There it is. No escape. No pretending this isn't happening. No pretending I can run from this building, from this match, from this man the universe has cruelly placed in front of me.
Chapter four
Cam
Since I've been here, I've decided two things.
One: this place has the vibe of a luxury dentist office.
Two: Lila Hart sparkles.
Not metaphorically. Not just “she’s famous” sparkles.
Actual sparkle.
Her sweater shimmers like it’s trying to be seen from space. Tiny rhinestones dust her cheekbones like she got in a fight with a craft store and lost. Even her shoes look like they have their own PR team.
And me?
Dark jeans. Black long-sleeved T-shirt. Hair still damp from a shower.
I feel like a bouncer who wandered into a perfume commercial.
Evelyn Sterling gestures at us with that calm smile that says she’s about to rearrange our lives.
I’m in the chair across from Lila. Once she sits, I can look at her in full, high-definition detail.
She’s pretty.
Like, irritatingly pretty.
Not “try-hard pretty.” Not “look at me” pretty.
More like…she has a personal sunlight subscription.
I hate that I notice.
I hate that my brain catalogs it automatically, like it’s scouting a threat.
Because bright, adored, untouchable women like her are the kind of women who turn men into stories.
And I’m done being a story.
Lila’s posture is defensive. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared like she’s bracing for impact.
Her sunglasses are still on, which is either a power move or a cry for help. Maybe both.
She sets her mug on the table beside a waiting water glass. It's not a paper cup from a drive-thru. It's a real mug with a travel lid. Homemade coffee. The white on the rim tells me it's not black.
She keeps flicking her gaze away from me every few seconds, like eye contact might set off a trap.
Good.
If she doesn’t want to be here, we’re on the same page.
Evelyn sits at the head of the table like a judge.
“Before we begin,” she says smoothly, “I want to acknowledge that neither of you asked for this exact scenario.”
