"Combined with everything else? With the recording from today? With Mira's legal strategy?" Jax leans forward slightly. "Yes. It's enough to fight back. Maybe not enough to guarantee winning, but enough to make fighting possible."
The distinction matters. Possible versus guaranteed. I've spent five months learning to accept uncertainty, to live with gaps and doubt and the knowledge that some questions don't have clear answers.
Maybe this is another gap I have to learn to live in. The space between defending myself and accepting defeat.
"Okay." The word comes out steadier than I feel. "We fight. I meet with Mira again tomorrow; I’ll show her the recording, and let her build a strategy. I don't settle. I don't admit to things I can't even remember doing. And if Ezra wants to make this ugly—" I meet Jax's eyes across the couch. "Then we make sure the ugliness goes both ways."
Something shifts in his expression. Approval, maybe. Or recognition that I'm choosing to fight rather than fold.
"Good." He stands, and the movement feels like transition. "I'm going to take this recording to Lucien. He has resources—investigators, researchers, people who can dig into Ezra's background and find leverage. If Ezra wants warfare, we give him warfare."
I already know that for Lucien, I'm not being protected out of kindness. I'm being protected because I'm useful. Because my survival serves someone else's interests.
The knowledge should sting more than it does. But after five years with Gabriel, I'm used to being useful rather than valued. At least this time, the utility serves my survival instead of my subjugation.
"Then tell Lucien I'll cooperate with whatever investigation he needs to run. If he can find dirt on Ezra, I'll use it." I pull my knees up tighter. "I'm done being the cooperative widow who accepts what men decide I deserve."
Jax smiles, and the expression transforms his face from controlled to almost warm. "That's the Lana I've been watching for two weeks. The one who fights instead of folds."
The reminder that he's been watching—monitoring, surveilling, and cataloging my patterns—should bother me more than it does. But after today, after Ezra's threats and Marconi's psychological warfare, Jax's surveillance feels less like a violation and more like the only reason I'm still standing.
He heads toward the door, then pauses. "I'll be back around four-thirty. I want to debrief properly before I head to The Dominion for my shift. Is that okay?"
The question is careful. He's not assuming access, not demanding entry. Asking permission even though we both know I'll say yes.
"Four-thirty works." I hesitate, then add: "And Jax? Thank you. For being there today. I know you couldn't intervene, but knowing you were watching—" I can't quite finish the sentence.
"I know." Two words that carry more weight than they should. "Get some rest before then. You look exhausted."
"I am exhausted." The admission costs me. "But I'll be here."
Then he's gone, and it's just me and Solange in my small apartment with afternoon light turning everything golden and temporary.
Solange finishes her tea, sets down the mug with the careful precision of someone buying time to choose words. "So, Jax."
"What about him?"
"He's not just security anymore. You know that, right?" She meets my eyes. "The way he looks at you. The way he talks about protecting you. That's not professional. That's personal."
She's watching me too closely, seeing past every deflection. "I know." I say simply.
"And how do you feel about that?"
It's the question I've been avoiding since the moment Jax fastened the necklace at my throat and I felt my pulse jump under his fingers. Since the midnight texts about emptiness and surveillance. Since sitting too close on this couch yesterday and neither of us moving away.
"Terrified," I admit. "He's been watching me for weeks. Monitoring my phone. Installing cameras in my apartment. Everything Gabriel did, Jax is doing. Just with better justification."
"But?"
"But it feels different. Gabriel watched me to control. Jax watches me to protect. And he's giving me access, transparency, veto power. Things Gabriel would never allow."
"That is different," Solange agrees. "But Lana? Different doesn't mean safe. You're vulnerable right now. You're being hunted by Ezra, threatened with public destruction, carrying five months of guilt and uncertainty about Gabriel's death. Jax offering protection when you feel most threatened—that's seductive even if it's dangerous."
She's right. Of course she's right. But danger and desire have been tangled together for so long that I don't know how to separate them anymore.
"I'm not making any decisions right now," I say instead of answering. "About Jax, about anything. I'm just trying to survive Ezra's deadline and figure out how to fight back without falling apart."
Solange nods, but her concern is visible. "Okay. But promise me something—if Jax's protection starts feeling like Gabriel's control, you tell me immediately. Before you're too entangled to extract yourself."
