Chapter 3
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 straight through 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.
My ex's voice sneaks into my thoughts—smug, mocking, dismissive. "You're lucky I stayed as long as I did, Lila. Most men wouldn't deal with your drama."
The memory carves fresh lines into old wounds. And now here I am, about to be matched—as if I'm the problem. Like I can't be trusted with my own choices.
At the end of the hallway, a frosted glass door slides open.
"Your match is already here," Evelyn says.
My heart trips over itself, suddenly beating too fast.
"Are you ready?"
No. Absolutely not. "Yes," I lie.
I step into the private meeting room... and the air leaves my lungs.
Camden Drake sits at the sleek conference table, broad shoulders tense beneath a fitted black shirt, jaw tight, his expression unreadable.
I know his face. From my ex-boyfriend's posters. Memorabilia. Jerseys. Endless ESPN commentary.
Reid worshipped him.
It hits me like a physical blow. My pulse roars in my ears. The room tilts. I can't breathe around the memories—late nights forced to watch games I didn't care about, arguments about how obsessed Reid was with Cam's stats, the way he compared every man to his football idol.
Including my past relationships.
Compared every woman to Cam's girlfriends.
Including me.
My throat tightens sharply. "No," I whisper before I can stop myself.
Camden looks up right then—eyes sharp, assessing, cool. Not cold, exactly, but distant in a way that scrapes against my insides. It isn't personal; I can tell. It's how he looks at everything. Everyone.
And somehow, that's worse.
It isn't his fault. But standing here, facing the embodiment of every insecurity Reid carved into me, I feel exposed. Raw. And profoundly unsafe in a way that has nothing to do with crazed fans.
Evelyn begins introductions, but I barely hear a word. My gaze keeps flicking involuntarily toward Camden, trying to gather my breath, trying to make sense of why he of all people is here.
He looks... uncomfortable. Annoyed. Like he hates this as much as I do.
He doesn't stand when I enter. Doesn't smile. Doesn't soften. He studies me like I'm a puzzle he already resents solving. His eyes flick briefly over my sparkly sweater and oversized sunglasses.
I can practically hear his thoughts: celebrity, drama, chaos.
My spine stiffens instinctively. I'm not a stereotype. I'm not whatever he thinks I am.
And yet I can feel the judgment radiating off him—or maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I'm unraveling.
I hate that I care at all.
"Please," Evelyn says, gesturing between us, "have a seat. This will be a conversation."
A conversation. This feels more like an execution.
I force myself forward, sinking carefully into the chair across from him. He leans back slightly, clearly bracing for something he doesn't want. I cross my legs and square my shoulders, determined not to shrink even though my heart is thundering too hard.
Evelyn folds her hands calmly. "Lila Hart," she says gently, turning to Camden. "This is Camden Drake. You two have been matched."
There it is. No escape. No pretending this isn't happening. No pretending I can run from this building, from this match, from this man the universe has cruelly placed in front of me.