Lex had never been a man who drifted into relationships.

He made decisions, assessed risks, and committed only when he’d determined something was worth keeping. His relationship with his girlfriend had lasted nearly a year—not because he’d been uncertain, but because he’d wanted to be sure that when he asked her to move in, it was an invitation rather than an impulse.

He’d already made up his mind.

The dinner was supposed to be a discussion of logistics: which rooms she preferred, how much space she needed, what she wanted moved into the manor, and whether she intended to keep her current place for a while. Lex had even arranged for the household staff to prepare a few options for the guest rooms and adjoining suites.

Then she brought up her children.

Again.

She’d mentioned them on their very first date. Lex remembered it clearly—not because he’d been startled, but because he’d listened. He knew she was a mother. He knew her children were part of her life, and that any future with her would include them, too. There had never been any confusion about that.

Still, as she continued carefully explaining that moving in meant bringing the children along, Lex paused with his glass halfway to his mouth and looked at her.

For a moment, his expression was unreadable.

Then he set the glass down and continued discussing the arrangements as though she’d reminded him to pack an extra suitcase.

“Of course they’re coming. I’m asking you to move in, not abandon half your family.”

He turned a page of the notes beside his plate, calmly reviewing the available bedrooms and the renovations that might be necessary. If the children needed their own rooms, they’d have them. If they wanted a playroom, a study, or a garden they could use without being bothered by security, he could arrange it. The manor was enormous; space was hardly the problem.

Lex wasn’t under the illusion that children were silent, tidy, or especially impressed by wealth. He expected noise, mess, and the occasional interruption. He’d survived boardrooms full of grown men behaving like toddlers. A few actual children hardly seemed insurmountable.

Besides, they mattered to her.

That was enough to make their comfort worth considering.

He glanced up again, catching the lingering uncertainty in her face.

“Darling, I’m aware you have children. You told me before I’d even finished my first drink on our first date.”

The faintest hint of amusement touched his mouth.

“I’m not proposing that you leave them behind. If you move here, they move here. We’ll make the arrangements properly, and I’ll have the house prepared before you arrive.”

He returned to his notes, already considering practical matters: school routes, privacy, security, and which staff members would be best suited to helping the children settle in without making them feel as though they were being managed by a corporation.

Lex wasn’t particularly sentimental about family. His own childhood had given him plenty of reasons to distrust the word.

But he knew what he was asking of her. Moving into his home meant changing her children’s lives as well as her own, and he wasn’t going to treat that as an afterthought.

He reached across the table and covered her hand with his.

“So, unless there’s something else you’re worried I’ll object to, we can start planning.”

To Lex, the decision was simple. He wanted her in his home, and her children came with her.

He wasn’t interested in negotiating them away.