Page 204 of His Reckoning

Jordan knocks once before stepping in. “I need you to sign?—”

I close the book immediately and slide a folder over it without thinking.

“Leave it,” I say.

He nods and sets the papers down, then walks back out.

The second the door closes, I pull the book back out.

Open it again.

This time, I don’t skim. I read.

Page after page, the hero moves through the story the same way I move through my world.

Calculated and careful. Never giving more than necessary or letting anyone close enough to see anything real—except the heroine.

My grip tightens slightly on the edge of the page because that part, that feels different.

I turn another page, and time starts slipping. Meetings get pushed, and calls get ignored.

Jordan knocks again at one point. “You have a call with?—”

“Reschedule it.”

He pauses. “Okay.”

The door closes again, and I keep reading. Now I can’t stop.

At some point, I don’t even notice the office around me. The steady rhythm of everything I usually control without thinking fades until it’s just me, the book, and the words I can’t seem to look away from.

I’m halfway through when something shifts. Not in the story, but in me.

The hero is sitting across from the heroine. Pushing her away. Telling her he doesn’t need anything from anyone.

I’ve said those exact words. Maybe not exactly like that, but close enough.

I keep reading, waiting for it to twist, for the part where she sees through it and walks away.

That would make sense. That’s what people do. Instead, she stays.

Not in a dramatic way. She doesn’t force anything. She’s just there.

The scene slows while the heroine studies him. She watches him the same way Kayla used to look at me when she thought I wasn’t paying attention, like she was trying to understand something.

Not fix it or change it, just understand it.

I know what comes next. I expect it now. The part where she calls him out and tells him he’s broken. That he needs help.

Instead, I hit the line, andeverythingin me stills.

He wasn’t broken.

My eyes stop moving.

I read it again. Slower this time.

He wasn’t broken. He was disciplined in a way most people would never understand. The kind of strength that didn’t ask for attention, didn’t need validation. He just quietly carried the weight and kept going.