Chapter 4
Chapter four
Cam
Since I've been here, I've decided two things.
One: this place has the vibe of a luxury dentist office.
Two: Lila Hart sparkles.
Not metaphorically. Not just “she’s famous” sparkles.
Actual sparkle.
Her sweater shimmers like it’s trying to be seen from space. Tiny rhinestones dust her cheekbones like she got in a fight with a craft store and lost. Even her shoes look like they have their own PR team.
And me?
Dark jeans. Black long-sleeved T-shirt. Hair still damp from a shower.
I feel like a bouncer who wandered into a perfume commercial.
Evelyn Sterling gestures at us with that calm smile that says she’s about to rearrange our lives.
I’m in the chair across from Lila. Once she sits, I can look at her in full, high-definition detail.
She’s pretty.
Like, irritatingly pretty.
Not “try-hard pretty.” Not “look at me” pretty.
More like…she has a personal sunlight subscription.
I hate that I notice.
I hate that my brain catalogs it automatically, like it’s scouting a threat.
Because bright, adored, untouchable women like her are the kind of women who turn men into stories.
And I’m done being a story.
Lila’s posture is defensive. Chin lifted. Shoulders squared like she’s bracing for impact.
Her sunglasses are still on, which is either a power move or a cry for help. Maybe both.
She sets her mug on the table beside a waiting water glass. It's not a paper cup from a drive-thru. It's a real mug with a travel lid. Homemade coffee. The white on the rim tells me it's not black.
She keeps flicking her gaze away from me every few seconds, like eye contact might set off a trap.
Good.
If she doesn’t want to be here, we’re on the same page.
Evelyn sits at the head of the table like a judge.
“Before we begin,” she says smoothly, “I want to acknowledge that neither of you asked for this exact scenario.”
Lila’s mouth tightens.
I keep my face blank. My feelings don’t do well in conference rooms. They get rowdy. But so far, I’m keeping them under control.
I glance at Lila again.
She looks like she’s holding herself together with thread and spite.
And the weirdest thing is… she doesn’t look like she wants anything from me.
The room is quiet again.
The kind of quiet where your brain fills the gaps with things you’d rather not replay.
Then—ding.
A phone chimes somewhere out in the hallway.]
The opening notes of one of Lila Hart’s biggest hits float through the door.
Upbeat. Catchy. The kind of song that gets stuck in your head and refuses to leave.
Across the table, Lila stiffens.
Her shoulders draw in like she wishes the floor would open up and swallow the melody whole. Her fingers curl tighter in her lap.
She doesn’t look like someone basking in success.
She looks like someone trapped by it.
I’d expected smug. Or detached. Or at least mildly pleased that her song is apparently unavoidable even in a high-security matchmaking bunker.
Instead, she looks embarrassed.
Like she wants to apologize for the inconvenience of her own existence.
The song cuts off abruptly.
Someone outside mutters into their phone.
Lila exhales. Barely audible.
She doesn’t look at me.
And that’s when something small and inconvenient sparks in my chest. Not attraction. Not interest. Recognition.
I shift in my chair and fold my arms.
Whatever softness that moment tried to grow, I squash it flat.
Evelyn clears her throat, unbothered. “As I was saying—”
She asks a question, but I don’t answer right away.
I’m too busy cataloging everything that feels wrong about this situation, starting with the woman sitting across from me.
Lila Hart doesn’t hide her emotions well. They move across her face in quick, unguarded flashes, like headlines she hasn’t learned how to edit. Fear. Skepticism. Exhaustion.
She doesn’t look at me directly. When she does, it’s quick, like her eyes brush past mine and immediately retreat. Her gaze drops once to my arms, then snaps away, as if noticing anything about me was a mistake she doesn’t want on record.
I’m used to being looked at. Sized up. Appraised. Sometimes admired. Sometimes resented.
Being avoided feels worse.
Like she’s already decided to be wary of me.
Which is fair. But it still gets under my skin.
I shift in my chair and remind myself that none of this should matter. She doesn’t matter. This is business, not chemistry. A temporary alignment built to weather a storm.
I clear my throat and finally answer Evelyn, keeping my voice controlled and even.
“I’m looking for clarity,” I say. “Defined roles. Defined limits. I don’t want assumptions or improvisation.”
Lila's fingers curl inward like she’s gripping something invisible. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t push back. Doesn’t say anything at all.
Evelyn nods, calm as ever. “That’s reasonable.”
She turns to Lila. “And you?”
Lila inhales slowly, like she’s choosing her words from a very limited supply.
“I want…” She stops, then tries again. “I don't want to feel like I’m on display every second.”
Her voice is steady, but it costs her something. I can hear it in the slight strain, the careful pacing.
