Jade nodded slowly, exhaling a thin stream of vapor.
"Of course. Makes sense. You've built the perfect case: redeemed heir, charity king, dating Ms. Boring-but-Respectable. Asking for therapy now isn't a red flag. It's the final checkmark on your I'm fixed list."
Lexi laughed. "Exactly. Go in humble. Go in grateful. Thank you for giving me this chance to prove myself, Grandfather. Therapy is the last piece. He'll eat it up."
Nyx's eyes darkened with quiet certainty.
"Yeah. And if he says yes… I get back in that office. Face-to-face with her. No more screens. No more distance. Just us. And she won't be able to hide behind professional boundaries when I walk in looking like this."
He gestured vaguely at himself, polished, composed, untouchable. "And smelling like victory."
Jade grinned wider. "God, I love villain-you. When are you asking him?"
Nyx glanced at his calendar on the desk. "Tomorrow. After the morning briefing. He'll be in a good mood if the expo numbers look strong. I'll keep it short. Respectful. Irrefutable."
Lexi raised her coffee cup in a mock toast. "To therapy. And to the moment Rowan realizes she never really escaped you."
Nyx didn't toast back. He just smiled small, cold, patient. "Of course," he said softly. He stared at the closed door of his office.
Tomorrow.
One more conversation.
One more performance.
And then the door to Rowan's world would crack open again.
He was ready.
He'd been ready for weeks.
And this time, he wouldn't be leaving without what he came for.
~~^-^~~
The black town car hummed through the midnight streets, city lights streaking past like blurred neon veins.
Nyx sat in the back, scrolling Raxa's exploding post. 1.8 million likes now, headlines multiplying: Nyx Ravencroft's New Romance: From Chaos to Commitment?
His thumb paused on Noah's unread DM, a small smile ghosting his lips. Therapy ask tomorrow. Perfect timing.
The car slowed abruptly, then stopped.
He frowned, leaning forward. "What is it, Driver?"
The driver glanced back through the partition, voice calm but tense. "Traffic jam up ahead, sir. Something happened. Looks like a fender-bender or fight. Police lights everywhere."
Nyx's eyes flicked to the window. Gridlock stretched a block ahead: horns blaring, bystanders craning necks. Blue-red flashes pulsed from two traffic cops waving cars around a cluster on the roadside.
"Pull over," he said flatly. "Let me out."
The driver hesitated. "Sir, it's not safe..."
"Now."
The door unlocked. He stepped out in his post-dinner coat over tailored shirt and trousers, shoes clicking sharp on asphalt.
Cool night air hit his face. Damp with coming rain, carrying faint exhaust and street food grease.
Ahead, chaos unfolded under sodium lamps.
Two middle-aged women. One warm-faced, apron strings dangling from a shopping bag exploded across the pavement. The other elegant silver-streaked hair disheveled. Stood frazzled, vegetables spilling: tomatoes rolling into gutters, carrots scattering like bloody fingers, greens wilting on oily asphalt.
Their battered sedan idled crookedly nearby, front bumper kissing a flashy red sports car's rear. Minor scrape, nothing major.
A boy no older than 20s, gelled hair, designer jacket, Ravencroft crest patch glinting yelled inches from their faces, finger jabbing.
"You stupid bitches! Look what you did to my Maserati! My dad's gonna sue your broke asses into the ground. Get your welfare cart off the road before I have you towed with your ugly faces in it!"
One woman clutched the other's arm, voice shaking but firm.
"It was an accident. The light changed, your car cut us off! We're sorry about the bumper, but yelling won't fix..."
"Shut up, hag!" the boy snarled, kicking a tomato that splattered her shoe. "You smell like market trash. Move before I make you."
Traffic cops. One stocky, one wiry. Pushed through gawkers, badges flashing.
"Ma'am, sir clear the road. You two... get in your car and go. We'll handle insurance later."
The women protested, voices rising. "He assaulted our vehicle! He's threatening..."
"Lady, accidents happen. Move along or we ticket you both."
The cops grabbed their elbows. Gentle but firm. Herding them toward the sedan. Vegetables crunched under boots. Bystanders filmed on phones.
Nyx's jaw locked.
He strode forward. Parting the crowd like water, shoes stabbing pavement. "Stop."
His voice sliced clean. Low, commanding, arrogant edge honed from boardrooms.
The cops froze. Turned.
Recognized him instantly: the face from every headline, every expo clip, every foundation launch. Ravencroft heir. Power incarnate.
Stocky cop paled. "Mr. Ravencroft. We uh... this is just traffic."
Wiry one stepped back, hands up. "No issue here, sir. Minor fender-bender. We're dispersing."
Nyx ignored them, eyes on the boy. He blinked. Stubborn rich entitlement cracking for a split second then puffed up, mouth opening.
"Who the fu..."
"Shut your mouth," Nyx snapped, voice ice. He stepped between the women and cops, close enough to smell the faint chicken-soup apron and floral perfume.
Oblivious to their true identities, he saw only two ordinary women harassed, vegetable-stained, defiant.
"What happened?"
One woman blinked, wiping dirt from her hands, voice steady despite tears welling. "Our light turned green. His car sped through red. Clipped us. Bag fell. He started screaming, kicking our groceries."
