After careful thought, Leighton finally signed the dating agreement. It wasn’t that she trusted Logan—it was that the contract was airtight. No vague terms. No forced commitments. Clear boundaries. The “no touching without permission” clause was even bolded at the top. He’d given her exactly the respect she needed.

Curious, Leighton asked, “Did you have a lawyer draw this up?”

Logan, leaning against the window like he had all the time in the world, said, “Yes.”

She pressed, “Didn’t they think it was weird?”

Elliott, nearby, couldn’t help but cut in. “Oh, they absolutely did. The legal team got the request at three a.m. and thought we were starting a dating service.”

Logan shot Elliott a look, and Elliott immediately started packing his bag.

“I’ll go get some fruit for Jazlyn—Miss Turner, I mean.” He was out the door before anyone could respond.

Not long after, Jazlyn woke up, looking much calmer. When she heard Leighton had signed the agreement, her eyes went red and stayed that way for most of the morning. Leighton didn’t scold her. She just handed her some oatmeal and coaxed her to eat.

“Did I become a burden again, sis?” Jazlyn asked quietly.

Leighton sat by the bed and adjusted the spoon for her. “No.”

“If I hadn’t fallen for Jeremy, you wouldn’t have had to confess. If I hadn’t been so careless, I wouldn’t have broken the drone, and you wouldn’t owe Logan anything…”

Leighton stared at her sister’s pale face. Exhaustion crashed over her, so heavy she could barely comfort anyone. But Jazlyn was her sister—the one she’d always protected. She couldn’t let her frustration show.

“Jazlyn,” she said softly, “having feelings for someone isn’t a crime.”

“The fault lies with people who treat your feelings like they don’t matter.”

Jazlyn’s eyes welled up. Outside the room, Logan stopped at the sound of those words. He didn’t go in. He just watched as Leighton handed her sister tissues. Even on the verge of falling apart, she still put everyone else first.

That was Leighton Turner.

She had a way of making him ache—and driving him out of his mind.

That afternoon, after Jazlyn fell asleep, Leighton slipped out of the hospital room. Logan was still there. She hadn’t expected him to stay this long. For someone like him, an entire day in a hospital hallway seemed… off.

Logan met her eyes. “Done talking?”

Leighton nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Logan picked up his coat. “On a date.”

She blinked. She’d assumed the three-month agreement was mostly a formality. She hadn’t expected him to actually want dates.

“Now?”

“Point three on the agreement: at least one normal date every week.” Logan said it like it was obvious.

For the first time, Leighton regretted signing.

She glanced at her phone. “I have to work at the convenience store tonight.”

“Already handled,” Logan said.

Her frown was immediate.

Elliott chimed in, “I told them your sister was in the hospital and you needed to be with her. Your manager agreed. And I made sure your wages weren’t docked.”

That last part killed her protest before it could start. He was learning to tiptoe around her sore spots—not trying to control her life, just give her a little breathing room.

She shot him a quick look. “How did you know I’d care about my wages?”

“Because you care about everything,” Logan replied, “except me.”

It didn’t land smoothly, but it was painfully accurate.

Just as they were about to leave, Elliott volunteered to stay with Jazlyn.

Jazlyn looked nervous, but Elliott set the fruit basket on the table with a reassuring grin. “Don’t worry, Miss Turner. My main job is assisting, but I’m also an expert at peeling apples in one continuous strip.”

Jazlyn let out a soft laugh, her eyes curving into a shy smile. Seeing her sister smile again, Leighton felt a tiny weight lift.

Logan noticed too.

As they walked, he effortlessly shielded Leighton from the crowd at the hospital entrance. This time, she didn’t pull away right away. She just kept a little distance.

Logan noticed—but he didn’t close the gap.

The car didn’t head to some fancy restaurant. Instead, Logan drove to the area behind Cambridge University. Leighton froze the second she stepped out.

