The hallway blurs as I move past it. White walls. Soft art. People who definitely did not sign up to witness a pop star having a quiet, internal meltdown before lunch.
Someone says my name. Another voice sounds concerned.
I don’t stop.
I shove through the glass lobby doors with more force than necessary and burst into the courtyard, coffee sloshing in the mug as the cool air hits my face.
I’m too exposed out here. There are glass walls, open sightlines, and the unsettling awareness that someone could be watching. Filming. Waiting for another clip to circulate.
Pull it together, Lila.
I walked into that meeting trying to be calm and professional. I told myself I could handle one conversation, one carefully managed scenario. I believed I could sit across from a stranger and treat it like business.
But Camden Drake was all hard lines and guarded eyes, sitting there like he’d already decided I was a complication he didn’t need in his life.
I hated that my chest tightened the second our eyes met.
I hated the way old memories rushed in uninvited, bringing with them Sunday games, my ex yelling at the TV, and the constant comparisons that made me feel small.
I hated that Camden saw even a flicker of my fear.
I straighten and move to the far edge of the courtyard, pressing my back against the cool stone as if it might ground me. I clutch my coffee mug, holding myself together in all the places that feel too open.
I tip my head back and stare at the strip of sky between buildings, reminding myself that I still get to choose something.
I took a long breath.
Camden had looked closed. Wary.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw tightening with resolve.
I don’t care how elegant their solution is or how calmly Evelyn Sterling delivered it.
I move farther into the courtyard until the noise of the building fades into something distant and manageable.
Stone benches. Trimmed hedges. A fountain murmuring along unhelpfully.
I force my shoulders to drop inch by inch until my body stops acting like it’s under attack. My heartbeat slows from a sprint toa jog. My lungs stop arguing with me. I even venture a sip of my coffee. Still warm.
The courtyard blurs as my throat tightens. I can still see my ex's face, the way he smiled like he was doing me a favor by tolerating me.
Like my fear was a personality flaw instead of a response to being constantly exposed.
I press my fingers into my palms and breathe through it.
He used to call me dramatic whenever I asked for reassurance. Whenever I questioned something that didn’t sit right. Whenever I tried to leave.
If you walk out that door,he’d said once, voice calm and cutting,don’t come crying to me when no one else wants you.
I open my eyes and stare at the fountain, watching the water spill over smooth stone. I tell myself that was one man. One relationship. A bad ending does not get to define the rest of my life.
The idea of Camden Drake crashes into the spiral like gasoline on a flame. Not him, exactly. What he represents.
A man with presence. Power. A public image.
A man my ex idolized, compared himself to, and used as a measuring stick for everything I was supposedly not.
So when Evelyn said the wordmarriage, it didn’t sound like commitment. It sounded like shackles.
