The words landed like a fist to the sternum.
All color drained from her face. "You don't mean that."
I said nothing.
Just watched her realize I absolutely did.
"You can't—" Her voice fractured. "You can't actually expect me to—Jesus Christ, what is wrong with you?"
"Nothing." I tilted my head slightly. "I know what I want. I know what you need. This is the intersection."
"This is coercion!"
"This is a choice." I gestured at the check. "One you're free to refuse."
"Free." She choked on the word. "You think this is freedom?"
"I think it's more than you had five minutes ago."
Rage flooded her eyes—bright, furious, electric.
Beautiful.
"I will never forgive you."
"You don't have to forgive me." My voice stayed calm. Absolute. "You just have to decide."
The air between us crackled.
Heat and hate tangled so tightly I couldn't tell where one ended, and the other began. She wanted to scream. Wanted to claw my eyes out. Wanted to burn the check and everything it represented.
But she wouldn't.
Because beneath the fury, beneath the horror?—
She'd already started calculating.
I reached into my jacket again.
Her entire body went rigid.
This time I withdrew the contract.
Unfolded it slowly.
Placed it beside the check.
She stared at the papers like they were poisonous.
"Six months," I said quietly. "Terms are outlined. Clear. Specific."
"You—" Her voice disappeared. "You already wrote it."
"Yes."
"You were that sure."
"I'm always sure."
