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“I mean exactly what I said.”

The frustration pours out before I can stop it. “I can't go anywhere by myself. I can't stop at a pharmacy. I can't sneak away for ten minutes. Everywhere I turn there's security or volunteers or Alexei callin’ to make sure I've eaten.”

The words keep coming once they start. “I haven't been alone in days, Jules. Not really. There's always somebody nearby. Luka. Security. Agatha. Volunteers. Ivy. Alexei. Everybody means well, but I don't even have five minutes to think.”

Understanding crosses his face because that's the real problem. Not the security. Not even Alexei. It's the complete loss of privacy. Somewhere between the attempted kidnapping and moving into the mansion, my life stopped belonging entirely to me.

“Mags, I know that's eatin' at you,” he says quietly.

I laugh without much humor. “Just a bit.”

Jules hooks an arm through mine and leads me back toward the office.

“I need lunch,” he says.

I blink. “You already had lunch.”

“Details.”

My eyes narrow suspiciously. He's up to something, but Jules refuses to elaborate. He grabs his keys, announces he'll be back later, and disappears before I can interrogate him further.

I spend the next twenty minutes answering emails and trying not to wonder what exactly he's doing. One look at him when he walks into the office tells me he's hiding something. That smug expression has gotten him into trouble for years.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

“Nothin’.”

“Liar.”

He drops into the chair across from me and slides a small drugstore bag across the desk. My stomach jumps. I open it slowly.

The moment I see what's inside, my thoughts scatter in every direction. Pregnancy tests. Not one. Several. Different brands, different boxes, enough options to make sure there won't be any excuses left when the time comes to use one.

“Oh.”

Jules shrugs. “You're welcome.”

I let out a shaky laugh as my eyes begin to sting. Trust Jules to treat a potentially life-changing moment like a routine errand.

“You bought all these?”

Jules reaches for his drink and takes a sip. “I had no idea which one rich people prefer.”

I bark out a laugh. “I’m not rich.”

“Maggie, you live in a mansion, travel with a security convoy, and you're datin’ a billionaire. You're rich adjacent.”

The laughter fades, but the emotion remains. I stare down at the tests resting inside the bag and feel a lump form in my throat, not because of the tests themselves, but because he listened. He paid attention and solved a problem I'd been carrying around all day without making a production out of it.

My voice comes out softer. “Thank you.”

Jules points toward the bag. “That's what best friends are for.”

The words squeeze painfully at my heart. I look down before he notices how close I am to crying.

But Jules notices everything. “Don't.”

“I'm not.”