cared about red carpets or opening weekends.
Then, as the spotlight grew hotter, the dream twisted into strategy.
I started telling myself maybe it could work if I married someone who understood it—someone in the business.
Another actor, a director, a producer. Someone who wouldn’t flinch at the press or the long hours or the cameras waiting outside our door.
But lately, without even realizing it, I’d stopped thinking about any of that. I’d stopped believing it was for me. Love, marriage, children—those were for people who could disappear into ordinary days. For people who didn’t have to plan every move or hide behind tinted glass.
Somewhere along the way, I’d quietly folded up that dream and put it on a shelf marked unrealistic.
And yet now, lying here in Lucas’s arms, I felt the ache of it again. Not the fame-proof version or the strategic one. The real one. The kind that lived under my ribs, still tender, still wanting.
I just didn’t know how to make it fit with the life I had.
I didn’t know how to make me fit with it.
Then a knock at the door broke the spell.
“Mr. Dane?” Teddy’s voice. “Breakfast is served.”
“Thank you.”
I smiled as footsteps retreated down the hall. “We should probably go. I’m starving.”
“Yeah,” he said, but didn’t move. He leaned in, kissed me once—slow, certain. “Later, we’ll finish that conversation.”
“What conversation?” I teased, slipping out of bed and reaching for the shirt Meghan had lent me.
“The one where I convince you to get two dogs instead of one. Littermates, even.”
I laughed, buttoning it up. “Good luck with that.”
He pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, raking a hand through his hair, and for a moment, he looked disarmingly normal. A man, not a myth. Not a soldier or a savior or anything larger than life. Just Lucas.
When we stepped into the hall, voices and laughter drifted up from below. I could already picture the kitchen—Delphine bustling around in her apron, coffee cups clinking, the brothers’ low rumble of conversation filling the space. It felt like something close to normalcy waited downstairs.
But I wasn’t ready yet.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I said.
He looked at me, brow creasing. “You sure?”
I nodded. “I want to check on Hannah.”
He hesitated, then kissed my forehead. “Okay. Don’t be long.”
When he disappeared down the stairs, I turned toward the other end of the hall. Hannah’s door was cracked just slightly. Light spilled out in a narrow strip across the floor.
I knocked softly. “Hannah?”
No answer.
I pushed the door open another inch—and froze.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, her dark hair pulled into a loose braid. The phone was pressed tight to her ear, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m telling you, it’s gone too far,” she said. Her tone was sharp, panicked. “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
My stomach turned to ice.
A pause. The faint, distorted murmur of another voice on the line.
“I don’t care what you say,” she went on, her voice cracking. “It’s over. I can’t do this anymore.”
The silence stretched long enough that I thought the call had ended—until I heard her again, softer now, pleading. “Please. Just stop.”
I stepped back before she could turn, my heartbeat pounding in my throat. My shirt brushed the doorframe as I eased it shut.
In the hallway, the world tilted. I pressed my back to the wall, swallowing hard, trying to piece together what I’d just heard.
Gone too far. Someone’s going to get hurt.
Who was she talking to? And what was it?
I pushed away from the wall and forced myself to walk—slowly, steadily—down the stairs. The smell of coffee and sugar wrapped around me before I reached the bottom, grounding me in something real.
Delphine looked up from the stove when I entered. “Ah, there she is. You missed the first batch of croissants, but I saved you one.”
I managed a smile. “You’re an angel.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” she said with a wink.
Several brothers and their women were gathered around the island, half-eaten plates in front of them, voices overlapping in easy rhythm. Lucas caught my eye across the room, and something in me unclenched—until I remembered what I’d just overheard upstairs.
I sat beside him, the warmth of his knee brushing mine, and forced myself to take a sip of coffee. The bitter heat hit my tongue, grounding me for half a second, but it didn’t quiet the noise in my head. Hannah’s voice kept replaying.
My stomach twisted. Should I tell him?
Lucas reached for his mug, his gaze cutting sideways to study me. “You okay?” he asked softly.
I looked up, startled. “Yeah. Why?”
“You’re quiet.” His voice was calm, but his eyes searched mine like he was reading a battlefield for signs of movement. “Something’s off.”
He would know if I lied. That was the problem.
Part of me wanted to blurt it all out—that I’d overheard Hannah on the phone, that someone was pulling her strings, that none of this might be what it seemed.
But another part—the one that had learned to smile through interviews, to pretend the whole world wasn’t watching—knew better than to panic without proof.
Hannah was fragile right now. Maybe she’d been talking to a friend. Maybe I’d misunderstood. Maybe I just didn’t want to believe my own sister could be hiding something dangerous.
So, I did what I’d always done best. I performed.
“Just tired,” I said, reaching for a croissant and forcing a smile. “It’s been … a lot.”
He studied me for another beat, then nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “It has.”
I exhaled, the moment passing like a wave I’d just barely ridden out.
Then I reached for the easy distraction, the safe one.
“I should probably check in with Franklin,” I said, picking at the edge of my plate.
“Find out what time he’s expecting me on set today.
I don’t want him sending a search party. ”
Lucas huffed a soft laugh. “Tell him you’re busy being protected by a house full of former commandos.”
I smiled back, the kind that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “That should go over well.”
He nudged my knee under the table, and just like that, I let the rhythm of the room pull me in—the laughter, the smell of cinnamon, the illusion of normalcy.
But in the back of my mind, no amount of pretending could drown out Hannah’s voice.