She laughs at something I say — soft, real.
Her knee brushes mine under the table.
The warmth lingers, subtle and dangerous.
For a moment, it feels like we might actually get the night we were promised.
Then the empty chair fills.
Evan Ross slides into the seat with an apologetic smile. “Sorry I’m late. Work.”
His eyes flick between us, sharp and curious.
The bubble pops.
“Lovely event,” he says casually. “I actually pitched a piece on this foundation last year.”
Lila’s posture tightens again. Controlled. Polished.
I set my fork down.
“Enjoying the meal?” he asks, already reaching for his notebook.
“We were,” I say evenly.
He smiles. “I won’t take much of your time.”
That’s a lie.
“Lila,” he continues, “do you think public support like this helps redirect attention from—”
I stand.
Lila looks up at me, surprised.
“We’re stepping out,” I say calmly.
Her eyes search mine for half a second.
Then she trusts me.
Her hand slides into mine as we leave the table. I don’t look back. I don’t give him the satisfaction.
An event staffer intercepts us near the doors. “Is everything alright?”
“Yes,” I say. “We just need a place with no press.”
She nods immediately and leads us through a side corridor and out onto a private balcony.
The night air hits us clean and cold.
The doors close.
Silence.
Lila releases my hand and pulls out her phone, fingers already texting Manny to get us out of here.
She pockets it and exhales, resting her hands on the railing.
