The pen sits where Evelyn left it. Heavy. Black. Waiting.
“Ms. Hart does not want to use you. She wants distance from everyone. Including you. She isn't asking for affection,” Evelyn adds. “She's asking for protection. And for boundaries.”
I swallow.
The room feels too quiet.
Brent lowers his voice. “Cam… this buys us time.”
Time to clear my name. Time to stabilize my career. Time to breathe.
I reach for the pen.
I wrap my fingers around the pen and feel the cool weight of it. The finality.
I glance once more at the no-intimacy clause.
No expectations for real feelings.
I lower the pen to paper.
The sound of ink scratching across the page feels louder than it should.
One line.
Then another.
My signature takes shape. Familiar. Permanent.
Done.
Chapter nine
Lila
The silk of my dress whispers with every step, like it has opinions about this whole situation and none of them are supportive.
Cream-colored. Simple. Pretty in a way that feels accidental, because it was thrown together in under an hour by a stylist with a steamer and a prayer. There is no big wedding gown. No veil. No bouquet. No music.
Instead, there is a narrow ERS corridor and my heartbeat doing parkour in my chest.
My hands shake, so I keep smoothing the sides of the dress like there are wrinkles I can bully into submission. There aren’t. I’m just trying to convince my body we’re doing something normal.
We are not doing something normal.
Manny walks a step behind me, steady and quiet. I don’t look back, but I feel him there like an anchor, like the one adult in the room. Which is funny, because I am technically an adult. I just don’t feel like one right now.
ERS feels too sedate for this.
The lighting is soft. The carpet muffles my steps. The air smells faintly like expensive tea and moral superiority. Like this place is designed to make people feel happy and calm while they sign documents that will change their lives forever.
I float a little, like I’m outside my body watching myself walk. Like I’m about to wake up backstage, sweaty and disoriented, and tell my tour manager I just had the worst dream and I need an IV and a new life.
Because this feels like something I would write into a song when I’m being dramatic.
Only I’m not writing it.
I’m living it.
