Especially not someone who could manipulate me, lie to me, or use me.
I don't want someone in my life. Don't want someone in my home. Don't want someone in my heart.
Brent claps my shoulder, the gesture meant to be reassuring but landing like a weight I can't shake off.
"This might be the thing that saves you, Cam."
I don't answer.
I can't.
My jaw locks, a storm brewing behind my eyes, pressure building in my chest until I'm not sure if I want to hit something or walk out and never come back.
But I'm out of options.
Chapter three
Lila
Istep out of the sleek black SUV and instantly wish I hadn't agreed to any of this.
The Elite Relationship Solutions headquarters looks more like a private spa than a matchmaking service, with its pristine white stone, cascading glass windows, and manicured courtyard. Everything about the place whispers luxury, exclusivity, and calm.
Nothing about me feels calm right now.
My heels click sharply on the marble floor as I enter the lobby, the sound too loud, too exposed. A receptionist smiles warmly and offers herbal tea, but I barely register the words. My stomach twists into a knot of dread, a reminder that I'm here because my life has become unmanageable.
Because I couldn't keep myself safe.
The thought makes my chest tighten.
When the elevators open, Evelyn Sterling steps out, composed as ever—tailored blazer, serene smile, eyes that see straightthrough the glitter and stage makeup to the terrified woman underneath.
"Lila," she says with gentle warmth, "thank you for coming."
I force a steady breath and follow her, heels softening against the plush hallway carpet. The world feels too quiet. Too controlled. Too unlike the chaos I came from.
Evelyn leads me down a corridor lined with art I don't recognize, past closed doors that probably hide other people's messy lives, neatly packaged into contracts and compatibility profiles.
"How are you feeling?" Evelyn asks, glancing back at me.
"Terrified," I answer before I can stop myself.
She doesn't look surprised. Doesn't offer hollow reassurance.
"That's honest," she says. "I appreciate that."
Her words feel too reassuring and comfortable. I'm not here for comfort. I'm here because my life is spiraling out of control.
"Our process is thorough," Evelyn explains, her voice calm and measured. "Every potential match undergoes extensive psychological profiling, background checks, and compatibility assessments."
I nod, but the words float past me. My mind keeps replaying the moment I collapsed onstage—the humiliation, the terror, the complete loss of control. The memory makes my skin feel too tight.
ERS isn't what I expected at all. There are no sterile offices or a clinical atmosphere. Instead, the space feels like a sanctuary—soft lighting, soothing artwork, hushed voices. Everything designed to make vulnerability feel... manageable. Maybe even dignified.
"The contracts we draft are legally binding," Evelyn continues. "Every detail tailored to the unique needs of both parties. You are our priority."
I've been trying to protect myself for years. Writing songs behind locked doors. Building walls around my heart. And still, everything keeps crashing through.
