Roman Lennox

Chapter 4

Lyra

Groaning, I forced myself upright, the blanket sliding off as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. The events of last night began trickling back, unspooling like a bad sitcom. Anthony. The ridiculous condition I’d thrown at him—that his boss should show up personally if he wanted my forgiveness. I pressed the heels of my hands to my temples and groaned again.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I grabbed my toothbrush and began scrubbing, glaring at my reflection in the mirror. “What the hell were you thinking?” I muttered around a mouthful of toothpaste. Then, as I rinsed, I caught sight of the faint smudges of mascara under my eyes and laughed. No, correction—I cackled. Pointing the toothbrush at the mirror like it was a microphone, I said, “Well done, Lyra. Really. Top-tier decision-making right there.”

The sound of my own laughter filled the tiny bathroom, echoing against the tiles. But as I stood there, dripping toothbrush in hand, the laughter began to fade, replaced by the heavy weight of reality settling back on my shoulders.

I showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away the remnants of last night—the alcohol, the emotions, the stupid, fleeting hope that any of it had been productive. By the time I stepped out, the steam-filled room felt like a cocoon, but I wasn’t comforted. Wrapping myself in a towel, I walked back to the bedroom and began packing my things.

It was time to go.

Back to D.C., back to the job I didn’t love but tolerated because it paid the bills. Back to a life that wasn’t what I had envisioned but was at least mine. No Maldives trip, no picture-perfect engagement. Just the quiet, unremarkable existence I’d been living before I decided to believe in fairytales.

As I folded my clothes, my mind wandered to Ethan. Last night, I’d been full of fire and rage, imagining all the ways I could confront him. In my head, I’d played out this dramatic scene where I screamed at him, threw things, maybe even slapped him across his smug face again. But now?

Now, I just felt hollow.

Cheating wasn’t a mistake—it was a choice. A deliberate, selfish choice he made knowing exactly what it would do to me. The trust was gone. The relationship was over, whether I wanted to admit it or not.

A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and unbidden. I swiped it away angrily, like it had betrayed me. I wasn’t going to cry over him—not anymore. Not after everything.

Going back to him, even just to ask why, would only bruise me further. His indifference when I disappeared told me everything I needed to know. He hadn’t cared enough to look for me, to call or text. Our relationship had ended long before I walked in on him with someone else. I just hadn’t been ready to see it.

I sighed as I zipped up my suitcase and sat down on the edge of the bed. My reflection in the mirror caught my eye, and I couldn’t help but stare. What a mess. Puffy eyes, pale skin, hair still damp and curling at the ends. This wasn’t me—not the version of me I wanted to be, anyway.

One more hour, I thought. Just one more hour, and I’d leave this city behind. Leave him behind.

A sharp knock at the door startled me. I frowned, glancing at the clock. It wasn’t time for checkout yet, and I hadn’t ordered room service. My stomach churned at the thought of who it could be.

Ethan.

No. I shoved the thought aside as quickly as it came. Ethan didn’t know where I was. He didn’t care enough to find out.

Then my mind flickered to last night. Anthony. The overly dedicated delivery guy with his flowers and baskets and relentless determination. He’d promised to come back, hadn’t he? Because of his boss and some obsessive-compulsive need for redemption.

When I opened the door, my mind was already halfway to rolling my eyes before the person could even speak. Who else would show up with flowers and a basket of overpriced apology trinkets after what I told him last night? No way in hell was the CEO of a multinational company going to darken the threshold of my shabby hotel room over some cookies.

Sure enough, there he was: Anthony, standing awkwardly in the hallway, his arms laden with not one but two bouquets—white roses in one hand and red roses in the other—and an apology basket so massive it looked like he’d robbed a high-end department store. His smile was strained, practically plastered onto his face, and there was something about the way he was holding himself that made me wonder if he’d slept at all.