This was the place she knew best—the print shop, the fruit stand, the $2 pasta place, and a dessert shop that had been there for years. She couldn’t figure out why Logan would pick this place.

Logan tossed his keys to the driver and came to stand beside her. “Your call.”

She looked up at him. “Call for what?”

“What to eat. Where to go. How long to stay.” He paused. “It’s your decision for our first date.”

Her heart gave a soft, unexpected nudge.

She’d expected Logan to whisk her off to some extravagant restaurant, to dazzle her with money. But he didn’t. He brought her somewhere familiar and let her choose.

In the end, she chose the pasta—$2 a bowl.

When Logan sat down on one of the plastic chairs, the tiny shop went silent. The owner nearly dropped her ladle into the soup pot. Leighton found the whole thing surreal. Logan just sat there, calm as ever.

His black coat was draped over the chair, sleeves rolled up just enough to show pale, slender wrists. In that ordinary little shop, at a water-stained table, he still carried himself like he belonged in a VIP section—without even trying.

That was just his inherent elegance.

When the pasta arrived, Leighton instinctively pushed the parsley to one side.

Logan noticed.

He slid his bowl toward her and swapped it for hers.

She stared. “What are you doing?”

“Mine doesn’t have parsley.”

“How did you know?”

“I asked for it that way when we ordered.”

She suddenly remembered him telling the owner “no parsley.” She’d assumed it was for himself. Apparently, it was for her.

Staring at the parsley-free bowl, she didn’t know what to say.

Logan went back to eating, as if he’d just done something completely ordinary.

Leighton slowly picked up her fork. The warm sauce slid down her throat, filling the hollow ache in her stomach.

Halfway through, familiar voices drifted over. Jeremy and a few friends were coming out of the smoothie shop next door. They clearly hadn’t expected to find Logan and Leighton here. Jeremy stopped mid-step. Leighton’s grip on her fork went still.

Logan didn’t look up. He just pushed a napkin toward her. “Wipe your mouth.”

Her ears burned, and she obeyed.

Jeremy’s friends started whispering.

“Logan on a date eating $2 pasta?”

“That’s… down-to-earth.”

“Maybe Leighton’s paying?”

Just as she was about to speak, Logan set down his fork and called to the owner. “I’ll cover everyone’s bill today.”

The owner froze. So did the students—until applause broke the silence.

Logan wiped his hands, unhurried. “Except the ones at the door.”

Jeremy’s friends turned green. Laughter erupted all over again inside the shop.

Leighton couldn’t help it—a laugh bubbled up. She ducked her head, trying to swallow it with another bite.

Logan tilted his head slightly. “If you want to laugh, just laugh.”

She shook her head. “No.”

But two seconds later, she couldn’t hold it in. It was a small laugh—like a crack forming on the surface of ice.

Watching her, the coldness in his eyes slowly melted away.

When they finished, Leighton insisted on paying for her own meal. Logan didn’t argue. He let her, while the owner billed the rest to him.

As they left the pasta shop, the rain had stopped. The wet streets reflected the glow of store signs. Walking a little ahead, she spotted the dessert shop and slowed.

Logan noticed. “Want something?”

“No.”

“Stubborn.”

He walked over and bought a warm spiced honey cake. When he held it out, she didn’t take it right away.

“Is this a loan too?” She eyed the dessert.

He smiled, a playful curve at the corner of his mouth. “You can treat me.”

She thought about it, then took it. “I’ll treat you.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “With my money?”

“With my own.” Leighton showed him the payment screen on her phone. Sixteen dollars. She paid like she meant it.

Looking at the $16 payment record, Logan suddenly laughed. “All right.”

“First date, and you treated me to something sweet.”

Her ears went red. She lowered her head and focused on the dessert, warmth spreading from her palms all the way to her chest.

Not far away, Nataly sat in a car, watching. Her expression darkened with every second.

