“Is this appearance coordinated?”
“Are you two attending together intentionally?”
I feel Lila’s posture change beside me. Tightening. Shoulders just a fraction higher. Jaw set like she’s bracing for impact.
I slow my stride without thinking, angling my body slightly in front of hers as we keep moving. Shielding her.
“No comments tonight,” I say calmly, eyes forward. “We’re here for the foundation.”
That doesn’t stop them.
“Cam, are you worried about sponsors pulling out?”
“Lila, is this about image rehabilitation?”
Her hand brushes mine—not gripping, just checking. Still here.
Good.
Event staff steps in quickly, practiced and apologetic, ushering us past the press line and into the ballroom. The doors close behind us with a satisfying finality, muffling the noise down to a dull thrum.
Music. Conversation. Clinking glasses. The illusion snaps back into place like it was never threatened.
Lila exhales quietly beside me. Not relief exactly. More like recalibration.
“You okay?” I murmur.
She nods once. “Yeah.”
I know better than to push.
Across from us, two seats are filled — a donor couple murmuring over the program.
The last seat is empty.
I glance at the name card.
Evan Ross — Independent Media.
I don’t say anything. Just hope he's a no show.
Dinner begins.
For the first time since we arrived, no one is looking directly at us.
Lila relaxes into her chair, shoulders finally lowering. She studies the program, then glances at me.
“I used to hate attending fundraisers like this,” she says quietly.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You understand them now.”
She nods. “I can't imagine living through some of the things these kids have to deal with.”
I meet her gaze. “That’s why I said yes to tonight.”
And I mean it.
We talk easily after that — not about scandals, not about strategy. About the foundation. About kids who need quiet places to land. About how loud the world gets when you’re too young to make sense of it.
