Lex knew the moment he walked back into the penthouse.

Not because alarms went off—they didn’t. Not because anything was out of place—everything was immaculate. It was subtler than that. A shift in the air. A new presence that hadn’t been there when he’d left for his meeting.

He set his briefcase down slowly, eyes scanning with instinct more than suspicion.

There it was.

Tasteful. Expensive. Intentional.

Something new had been added to the space—art, furniture, tech, it hardly mattered what it was so much as how it existed there. It fit. Perfectly. As if it had always belonged. As if the penthouse had been waiting for it.

Lex exhaled through his nose, equal parts irritated and intrigued.

She’d bought it herself.

Not charged to one of his accounts. Not routed through a shell company. No approval requested. No permission implied. Her money. Her choice. Her signature written all over it in a way that couldn’t be mistaken for indulgence or rebellion—it was independence.

When she appeared, calm and unapologetic, he finally looked at her properly.

“You went shopping,” he said.

Not a question.

She nodded once, watching him carefully, like she was ready for a reaction and fully prepared not to care if she didn’t like it.

Lex studied the purchase again, then her. A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, sharp, unmistakably pleased.

“Good,” he said at last. “It suits the place.”

What he didn’t say—what he didn’t need to—was that this mattered more to him than anything bought with his money ever could.

Because Lex didn’t mind sharing space.

He minded being challenged.

And she’d just done it beautifully.