At first, she’d thought Logan was just fascinated by something new. But he was willing to eat $2 pasta with Leighton, remembered she hated parsley, and stood on the street while she treated him to a $16 dessert.

Nataly’s grip tightened on her phone. A new message lit up the screen.

[If you want Leighton out of Logan’s life, start with her gambling father.]

Leighton polished off her spiced honey cake, her fingers still warm from the wrapper. She tossed it into the trash and checked her phone. No new calls from the hospital. Jazlyn had texted that she’d finished her oatmeal, and Elliott had somehow peeled an apple without breaking the skin—a little smiley face tacked onto the end. At the sight of it, the knot in Leighton’s chest loosened, just a little.

The last few days had been a lot. Covering for her sister. The $200,000 restitution for the drone. Becoming a contract girlfriend. The university forum gossip. Nataly Harris’s threats. Her mom’s hospital bills. It was one wave after another, holding her under. And yet—cheap ravioli and one slightly extravagant slice of spiced honey cake—had been enough to drag her up for air. She hated to admit it, but around Logan, the exhaustion didn’t sit quite so heavy.

Logan stood beside her, holding the half-empty bag of sugary snacks she couldn’t quite stomach. He didn’t pry. Didn’t push when she went quiet. Instead, he shifted so she was on the inside of the sidewalk, putting himself between her and the traffic.

When Leighton noticed, she stopped.

“What’s up?” Logan asked, tipping his head.

“Nothing,” she said, and kept walking.

The post-rain breeze carried a bite, and just like that, she was back years ago. After their mother’s surgery, she and Jazlyn had walked back to their tiny rented room, their father gone again. It had rained that night, too. Leighton had carried the medication in one hand and held Jazlyn’s hand with the other, keeping herself closest to the street.

Jazlyn had asked, “Aren’t you scared, sis?”

Leighton had said no, even though she’d been terrified. Back then, there’d been no one to trade places with her. Now there was. And it was Logan. The thought unsettled her.

She was just about to say she needed to get back to the hospital when her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Recognition hit her like ice water. Muhammad Turner. Her father. The man who’d buried himself under a mountain of gambling debt and blown her mother’s treatment money chasing a big win.

Leighton didn’t pick up. The call rang out, but a text came through a second later:

[Leigh, Dad’s at your school gate.]

[Heard you got yourself a rich boyfriend. Tell him to loan your old man $20K so I can get back on my feet.]

Her fingers curled tight around the phone. Logan caught the change in her face, his gaze dropping to the screen. He didn’t grab it. Just asked, “Who is it?”

Leighton turned the screen off. “No one.”

She regretted it the second the words left her mouth. Logan’s gaze went cold—not angry, but like he already knew she was planning to carry it alone again. After a beat, she handed him the phone. “It’s my dad.”

Logan skimmed it. His expression didn’t shift, but the air between them turned heavier. He handed the phone back. “How do you want to handle this?”

The question threw her. She’d expected “I’ll take care of it,” or for him to tell her to ignore a man like that. Instead, he’d asked what she wanted. It was new—being treated like a person with a choice instead of a problem to be handled.

Leighton looked down at her phone. “I want to see him first.”

Logan nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“Part of our agreement,” he said.

She looked at him.

His tone was easy, but serious. “In public, we can’t deny our relationship.”

“Your dad showing up counts as public.”

Leighton had nothing to say to that.

Elliott pulled up with the car in no time, appearing out of thin air with two bags of sugar-roasted almonds. “Mr. Jackson, Miss Turner, everything’s set at the hospital. Jazlyn’s practicing apple-peeling with the nurse. Spirits are high.”

Logan slid into the car. “South gate of Cambridge.”

Elliott flicked a quick glance at Leighton in the rearview mirror. His smile faded fast.

As they neared the south gate, a crowd clustered by the road. Muhammad stood in the middle, crumpled jacket, hair a mess, reeking of booze and bad bets. He waved his phone at the onlookers. “My daughter’s got connections now. Snagged herself a rich kid. But she won’t even acknowledge her own father.”

