"Was he? Or was he telling us exactly what he's afraid of?"
I lift my head, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Think about it." Devan's eyes are brighter now, that big brain finally finding traction. "He put us in a room and told us to tear each other apart. We didn't. He gave us an impossible choicedesigned to force one of us to betray the other. We refused. Everything he's done has been about splitting us up."
"Because together we're a liability," I say, echoing Sterling's words.
"Or because together we're a threat."
The words hang in the air between us.
"He gave us twenty-four hours to choose who loses," Devan says slowly. "But what if we don't choose? What if we use those twenty-four hours to give him a third option?"
My heart is beating faster. "A third option?"
"A joint pitch. Both of us or neither of us. We show him what we can do together and make him choose: take us both, or lose us both."
"That's insane," I breathe. "He'll never go for it."
"Maybe not. But at least we'll go down swinging."
"Together."
"Together."
I look at him—really look at him. This man who spent two years watching me from across lecture halls. Who channeled every ounce of longing into rivalry because he didn't know how else to reach me. Who has spent our entire relationship trying to protect me, shelter me, keep me safe.
He's not trying to protect me now.
He's asking me to fight alongside him.
"It's crazy," I say again, but I'm smiling. I can feel it spreading across my face, unstoppable. "It's absolutely insane. Sterling will laugh us out of his office."
"Probably."
"We could lose everything."
"We could."
"Our entire careers. Both of us. Gone."
"Yes."
I take a breath. "Okay."
Devan blinks. "Okay?"
"Okay. Let's do it." I grab his hands, squeezing tight. "Let's write the craziest, most audacious joint proposal anyone's ever seen and walk into that shark's office and tell him to take it or leave it."
"You're sure?"
"No," I admit. "I'm terrified. But I'd rather fail with you than win without you."
Something breaks open in Devan's expression. Not the marble cracking—something softer. Something like hope.
"I love you," he says. "Have I mentioned that?"
"Once or twice. I love you too."
