Jax
His eyes went to the counter.
The steamer.
Right.
The steamer was still sitting there. Upright. Innocent. A sleek little appliance designed for silk and discretion and repairs that required privacy.
He'd used it on her dress. He'd stood behind her and steamed emerald silk like it was the most normal thing he'd ever done, and his brain was now stuck on the object instead of the moment because the object was safer.
The object wouldn't wreck him.
Jax stared at it.
Kept staring.
His fingers twitched once against his thigh.
"Okay, cool. This is fine."
It wasn't fine.
His brain looped one image and refused the rest. The image: her standing in front of the mirror while he fixed wrinkles. Not touching her skin. Just the fabric. Just putting her back together so she could walk out like nothing had undone her.
She'd let him.
That was the part that kept snagging.
His hand moved toward the steamer. Stopped.
Don't be weird about the appliance, his brain offered.
Too late.
He was already weird about the appliance.
His pulse kicked once, hard and misaligned, like a system error he couldn't reroute.
His brain kept replaying what he'd actually done.
Watched the feeds. All day.
Told himself he was checking for Chad, monitoring threats, standard security protocol.
No.
He'd been tracking her. Library door opening. April stepping out, moving toward the powder suites. He'd known where she was going before she did.
Service corridor. Faster route. Got there first.
Waited.
Then stepped into the room while she was at the mirror, hands braced on marble, trying to hold herself together.
He'd told himself it was protection. Safety. Being available when she needed him.
This was surveillance. Interception. Watching someone who didn't know they were being watched and calling it care.
She'd figured it out anyway.
"You've been watching."
She knew. Not just the tickets. Two years of manufactured proximity. The feeds. The tracking. The pattern.
And she'd kissed him.
That's not how consequences work.
Except, server room: Consequences aren't sexy until I say so.
She'd seen the full scope. The boundary violations. The obsession.
And she'd recategorized it. Not forgiven. Claimed.
Turned his surveillance into hers to direct. His violation into her terms.
The guy who watched feeds and tracked movements and crossed every line he had.
She saw it and decided it was acceptable when she was the one in control.
He had nowhere to put that.
His hand moved. It touched the steamer's handle.
Still warm.
Real.
"Okay," he said to the empty room.
But it wasn't okay.
Because the world had shifted.
April Feuller had chosen him, not as a convenient option, not as chaos, not as rebellion.
As him.
The steamer sat there. Silent and smug.
Jax's fingers curled once against the counter.
He didn't move.
Couldn't, yet.
Walking out meant being normal about it.
He had no idea how to be normal about her kissing him first, choosing him and then walking out with zero regrets.
The steamer gleamed.
He stared at it one more second.
Then turned away before he stole the fucking steamer.