Lennox stood there, still in his clothes from the lake, though his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. His face was a mask of polite, chilling indifference.
"Olivia," he said, his voice flat. "It's late. Do you want something?"
The softened voice he used on me was gone. The warmth was gone. He looked at me like a landlord looking at a tenant who was late on rent.
"I… I wanted to talk about what I said at the lake," I began, my voice small. "Lennox, I was angry, and I didn't—I was out of line. I lashed out because I felt cornered, but I didn't mean it. I know we're still… that you're still my mate."
Lennox let out a short, hollow breath—not a laugh, just a puff of air.
"It's okay, Olivia. I forgive you."
He said it so easily. Too easily. There was no weight behind the words, no lingering heat.
"Get some rest," he added, his hand moving to the edge of the door to close it. "Good night."
He was dismissing me. Just like that.
