“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
We stood there, too close.
I could see the moment she fought herself.
Pride versus fear.
Principle versus survival.
She drew a breath.
Then she whispered, almost like she didn’t trust the words to exist out loud. “Okay.”
I went still.
“What?” I asked.
Lucy’s eyes squeezed shut for a second. Then she opened them and met my gaze like she was stepping off a ledge. “I’ll do it,” she said.
My heart did something unfamiliar. I wasn't feeling triumph or even relief. I couldn't name it, so I killed it instantly.
This is an arrangement.
A contract.
A structure.
Not...
“Clarify,” I ask, voice-controlled even as something inside me surged.
Lucy flinched, like she’d expected softness and got steel.
Then my door opened again.
Claire stepped in with two cups of coffee in her hands.
She froze; her eyes flicked between us.
There was a pulse of awareness in her expression; she understood something had shifted.
She set the coffees down gently on the corner table like she was placing down a fragile object.
“Ms. Bennett,” she said politely.
Lucy didn’t look away from me. But she whispered a hello.
Claire’s gaze lingered one beat too long, then she turned.
“I’ll… give you privacy,” she said, and exited with quiet efficiency.
Lucy moved at last, crossing the room to take the coffee. She held it like she needed warmth in her hands more than caffeine. She sipped. And then she paced once, controlled steps that didn’t match what I had learned about Lucy.
Finally, she stopped.
Lifted her chin and took a deep breath.
“I will agree to the arrangement,” she said, clearer now. “But I want to see the agreement. And I want the ability to counter. Add my own terms.”
