Page 97 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

I didn’t know how tobethis—someone who stayed and fought instead of running when things got too complicated.

I covered my face with my hands, my breath ragged. I was so damn tired.

Of the uncertainty. Of the stress. Of caring about something I wasn’t sure I had a right to hold on to.

A faint creak sounded near the door, and I stiffened.

Someone was here.

I shot to my feet so fast my chair scraped against the floor, heart hammering. My breath hitched as a tall figure stepped inside.

Hank Lawson.

His smile was slow and calculated, like he had all the time in the world. “Rough morning, Miss Bennett?”

I swallowed hard, my stomach still churning from earlier, my pulse roaring in my ears. “What do you want?”

His gaze drifted over the damage—the charred floor, the shattered glass—before settling back on me, his smile never faltering.

“I just came to check on you.”

Bullshit.

I clenched my jaw as he took a step closer, too casual, too confident. He slid a thick manila folder across the counter.

“What is this?” My voice came out hoarse.

“A solution,” he said smoothly. “Go on. Take a look.”

My fingers felt stiff as I flipped the folder open.

Legal documents. Thick, official-looking, stamped with names I didn’t recognize but that carried weight nonetheless.

My eyes darted over the words, the meaning sinking in slowly, suffocating me.

The ownership of Page Turners was never fully settled.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

“My uncle.” My voice cracked. “He owned this store. He left it to me.”

Hank let out a low hum, almost like he pitied me. “Well, it wasn’t exactlyhisto pass on. There were complications in the transfer of ownership years ago. Loose ends that were never properly tied up. Loose ends that need tying up now that I’m back in town. It’s time to get back what was stolen from my family.”

Stolen? Did he mean the debt?

What the hell was going on?

I shook my head, flipping through the pages. This couldn’t be right. I had the will, the paperwork.

But the words on these documents told a different story, one full of legal loopholes and fine print I didn’t fully understand.

A cold sweat broke out along my spine.

“I can fight this,” I said, but the words were weak, uncertain.

Hank exhaled, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

“Sure. You could. But that would take time. Money. Lawyers. And in the end, you’d still lose.” He tapped a finger against thefolder. “But I’m offering you a way out. Sell to me, and this all goes away. No court battles. No stress. Just a clean break.”

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