The other nodded, clutching a bruised arm. "Threatened to sue. Police just want us gone."
Nyx turned to the boy. Slow, predatory. "Your name."
He sneered, but faltered under his stare. "T-Trevor Hale. My dad's on the board..."
"Don't care." Nyx pulled his phone, snapped the plate, bumper scrape, spilled veggies.
"You assaulted property. Harassed civilians. I have witnesses. Videos." He nodded at filming bystanders.
"Ravencroft security will handle your board daddy. Get in your car. Leave. Or I call your dad's dad now."
Trevor's face drained. "You can't..."
Nyx dialed. Speaker. Marcus picked up third ring.
"Nyx?"
"Traffic incident. Hale boy. Board connections? Hit civilians, destroyed groceries. Police dismissing victims. Send lawyers."
Marcus's voice sharpened. "Plates?"
He read them. Trevor deflated, slinking to his Maserati. Cops backed off fully now, muttering into radios.
Nyx hung up. Turned to the women.
"You two get their info. Insurance. Groceries replaced by morning. My team will follow up."
The women stared. Warm eyes wide.
"Thank you… sir. We didn't expect…"
"Bless you, dear."
Nyx nodded curtly. Oblivious to the Blackwood name, to Carlos's connections. "Go home safe."
He watched them gather scattered carrots, tomatoes. Then pile into their sedan. Tail lights faded.
Cops saluted awkwardly. "All good now, Mr. Ravencroft."
He slid back into his car without a word.
Driver pulled away smooth.
Nyx leaned back, exhaling. Small act. Impulse. But the women's grateful faces lingered. Unseen threads tightening. He smiled faintly in the dark.
The universe played funny games. Tomorrow: Everett. Therapy. And whatever came next.
~~^-^~~
Clara pushed open the front door, still clutching the half-salvaged canvas bag of vegetables. Carrots bruised, a few tomatoes squashed beyond saving.
Mrs. Delgado followed right behind, coat dusted with street grit, silver hair slightly mussed from the wind and the ordeal.
They both looked exhausted but strangely exhilarated.
Rowan was in the living room, curled on the couch in sweatpants and an old hoodie, scrolling absently through patient notes on her tablet.
She looked up as they entered.
"What happened?" she asked, setting the tablet aside. "You're both filthy. And late."
Clara let out a shaky laugh, setting the bag on the kitchen counter with a soft thud.
"Oh, mija, you won't believe it. We had the worst little accident. Barely a scratch on the car but this awful boy in a red sports car cut us off at the light, then screamed at us like we'd ruined his life. Kicked our groceries everywhere. Tomatoes rolling into the gutter, carrots everywhere. He was so rude. Called us names, threatened to sue. The police were trying to just send us away like it was our fault."
Mrs. Delgado nodded vigorously, peeling off her coat.
"But then this guy. This tall, broad-shouldered, handsome rich-looking man stepped out of a black car stuck in the traffic. He walked right up like he owned the street. The police recognized him instantly and backed off. He shut that boy down in seconds. Cold, calm, terrifying. Told him his father's connections wouldn't save him. Made him slink away like a scolded child. Then he made sure we got our information, promised new groceries by morning, and told us to go home safe."
Clara pressed a hand to her chest, eyes shining.
"He was so… commanding. Tall, attractive, sharp features, dark eyes, that quiet power. Like he was used to people listening. We didn't even get his name, but we owe him everything. He saved us from being humiliated in the middle of the street."
Rowan listened quietly, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Sounds like someone who doesn't take nonsense. We should be thankful. Name?"
Both women shook their heads at once.
Clara sighed. "We don't know. He didn't introduce himself. Just handled it and left. But bless him wherever he is."
Mrs. Delgado nodded. "A real gentleman. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed like money but not flashy. I hope he knows how grateful we are."
Rowan's smile softened further. Warm, almost wistful. "People like that… they don't always need thanks. But yeah. Good people still exist."
Noah wandered in from the hallway just then. Hoodie up, phone in hand, earbud dangling from one ear. He caught the tail end of the story and smirked.
"Sounds like a superhero origin story," he teased, leaning against the doorframe.
"Mysterious tall handsome guy swoops in, saves the day, vanishes into the night. Bet he's got a secret lair and everything."
Clara swatted at him lightly with a dish towel. "Don't tease. He was wonderful. You could learn a thing or two from someone like that."
Noah grinned wider. "Yeah, yeah. I'll keep an eye out for tall, attractive vigilantes in black cars."
Rowan laughed softly. Real, light. And stood to help unpack the damaged vegetables.
She didn't know.
Couldn't know.
That the tall handsome man who'd stepped out of the black town car, who'd stopped the police with a single word, who'd made the spoiled boy run, was the same person whose name still made her heart stutter.
Nyx Ravencroft.
Oblivious.
All of them.
Rowan rinsed a bruised carrot under the faucet, smile lingering.
And somewhere across the city, Nyx was already planning tomorrow's ask. Therapy, access, Rowan. Never guessing he'd just crossed paths with the woman's mother and almost-mother-in-law.