“Neither do I. But it’s the only way.”
He pulled me close. “Just be careful. She scares me.”
“She scares me too, but I’m going to have to suck it up and pretend like I’m a better actress than I really am.”
“This will be over soon, baby. Just hang in there. And keep your phone close.”
I nodded. “I’ll share my location with you. Just in case.”
“Good idea. Here. Give it to me. I’ll do it,” Vance said.
“Thank you because my hands are shaking so badly I’m not sure I could do it.”
The production lot was already buzzing when I arrived. Trucks lined the gravel drive, crew members hauling equipment, voices calling out instructions. I parked in my usual spot and sat for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
Anne Gilmore thought she’d broken me. But now I knew the truth. And armed with that knowledge, I could play her game just long enough to let her hang herself. I grabbed my bag and headed toward Vance’s house, where cameras were already set up.
Carol spotted me first, but, before she could speak, Kenzie appeared.
“Lila.” Her voice was honey-sweet, dripping with concern. “Oh, honey. We need to talk.”
My stomach dropped. “About what?”
“After yesterday’s … episode.” She placed a hand on my arm. “We’re all so worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you?” She tilted her head, studying me like I was a specimen under glass. “Come on. Let’s talk.”
It wasn’t a request.
I followed her inside, where they’d set up a small seating area—two chairs facing each other under soft lighting—and three cameras positioned around us.
My blood went cold. “What is this?”
“Just a conversation,” Kenzie said, sitting in one chair and gesturing for me to take the other. “We want to make sure you’re in a good headspace. That’s all.”
I remained standing. “With cameras?”
“For documentation purposes. Network requirement after any on-set incident.” She smiled. “Come on, sit. This won’t take long.”
I had no choice. If I refused, they’d claim I was being difficult. Unstable. Proving their narrative. I sat and crossed my legs, forcing myself to look relaxed.
Kenzie leaned forward, her expression soft and caring in a perfect performance. “So. Do you think maybe the stress of the show is too much? It’s a lot of pressure—cameras, deadlines, public scrutiny.”
“I can handle it.”
“Can you? Because yesterday, it seemed like you were really struggling. The tears. The raised voice. Walking off set.” She paused, letting that sink in. “Most professionals don’t have public breakdowns.”
“The cabinets were wrong. Anyone would have been upset.”
“But you didn’t just get upset, Lila. You fell apart. On camera. In front of the entire crew.” Her voice stayed gentle, concerned. “Have you considered that maybe this isn’t the right fit for you? That the pressure might be affecting your mental health?”
I clenched my fists in my lap. “I don’t need a mental health evaluation.”
