I turn to leave.
“Cam—wait.”
I stop.
He steps into the doorway fully now, envelope clutched in one hand.
“I just—” He swallows. “I’ve been a fan since college.”
He glances down the hallway, then back at me, voice dropping. “Could you… sign something?”
For a second, I just look at him.
The man who built an audience off her name.
The man who framed himself as a victim while feeding on her attention.
The man who thought proximity made him powerful.
I take the pen he offers.
Sign my name on the back of the envelope.
Neat. Controlled. Final.
I hand it back.
His fingers close around the envelope like it’s suddenly heavier.
I don’t wait for a response this time.
Line drawn.
The paper was never the point.
And he knows it.
Chapter twenty-three
Lila
The stadium is alive. Electric. Deafening.
It feels like walking through fog.
The VIP box is glass and velvet and polite distance. A view that saysyou’re herewithout letting you touch anything real. The people inside it are dressed like they expected cameras, even though they’re technically safe from them.
I’m not.
I can feel attention like heat on the back of my neck anyway. My name travels in whispers. People glance and look away.
The balcony kiss is everywhere online. I know because I made the mistake of checking. People slowed it down, zoomed in, wrote long poetic threads about “the moment our souls touched.”
My soul would like a refund.
Cam has been… distant since then.
Not cold. Not unkind.