“Her mom’s still in the hospital. I’m her father, and I just need a little quick cash—but she won’t even pick up my calls.”

Some people filmed. Others whispered. The forum had finally started to shift after the Nataly mess, but Muhammad was dragging it right back—straight to Leighton’s family drama.

Inside the car, Leighton’s hands curled into fists. Logan didn’t rush out. He turned to her. “Do you want to face him yourself, or should I have Elliott clear the area first?”

Leighton took a breath. “I’ll handle it myself.”

Logan studied her for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Such a simple sentence. Somehow, it meant more than any “Don’t be scared.”

Leighton stepped out. The crowd clocked her instantly. Muhammad’s eyes lit up, and he hurried over. “Leigh!”

He reached for a hug. Leighton sidestepped, leaving him grabbing air. His face darkened for half a second before he slapped on a wounded look. “Why are you avoiding your father?”

She stood her ground, voice low and steady. “What are you doing here?”

Muhammad’s eyes went red on command. “Why do you think? Your mom’s in the hospital. Jazlyn’s sick, too. The family depends on you. Dad just needs a little money for emergencies.”

His voice was so sincere that anyone who didn’t know him would’ve seen a desperate father. Leighton knew better. Last time he’d said he needed money for her mom’s meds, he’d gone straight to a card table. He’d promised it was the last time. That day never came.

Leighton lifted her chin and locked eyes with him. “How much do you need?”

His eyes lit up. “Not much. Twenty thousand.”

The crowd gasped as one. Twenty grand? He said it like he was asking for twenty bucks.

Leighton nodded. “Do you have a loan agreement?”

Muhammad blinked. “What loan agreement?”

“You said you want to borrow money. Then write up a loan. Purpose, repayment date, interest. And I’ll wire the money straight to the hospital or the lender. Not through you.”

His expression twisted. “You’re really going to hold this over your own father’s head?”

“Yes,” she said, quick as a blade.

The crowd went quiet. Muhammad’s face went ashen. “Leigh, I raised you. Now you’re set for life, and you’re just going to leave me behind?”

“You didn’t raise me,” she said, louder now, steadier. “Since I was sixteen, I’ve been paying the utility bills. Mom’s medical bills. Jazlyn’s follow-up costs.”

“You took Mom’s surgery money. Jazlyn’s life-saving funds. You’re not here for family today. You’re here because of your gambling debts.”

His face went blotchy red and white. “Gambling addict” rippled through the crowd. Panic flashed in his eyes, and he lunged for Leighton. “Stop talking nonsense! I’m your dad!”

Logan stepped in before his hand could land. No violence. Just a grip on Muhammad’s wrist, lowering it with calm, effortless pressure. Pain bleached the color from Muhammad’s face. Logan’s voice was low, commanding. “Family or not, you don’t put your hands on her.”

The weight of it silenced the crowd. Muhammad’s eyes found Logan, and a flicker of hope sparked there. “You’re Logan, right? I’m her dad. If you’re with my daughter, you should show some goodwill.”

Logan smiled faintly. “Of course.”

Muhammad perked up.

Then Logan looked at Elliott. “Call the police.”

Muhammad’s face dropped. “Why are you calling the cops?”

Logan released his wrist and calmly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his hands. “Extortion. Disturbing the peace. Public slander. And your creditors are already on your trail.”

Muhammad backed up, thrown by how much Logan knew.

Elliott held up his phone, all business. “Mr. Turner, just a heads-up—we’ve got your little performance on record. Mr. Jackson prefers evidence over sob stories.”

Someone in the crowd chuckled.

Muhammad’s face went deep red. He cursed, fumed—then froze as a police car rolled up.

Elliott’s efficiency made it look rehearsed.

Leighton stood behind Logan, watching her father get questioned. She didn’t cry. She didn’t feel victorious. Just empty.

