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"I'm done with masks," Brock says quietly, the resonance of his voice filling the quiet suite. "I'm done with aliases, and I'm done pretending in that school hallway that you're just another teacher to me. I want you openly. I want to earn the right to have you in my life. But you don't owe me forgiveness, and you sure as hell don't owe me a second chance. If you want me to walk out that door right now and never bring this up again outside of Kayla's education, tell me. Say the word, and I'll leave."

He stops and waits.

"If you want me to leave, say the word," Brock says, his voice thick with controlled emotion. "I'll walk out right now. I'll delete the app, I'll never contact you privately again, and every interaction between us from this moment forward will be strictly professional and limited to Kayla's schooling."

The quiet in the room is deafening.

Every rational instinct screams at me to end this now—to protect my career, to protect my pride, to close the door on a complicated, dangerous man who bypassed my defenses before I ever knew his name.

My throat burns. My heart thumps violently against my ribs.

I look at his broad frame, his steady, sorrowful gaze, and the door behind him.

"Leave," I say.

The single word hangs between us in the still air.

A subtle shadow crosses Brock's features, but he doesn't argue, plead, or hesitate. He inclines his head in a quiet, respectful nod.

"All right," he says softly.

He turns the handle, pulls the door open, and steps out into the carpeted corridor.

"Goodnight, Megan."

The heavy door swings shut, and the latch clicks into place.

The silence that follows is suffocating.

I stand frozen in the center of Suite 1204, my hands trembling at my sides, my breath hitching in my chest. The engraved pen sits on the desk across from me, a permanent reminder of the man who just walked away.

I told him to go. He gave me complete control and respected my boundary without question.

And as I sink down onto the edge of the unmade bed, shaking and overwhelmed by the lingering scent of cedarwood, I am left staring at the locked door—torn between the anger that made me send him away and the terrifying reality that I am already in love with him.

Chapter Ten

BROCK

The door closes behind me with a heavy, final latch.

I stand in the carpeted hallway of the Grand Sovereign, staring at the brass numbers of Suite 1204 while my hands curl into tight fists at my sides.

She told me to leave. So I left. I take a slow breath, turn on my heel, and walk toward the elevator. The ride down is quiet. The lobby is empty. I walk out into the cool November air, get into my car, and pull onto the main road toward home.

The drive across town gives me too much time with my thoughts.

I don't need to replay every detail of the confrontation to know where we stand. Megan was right. I recognized her before I ever touched her, and I chose to conceal that knowledge. I let her believe she was sharing herself with an honest stranger when I already knew her professionally, personally, and had spent more than a year watching her with my daughter.

The intimacy we built depended on her trusting that Vanguard was giving her the truth within the boundaries of anonymity. I violated that foundation the moment I walked through the door.

I pull into the driveway, kill the engine, and sit in the dark for a moment.

The front porch light glows soft and yellow against the brick. Inside, Kayla is waiting.

My seven-year-old daughter. The center of my life, and the reason every step I take has to be solid.

I grab my coat, step out into the chill, and unlock the front door.