I don’t soften. I don’t let it show. I’ve learned better than that.
But the idea that she’s not here chasing attention or status throws off my internal narrative.
It complicates things, and I don’t like complications.
Evelyn watches us both, eyes sharp behind her calm expression. She’s clocking everything. The misalignment. The sparks. The resistance.
“You’re both framing this as something you’re being subjected to,” she says evenly. “Which makes sense, given the circumstances. But you’re missing the larger function.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “Which is?”
She folds her hands. “You’re thinking of this as a romantic relationship.”
I nod. “I thought this was a matchmaking service.”
“It looks that way,” she agrees. “But that’s not the core purpose.”
I lean back, arms crossing. “Then what is?”
Evelyn meets my gaze directly. “It’s a protective partnership.”
Not romance. Not intimacy. Not emotions.
Protection. Structure. Function.
Things I understand.
“I want to be honest with both of you,” she says. Her tone is calm. Too calm. “You’re both here because of urgency.”
Lila’s shoulders tense.
I notice it immediately. The way her spine stiffens, like she’s bracing for bad news.
Evelyn continues, unbothered. “Your lives have reached a point where your privacy and security are no longer functional. You need help. Not in six months. Not after another incident. Now.”
Incident.
Lila inhales sharply. The sound is small, but it cuts through the room.
Evelyn turns slightly toward her. “Your last performance footage spread faster than projected. Fan turnout has doubled in some locations. Security incidents are increasing.”
She lifts a hand before Lila can react. “Nothing criminal,” she adds smoothly. “But boundaries are eroding. Fans slipping past barricades. Access attempts in private corridors. Behavior is escalating.”
Lila’s jaw tightens. Her hands curl together in her lap.
I don’t look at her directly, but I register every shift. Every tell.
This isn’t news to her. It’s confirmation.
“And you,” Evelyn says, turning back to me, “are navigating a narrative that is not of your making.”
That’s one way to put it.
“The league is watching,” she continues. “Sponsors are watching. Silence alone isn’t enough to stabilize perception. You need a partner. Consistency. A visible counterweight to speculation.”
I let out a slow breath. “So we’re… mutually beneficial distractions.”
Evelyn smiles faintly. “More or less.”
I glance at Lila despite myself.
She’s staring at the table now. At the water glass. Anywhere but at either of us.
She looks tired. Not bored. Not dismissive.
Just worn down in a way that feels uncomfortably familiar.
Evelyn folds her hands again. “You both have challenges that can be mitigated by a unified front. Having a boyfriend, girlfriend, or fiancé can only get you so far.”
Lila’s head snaps up.
Her eyes flash behind the sunglasses. Alarm. Resistance. I feel it too. The tightening in my chest.
Evelyn leans forward like she’s delivering a conclusion she reached a long time ago.
“Given your circumstances,” she says evenly, “Elite Relationship Solutions recommends the highest level of partnership we offer.”
Lila stiffens so fast I hear the chair shift beneath her.
My pulse kicks hard, instinct flaring. I don’t like where this is going. I don’t like how carefully it’s being laid out.
Evelyn doesn’t rush to soften the blow.
“This level provides unquestioned access,” she continues. “Shared credibility. Immediate stabilization of public narrative. It reduces risk exposure across every category we track.”
Then Evelyn says it.
“We recommend marriage.”
The word hits the room like a dropped weight.
Marriage.
Not a strategy session. Not a temporary alignment.
Marriage is legal. Intimate. Life-altering.
My brain stalls. My body reacts first.
Heat climbs up my neck. Every instinct I have screams no, loud and absolute.
I glance at Lila.
Her face has gone still. Too still. Like the moment before something breaks.
Her hands are clenched tight in her lap. Her shoulders are rigid. Her breathing is shallow, fast, controlled by sheer will.
“Like I told you, this is not about romance,” Evelyn adds calmly, as if that helps. “It’s about structure. Protection. A shield.”
Marriage isn’t a shield. It’s exposure. It’s handing someone a club and hoping they don't beat you with it.
I inhale, already preparing to shut this down.
Before I can speak, Lila moves.
She pushes back her chair abruptly, the legs scraping against the floor. The sound cuts through the room, sharp and final.
“No,” she says.
One word. Clear. Steady.
Just done.
She stands, grabbing her coffee mug as she adjusts her sweater. Her sunglasses are still on, but her chin lifts, defiant and wounded all at once.
Evelyn starts to respond, but Lila doesn’t wait.
She turns and walks out.
The door opens. Then closes.
The sound echoes longer than it should.
Silence fills the room, thick and uncomfortable.
I sit there, stunned, my refusal stuck halfway out my mouth.
And my almost-marriage out the door before I could even veto it.