Logan turned to her. “Any regrets?”

Leighton shook her head. “None.” She paused. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For letting me speak for myself.”

He’d stayed behind her, letting her voice carry—until Muhammad tried to get physical. Only then did he step in. It was different from him taking over. He hadn’t stolen her chance to speak. For the first time, Leighton thought maybe Logan wasn’t as dangerous as she’d assumed. He was dangerous. But his sharp edges pointed outward—not at her.

Logan met her eyes. “Leighton.”

“Yeah?”

“You could’ve called me earlier.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“You don’t have to wait until he tries to hit you.”

A breeze swept through the south gate. Her palms were still clammy with cold sweat. Looking at Logan, Leighton used his name—not “Mr. Jackson,” not “Logan Jackson.”

Her voice was soft. “Logan.”

His gaze shifted. “Yes?”

She looked down. “Next time, I will.”

At that moment, Elliott saved a video of Muhammad being led away. Then an anonymous email popped up on his phone. The subject line was one sentence.

[Leighton has saved more than just Logan Jackson.]

Leighton had no idea about the anonymous email. Elliott Hughes, however, had seen it. The smile drained from his face as he passed his phone to Logan Jackson. Logan’s gaze flicked over the screen, and his expression went hard in an instant.

A few feet away, Leighton stood with the police, confirming her statement. She looked fragile—pale, small, worn thin—but she held herself like someone who refused to break. She hadn’t flinched when she faced Muhammad Turner. And even under the weight of all those judging stares, she hadn’t cried. Not once.

Logan watched her, his thumb absently tracing the edge of the phone. The words in the email were eating at him.

“Not the only one she saved.”

It felt deliberate. Designed to push his buttons—to make him dig, to make him lose his cool, to force him to unearth things that weren’t ready to see daylight.

Elliott lowered his voice. “Mr. Jackson, should we look into it?”

Logan handed the phone back. “Find out where it came from.”

Elliott nodded.

“And Ms. Turner?”

“She doesn’t need to know yet.” Logan’s eyes stayed locked on Leighton. “She’s got enough on her plate.”

Elliott, uncharacteristically serious, pocketed the phone and got to work.

It was past eight by the time Leighton finished with the police. She checked the time, and her brow pinched. Logan could guess where her head was at.

“Night shift at the grocery store?”

Leighton nodded. “Ten to two.”

“Take the night off.”

“I can’t tonight,” she said. The store manager was already pissed about the forum mess. If she missed another shift, she could kiss her job goodbye. And she needed the money.

Logan heard her out, but he didn’t push. He just said, “I’ll drive you.”

Leighton meant to refuse. Then she remembered what she’d told him earlier: “Next time, I’ll call you.” It hadn’t been that long, and shoving him away now would’ve felt like a lie.

So she nodded. “Just to the entrance.”

Elliott cut in fast. “Don’t worry, Ms. Turner. Our boss is a gentleman. He’ll walk you to the door and won’t hover around to bother your work.”

Logan gave him a look cold enough to freeze hell.

Elliott added, “Unless he decides to do a little shopping.”

Leighton couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out.

Logan’s whole demeanor softened when he saw it.

The grocery store wasn’t far from campus—a small place with a 24/7 sign glowing by the door. Leighton changed into her uniform, pulled her hair back, and became the quiet, efficient part-timer again.

The manager opened his mouth to scold her, then thought better of it when he spotted Logan outside. Logan didn’t come in. He stayed beyond the glass door, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, watching her straighten the shelves.

At ten-thirty, a group of students wandered in. One of them recognized Leighton. They drifted toward the drink coolers, phones angled at her. Leighton acted like she didn’t see them. She kept restocking sandwiches, checking price tags.

They got bolder. One guy walked up to the register with a bottle of water. When she scanned it, he turned his phone toward her—the forum post, headline and all, ugly and crude.

