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LENNOX

T he smell of bacon tickled my nose as I stirred awake, the silk sheets cool against my skin. My first thought was that I must be dreaming—no one else had the key to my apartment. Well, no one except the man who had no business still being there.

I sighed, slipping out of bed and shrugging on my robe.

My feet slid into my plush slippers as I made my way through the vast expanse of my high-rise apartment.

It was one of the perks of my new position.

This place screamed success. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, the sleek marble floors gleamed, and every piece of furniture was handpicked for style and comfort.

I loved my apartment. It was a symbol of everything I’d worked for—leaving Arbor Hills, uprooting my life, and throwing myself into running the new Chicago firm as president.

The past year had been everything I dreamed of professionally.

Our numbers were unmatched, and I’d earned a reputation as a force to be reckoned with in the corporate world.

Promotions, bonuses, and accolades poured in like clockwork.

I thought back to the ribbon-cutting ceremony last quarter, where I stood next to the CEO, my tailored suit and polished confidence stealing the show.

That was the life I had built—success, independence, and prestige.

There was no room for distractions or compromises.

Relationships? Love? They were the last thing on my mind, or at least that was what I kept telling myself.

But beneath the surface of my independence, my career, and my wealth, there was. . . something missing.

Loneliness crept in when I let my mind linger too long, but I didn’t dwell on it. Loneliness wasn’t fatal; it was just a side effect of prioritizing my dreams over anything or anyone else. I’d live.

The smell of bacon grew stronger as I rounded the corner into the kitchen. Standing at my stove, flipping bacon like he owned the place, was Justin.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he said without turning around. His deep, husky voice grated on my nerves and pulled at something in my chest I didn’t care to name.

I folded my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Just, why are you still here? I told you last night?—”

“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder with a smirk.

His long locs were pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing sharp cheekbones and a jawline that looked like it could cut glass.

His chest and arms—tattooed and chiseled—were bare, and he wore nothing but gray sweatpants slung low on his hips.

“I figured I’d make you breakfast,” he said.

“You work hard. You deserve someone to take care of you every once in a while.”

I sighed, stepping into the kitchen and sitting at the island. “I appreciate the thought, but we’ve talked about this. What we have?—”

“What we have is nothing more than the bedroom.” He interrupted again, this time setting the plate of bacon on the counter. “I’m tired of this shit, Lennox. Tired of coming over, dicking you down, and then being told to leave like I’m just?—”

“A good time?” I offered, raising an eyebrow.

His jaw clenched, and I could see the frustration bubbling beneath his calm demeanor. “This shit’s crazy,” he muttered. “You don’t let anyone in. Not really. Why do you even bother with me if all you want is sex?”

“Because you’re pretty good at it,” I said simply, my tone light. “And I enjoy our time. But I’ve told you from the beginning—I don’t want a relationship.”

Justin leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You keep saying that, but I think it’s because you’re scared. Scared to let someone see the real you.”

I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the psychoanalysis. You knew what this was from day one.”

He shook his head, grabbing his hoodie from the back of a chair and slipping it on. “You’re gonna regret this one day, Lennox. Someone’s gonna come along and show you what you’re missing, and it won’t be me. I’m done with this shit.”

“Your loss,” I said, walking him to the door.

He paused at the threshold, looking at me with a mix of disappointment and sadness. “Take care of yourself, Lennox.”

“I always do,” I replied, shutting the door before he could say another word. For a moment, I stood there, staring at the closed door and feeling. . . nothing. Or at least, that was what I told myself.

“Alexa,” I said, shaking off the moment. “Play ‘Diva’ by Beyoncé.”

As the opening beat filled the air, I pranced through my apartment, shedding my robe and slippers and heading to my closet. Work was calling, and I had no time for feelings or regrets.

I pulled on a tailored pantsuit and stepped into my favorite red bottom heels. By the time I finished my makeup and styled my hair, I was back to feeling like myself—powerful, focused, untouchable.

As I drove through the busy streets of Chicago, the city seemed alive with energy, even in the early morning. The weather had finally broken to Spring, ridding the air of its frigid chill. My favorite coffee shop wasn’t far, and I needed my caffeine fix before diving into another demanding day.

I pulled into the small parking lot of Beans & Brews, my go-to coffee shop, at my usual time.

Stepping out of the car, I adjusted my oversized coat and headed inside.

As always, the line snaked around the quaint little café, filled with groggy customers clutching their phones and laptops.

But I didn’t have time for lines. With a confident stride, I walked past everyone, cash already in hand.

“Excuse me!” a woman near the front of the line exclaimed, glaring at me. “There’s a line here.”

“Yeah, a long one.” A man chimed in, scowling.

I barely glanced in their direction as I reached the counter. The barista, a young woman with bright red hair, smiled when she saw me. “Good morning, Ms. Anderson. Your usual?”

“Of course.” I handed her the cash, ignoring the grumbles behind me.

The woman behind the counter handed me my coffee in record time, and I gave her a nod of thanks. Sliding on my sunglasses, I turned to leave, the heels of my designer pumps clicking confidently on the tiled floor.

“Must be nice,” someone muttered as I passed, but I didn’t care. I was used to it.

Out on the sidewalk, I sipped my coffee and let the warm liquid energize me for the day ahead. As I slid into my car, I placed the cup in the holder, pulled out my phone, and began scrolling through social media while navigating the morning traffic.

That was when I saw it.

The post was from Sherelle, and the image immediately caught my eye. A gold-and-white wedding invitation adorned with elegant calligraphy.

Omir & Anya.

I gripped the steering wheel as my eyes darted to the caption:

“Two amazing people tying the knot!

Can’t wait for the big day.

Love is such a beautiful thing.

#BlackLove #WeddingSeason”

My heart slammed against my ribs as my foot instinctively pressed the brake harder than necessary. The car jolted to a stop, and I barely registered the sound of the horn from the driver behind me. Hot coffee spilled out of the cup and onto my lap, soaking through my designer pants.

“Damn it!” I shouted, yanking a tissue from the center console to blot at the mess. My hands shook, not from the spill but from the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Omir. Anya. Wedding.

The words felt like tiny knives slicing through my chest. Memories came flooding back—the day I stopped by his house and the gorgeous woman walking out.

The one he was now marrying. I also thought back to our nights together, the intensity, the heart flutters.

I thought I had buried those feelings a long time ago, choosing to focus on my career and leaving everything else behind.

But now, it was as if the past had clawed its way back to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, my mind racing. What if I hadn’t pushed him away? What if I’d let myself feel more? What if I hadn’t been so damn stubborn about staying in control?

A honk from the car behind me snapped me out of my daze.

I wiped my hands on another tissue, trying to compose myself as I pulled back into traffic.

But the image of that wedding invitation stayed with me, etched into my mind like a cruel reminder of what I had lost—or what I had never allowed myself to have.

I whispered under my breath, “What the hell are you doing, Lennox?”

The words hung in the air as I drove toward the office, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had all the answers.