“You walked out because the decision felt too large,” she continues. “That’s understandable.” Her eyes meet mine. “But walking out does not stop the consequences.”
Brent exhales sharply. I ignore him.
I swallow. My throat feels tight. “You brought the contract here?”
“There have been some updates,” Evelyn says. “I felt it only fair to loop you in. Whether you sign is still up to you.”
Brent doesn’t even try to hide it. He gives methe look.
Please. For the love of all things football, just sign the papers.
I stare at the folder.
A few days ago, I walked away from this idea with my dignity intact.
Now the trap is sitting on my table, hand-delivered to my front door.
Brent’s phone buzzes again. For once, he ignores it.
I don’t open the file.
But my pulse is already racing.
Evelyn opens it for me. Brent drifts closer, hovering over my shoulder. I don’t look at him.
Evelyn turns the first page and rotates the document so it faces me.
Bold letters. Centered. Impossible to miss.
MARRIAGE AGREEMENT — PROTECTIVE PARTNERSHIP
My jaw tightens before I realize it.
Below it, in smaller text, a phrase that lands heavier than the title:
Emergency Clearance Authorization — Spousal Access Required
I stare at it longer than necessary.
“This marriage offers you unrestricted access to secured locations,” Evelyn continues. “Her team wants you as a protective presence as much as possible.”
I picture Lila—small and sharp-eyed, shoulders tight, hands folded like she’s bracing for impact.
She turns another page.
“I also feel I need to tell you that Ms. Hart’s past relationships didn’t end well,” Evelyn says. “She’s been manipulated. Emotionally leveraged. Used for access. For relevance. For control.”
I let out a short breath through my nose. “Sounds familiar.”
“Yes,” Evelyn agrees. “That’s why this pairing has potential.”
Brent nods like someone finally said the quiet part out loud. “You’re compatible disasters.”
I shoot him a look.
Evelyn doesn’t smile.
I glance down again.
