“I didn’t say you did.” She tilted her head. “But Mia must be worried about you. Have you talked to her about what’s been happening?”
My spine went rigid. “Don’t bring my daughter into this.”
“I’m just concerned.” Kenzie’s smile was all sympathy. “You have a young girl at home watching all of this. It must be so hard for her, seeing her mother struggle publicly. Seeing those photos online. Reading what people are saying about you.”
The cameras were still rolling. Every word I said could be twisted, edited, used against me.
“I’m not struggling.”
“Aren’t you?” She glanced at the cameras, then back at me. “The defensiveness. The anger. These are signs that maybe you’re not coping as well as you think. We can bring in a professional—someone to evaluate whether you’re stable enough to continue?—“
“I said I’m fine.” My voice came out harder than I intended, and I saw her eyes light up. She’d gotten exactly what she wanted.
Behind her, Beau appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay in here?” He crossed the room and placed a hand on my shoulder. “We’re all here for you, Lila. Whatever you need.”
I wanted to shove his hand off. Wanted to scream that I knew exactly what they were doing. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
“I don’t need anything,” I said, standing abruptly. His hand fell away. “Except to get back to work.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Kenzie stood too. “We don’t want another incident.”
Carol appeared from somewhere off-camera. “Maybe we should have a medical professional evaluate you—just to be safe.”
“I don’t need to be evaluated. I’m perfectly capable of doing my job.”
“No one’s saying you’re not capable,” Kenzie said. “We’re just worried. The leaked photos. The public scrutiny. Your relationship with Vance complicating things?—“
“My relationship isn’t complicating anything.”
“Isn’t it?” She glanced at Beau. “There’s clearly tension between you and Beau now. We’ve all noticed it.”
Beau stepped closer. “I just want things to be okay between us. Like they were before.”
“Before what?” I asked.
“Before Vance,” Kenzie supplied. “Before things got … complicated.”
I could see exactly what they were doing—creating footage that suggested I was unstable, defensive, caught in a love triangle I couldn’t handle. Every word I said would be edited to support their narrative.
“I need some air,” I said, moving toward the door.
“Lila—“ Kenzie called after me.
But I was already outside, chest heaving, hands shaking.
I leaned against the wall of the house, trying to catch my breath. This was psychological torture. Calculated. Deliberate. And I had no way to fight back.
Not yet.
“Lila Morgan?”
I looked up to find a woman standing a few feet away. She was tall, thin, with designer sunglasses pushed into her hair and clutching a handbag to her chest.
“Yes?”
“I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
I glanced back at the house. They’d be coming to find me any second. “I’m busy at the moment.”
