On the drive home, Lena said, “You didn’t have to do that.”

And again.

Lena looked at Dorian. He looked at her. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed uncertain.

She laughed. He kissed her forehead. And somewhere in the penthouse, the chef quietly canceled the order for champagne—because clearly, this was a celebration that required nothing but the two of them, a shattered contract, and a love that had never needed fine print to begin with.