“Hey, sis, does being a contract girlfriend get you discounts?” he sneered.

Leighton looked up. No anger. Just calm as she scanned the water. “Two dollars.”

He wasn’t done. “Aw, don’t be so cold. Isn’t Logan sweet on you? Why not get him to buy this whole shop for you?”

Laughter burst from the back.

Leighton tore the receipt from the register. “That’ll be two dollars,” she said, unfazed.

When he handed over his phone, it wasn’t on a payment screen. It was pointed at her. Livestreaming.

Her patience frayed. “Please stop filming.”

“It’s a public space. What’s the harm?” He smirked and pushed the phone closer.

Then the glass door chimed. Logan walked in.

He didn’t rush. Didn’t shout. He just grabbed a bottle of water, stepped up to the counter, and stood behind the boy. His shadow fell over him, and the kid froze.

Logan set the water down. “Ring it up.”

Leighton glanced at him. He looked like he was just there for water. She scanned the bottle. “Two dollars.”

Logan paid, but he didn’t leave. His gaze locked on the boy with the phone. “Streaming?”

The boy’s face went pale. “Mr. Jackson, I was just joking…”

Logan stared down at him, voice low. “Turn it off.”

The boy fumbled to end the stream.

“And delete it.”

He scrambled to comply. His friends weren’t laughing anymore. They slunk out the door without buying a thing.

The store went quiet again. Leighton tossed the receipt in the trash. “I thought you didn’t want to disrupt my work?”

Logan cracked open the water and took a sip. “I made a purchase.”

She managed half a smile.

He set the bottle aside. “Keep working.”

She watched him drift to a shelf and pick up a magazine. Someone like him sitting by the store window should’ve been impossible to ignore, but he didn’t bother her. He just stayed there—a silent line no one wanted to cross.

Customers came in, took one look at him, and quickly looked away.

Leighton went back to the shelves.

Half an hour later, when the store had thinned out, Logan rose and gathered a few things: milk, sandwiches, a heat pack, and a box of Band-Aids.

While scanning, Leighton paused at the Band-Aids. “Are you hurt?”

His gaze held steady. “For you.”

She looked down. A paper cut on her fingertip had drawn a tiny bead of blood. She hadn’t noticed. He had.

He opened the box and handed her one. Leighton hesitated, then took it. He didn’t try to put it on for her. He just laid it on the counter. “For you.”

She picked up the Band-Aid—plain, store-brand, nothing special—but it sent a soft ripple through her chest.

She pressed it to her finger, aware of Logan watching. For a second, his expression went distant, like he was seeing something else. Someone else.

By the time she looked up, he was back to normal.

At two a.m., her shift ended. Leighton changed out of her uniform and stepped outside. Logan was still there. He sat in the car, window cracked, the late hour wearing at his eyes.

She walked over. “You stayed?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Figured you’d hate having someone drive you back to the hospital.”

He’d hit the nail on the head. She’d already planned to walk.

Logan got out and draped his coat over her shoulders. “Wear it.”

“No need.”

“It’s two in the morning. It’s cold.”

She wanted to refuse, but Logan settled the coat over her shoulders. His touch was light, careful not to brush her neck. He just let the fabric fall around her thin frame.

The coat smelled faintly of woods—warm, comforting. She curled her fingers around the edges and didn’t fight it.

On the drive back to the hospital, she leaned against the window and fell asleep. Logan watched her, noticing the faint crease between her brows even in sleep. His hand hovered for a moment, then dropped. Instead, he turned up the heat.

Leighton slept restlessly, half lost in a rainy night years ago. She was back at the abandoned tennis court, pressing a Band-Aid to someone’s bloody wrist. The person asked her name. She answered, “Leighton.”

When the car stopped at the hospital, Leighton woke with a start. Logan was watching her.

Still groggy, she blurted, “Does your wrist still hurt?”

Logan froze, momentarily at a loss for words.