“Good morning, Miss Lyra,” he said, overly cheery.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. I wasn’t in the mood, but I couldn’t bring myself to be angry at him. The poor guy was clearly just doing his job, as over-the-top as it was. “Good morning, Anthony. Lovely to see you first thing in the morning,” I replied, forcing a polite smile.

His cheeks flushed slightly—why was he blushing?—and he shifted nervously, the basket wobbling slightly in his grip.

I decided to have a little fun. It wasn’t his fault, and I wouldn’t unleash my wrath on him, but a little teasing might lighten the awkwardness. “So,” I said with a raised brow, “no boss to show up for an apology as I requested?”

His smile faltered for half a second, and I reached out to grab the flowers and basket, ready to free him from whatever misery his OCD boss had put him through. But before my fingers could close around the bouquet, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

“My apology is here, as you wished.”

I froze. That voice—it was smooth, rich, and velvety, with just the right amount of authority to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Slowly, my eyes widened as Anthony shifted aside, and there he was: him. The man from yesterday. The big shot. Roman Lennox.

Standing right in front of me, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his pale blue eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made me swallow hard.

Was I hallucinating? Maybe the alcohol was still messing with me. Or maybe I was dreaming—still wrapped in my blanket, tangled in last night’s ridiculous fantasies. Because why would Roman Lennox, CEO of Lennox Global Logistics, actually be here?

But he was.

“My employee informed me you requested my presence,” he said, his tone measured and almost bored, like this was just another checkbox on his to-do list. His posture was immaculate, hands tucked casually into his pockets, exuding an air of effortless power that made me feel woefully underdressed in my leggings and oversized hoodie.

Anthony, looking like he was about to pass out, stammered, “Miss Lyra, this is Mr. Roman Lennox, the CEO of Lennox Global Logistics.” He practically shoved the flowers and basket toward me, but Roman intercepted them, holding them out himself.

The man’s expression didn’t shift—not a smile, not a frown, just a perfectly blank, inscrutable mask as he said, “My apologies for the inconvenience I caused you the other day.”

Anthony looked like he was holding his breath, his face almost turning blue.

I blinked. Twice. This was real. This was actually happening. For a split second, my mind wandered to Ethan. He wouldn’t have done this. Hell, he wouldn’t have even noticed if someone trampled my cookies. But here was Roman Lennox, CEO of a multinational empire, apologizing for… bumping into me.

Maybe I’d judged him too soon. Maybe not every man was as awful as Ethan.

“It’s okay,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. I took the flowers and basket from him, the weight surprisingly grounding.

Roman looked ready to leave, and I thought that would be it. A surreal moment to tell my mom about later, something to laugh at on the train ride home. But then, against all reason, I opened my mouth again.

“It’s surprising,” I said, my voice sharper now, “that you’re prim and proper, yet your employment rules aren’t—or at least, some of your employees aren’t.”

Anthony visibly stiffened, his wide eyes darting between Roman and me like a tennis match. Roman, however, didn’t react. Not a single twitch of emotion crossed his face as he tilted his head slightly, intrigued.

“Do you have insights to share about my employment contracts?” he asked, his tone even but laced with curiosity.

I should’ve let it go. I should’ve smiled, thanked him, and shut the door. But the volcano inside me had other plans.

“Yes,” I said, crossing my arms. Your North America Logistics Manager has a habit of crossing lines with his coworkers. Kissing them. Doing other things. In the workplace.

Roman’s pale blue eyes flicked to Anthony, who looked ready to melt into the carpet. “It’s not him,” I added quickly. “He’s actually a model employee. This is about someone else entirely.”

Anthony exhaled audibly, but Roman didn’t flinch. His gaze returned to me, steady and unyielding. I expected him to brush it off and walk away. Instead, he said something that floored me.

“Why don’t you join me for breakfast? I’d like to hear more about these… insights.”

I blinked at him, stunned. Breakfast? With him?

I had an hour before my train. One hour to kill. And suddenly, I found myself smirking. “Sure,” I said. “Let’s talk about your employment contracts.”

Because if I was leaving this city, I might as well go out with a bang.