"Maybe." I press my palms against my eyes. "Or what if I just... lose myself in the role? Forget who I am because I'm so busy pretending to be Mrs. Seamus O'Malley, dutiful billionaire wife, smiling for photos while his company bulldozes everything I care about?"
"You think proximity will make you complicit."
"I think proximity might make mecomplacent." I drop my hands, looking at her directly. “What if six months of living in luxury changes me? Makes me forget why I agreed to this in the first place?”
Luna is quiet for a moment, considering. "You're not afraid you'll fall for him. You're afraid you'll fall for the lifestyle."
"Exactly." The relief of being understood loosens something in my chest. "There's no universe where I'd actually develop feelings for Seamus O'Malley. The man is a corporate robot who thinks historical buildings are inefficient and community concerns are sentimental clutter. But the money? The comfort? The security? That I could get used to. And that terrifies me."
"Ro." Luna reaches over and squeezes my knee. "You've been broke your entire adult life and you've never once compromised your values for comfort. You turned down that corporate illustration gig that would've tripled your income because they wanted you to stop doing community work. You live in this tiny apartment because it's in the neighborhood you care about. You are not someone who sells out for luxury."
"I've never had this much luxury available to sell out for."
"True." Luna shrugs. "But you've also never had this much power to actually make change."
I want to believe her. I want to trust that I'll walk away from this in six months with my integrity intact, my values unchanged, my sense of self still recognizable.
But there's a small, terrified part of me that wonders if anyone can live that close to power without being changed by it.
"Just promise me something," I say quietly.
"Anything."
"If you see me changing…if you see me starting to justify things I wouldn't have justified before, or excusing behavior I would've called out, or forgetting why this matters. Promise you'll call me on it. Promise you won't let me disappear into this."
Luna's expression goes fierce. "I promise. And Ro? You won't shrink or disappear. You're too stubborn for that. You're doing thisbecauseof who you are, not in spite of it. Don't forget that."
I nod, letting her words settle. She's right. I'm not doing this because I've given up or because I'm desperate enough to compromise everything.
I'm doing this because it's the only way I can see to save something that matters.
But I still can't shake the image of myself comfortable, secure, maybe a little too used to having resources at my fingertips.
Will I even recognize that version of myself? Will she recognize me?
***
I don’t sleep. I read the contract again, looking for loopholes. I don’t find any.
At three a.m., I open my laptop and stare at the blank email screen.
All I have to do is type a response to Noah Carroway.
All I have to do is say yes or no. Simple. Binary.
Except it doesn't feel simple at all.
I think about the storefront. About turning it into something beautiful and necessary. About kids who need a safe place to read, to dream, to exist without anyone demanding they be smaller or quieter or more convenient. I think about proving that history matters. That preservation isn't just nostalgia. It's resistance against a world that keeps choosing profit over people.
I think about Seamus. About the way he listened when I challenged him.
The way he admitted he overcorrects. The way he wrote protections into a contract without being asked.
By the time the sun comes up, I've made my decision. I open a new email to Noah Carroway and type:Mr. Carroway, I've reviewed the contract thoroughly. I agree to the terms as written. Please let me know the next steps. —Rosanna Lopez
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
Whether I'm ready or not, this is happening.
