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Lila: Maybe not. Emily was sloshed tonight.
Lila: She also passed out. Long story, but she’s fine.
Calla: … You? On a horse?
Serena: Bitch, I will literally pay to see this.
Lila: If I die, tell Theo there’s no need for investigation.
Serena: Oh, we’ll tell him. Right after we give him a full psychological breakdown of his obvious feelings for you.
6
MOTION TO SUPPRESS
THEO
The tricky part isn’t uncovering the truth.
Truth is irritatingly straightforward, like fingerprints or chain of custody forms—tedious, clinical, smug in its certainty. The real mess starts after, when you have to decide what the hell to actually do with it.
Every time Theo thinks he’s finally done with Lila Jennings, she turns up again—smudged eyeliner, those blue eyes that edge toward purple, a whole arsenal of strong opinions—and he realizes he never actually was. It’s not dramatic, not cinematic. Just quiet and constant, something that lives under his skin. He tells himself it’s irritation. Familiarity. Anything but what it is. Still, every time she walks into a room, his focus narrows until the rest of the world feels like background noise.
Which is inconvenient at best, considering she treats him with the same unaffectionate exasperation one might reserve for fixing a broken printer.
And, yes, fine, maybe he had once derailed her meticulously choreographed presentation slides by plugging in the wrong HDMI cord.
Okay, twice.
Among other things.
The issue, really, is that Lila has to go on being incandescently brilliant and infuriatingly competent, and Theo goes on being… well.
Distracted.
By all of it.
By her.
Which is exactly why he hasn’t told Lila the whole truth. Not yet.
He has no doubt that she will flay him alive with those sharp eyes and sharper words, and he honestly isn’t sure which would be worse—her fury, or the possibility that she’ll stop looking at him altogether.
Even that put-upon exasperation of hers has become something he can’t seem to quit.
And if he tells her? He won’t just be wrecking whatever fragile, barbed thing exists between them. He’ll be hurting her. And Theo, selfish, gutless bastard that he is, can’t stand the thought of being the one to drive that knife in.
Eventually, though, the truth will inevitably corner him. And that might be the worst thing of all.
It doesn’t let him sleep, either.
He’d pretended well enough while Lila twitched through her own dreams, but the wind forcing the window open snapped him fully alert.
He lies awake, eyes open in the dark, thoughts spiraling. The house hums, restless. Much like Theo.
Lila’s breathing is steady beside him now, the faintest shift of the sheets each time she exhales. He should close his eyes. He should let himself rest.
But his mind keeps replaying the evening in an endless loop—the way Lila looked under the chandelier light, her dress clinging to her in a way that made his pulse stumble. The calm way she spoke to the others. The way she looked at him, and how every word she said seemed designed to test his restraint.
