Chapter 5
Chapter five
Lila
Idon’t walk out of the conference room.
I bolt.
One second I’m staring at a very expensive table while my brain tries to reboot, and the next I’m moving on pure instinct, heels clattering against the polished floor as if speed alone can undo what I just heard.
Marriage.
To Camden Drake.
The hallway blurs as I move past it. White walls. Soft art. People who definitely did not sign up to witness a pop star having a quiet, internal meltdown before lunch.
Someone says my name. Another voice sounds concerned.
I don’t stop.
I shove through the glass lobby doors with more force than necessary and burst into the courtyard, coffee sloshing in the mug as the cool air hits my face.
I’m too exposed out here. There are glass walls, open sightlines, and the unsettling awareness that someone could be watching. Filming. Waiting for another clip to circulate.
Pull it together, Lila.
I walked into that meeting trying to be calm and professional. I told myself I could handle one conversation, one carefully managed scenario. I believed I could sit across from a stranger and treat it like business.
But Camden Drake was all hard lines and guarded eyes, sitting there like he’d already decided I was a complication he didn’t need in his life.
I hated that my chest tightened the second our eyes met.
I hated the way old memories rushed in uninvited, bringing with them Sunday games, my ex yelling at the TV, and the constant comparisons that made me feel small.
I hated that Camden saw even a flicker of my fear.
I straighten and move to the far edge of the courtyard, pressing my back against the cool stone as if it might ground me. I clutch my coffee mug, holding myself together in all the places that feel too open.
I tip my head back and stare at the strip of sky between buildings, reminding myself that I still get to choose something.
I took a long breath.
Camden had looked closed. Wary.
I squeeze my eyes shut, jaw tightening with resolve.
I don’t care how elegant their solution is or how calmly Evelyn Sterling delivered it.
I move farther into the courtyard until the noise of the building fades into something distant and manageable.
Stone benches. Trimmed hedges. A fountain murmuring along unhelpfully.
I force my shoulders to drop inch by inch until my body stops acting like it’s under attack. My heartbeat slows from a sprint to a jog. My lungs stop arguing with me. I even venture a sip of my coffee. Still warm.
The courtyard blurs as my throat tightens. I can still see my ex's face, the way he smiled like he was doing me a favor by tolerating me.
Like my fear was a personality flaw instead of a response to being constantly exposed.
I press my fingers into my palms and breathe through it.
He used to call me dramatic whenever I asked for reassurance. Whenever I questioned something that didn’t sit right. Whenever I tried to leave.
If you walk out that door, he’d said once, voice calm and cutting, don’t come crying to me when no one else wants you.
I open my eyes and stare at the fountain, watching the water spill over smooth stone. I tell myself that was one man. One relationship. A bad ending does not get to define the rest of my life.
The idea of Camden Drake crashes into the spiral like gasoline on a flame. Not him, exactly. What he represents.
A man with presence. Power. A public image.
A man my ex idolized, compared himself to, and used as a measuring stick for everything I was supposedly not.
So when Evelyn said the word marriage, it didn’t sound like commitment. It sounded like shackles.
A legal promise.
I picture Camden again, the way he looked across that table. Guarded. Closed off.
He hated the idea just as much as I did. I could see that clearly.
I let out a shaky breath and straighten slowly, wiping my palms against my skirt. The fountain keeps murmuring. The sky stays stubbornly blue.
Marriage feels like the ultimate loss of control. It doesn't matter if it's real, fake, or anything blurred in between.
It isn’t just a headline or a PR strategy. It’s a door that locks behind you, even if everyone swears you can leave whenever you want.
Camden Drake doesn’t change that.
If anything, he makes it worse.
He is composed. Guarded. Used to being in control. A man who understands pressure and public narratives.
The kind of man who would notice my cracks even when I try to hide them.
The kind of man who could leave and take a piece of me with him.
I don’t want to know him. I don’t want to trust him.
And I don’t want to be trapped with someone who already looks like he resents being here.
I can handle security protocols. I can handle schedules and escorts and reinforced doors. I can handle inconvenience.
What I cannot handle is giving someone power over the last place I still feel safe.
My heart.
***
After a few minutes alone in the courtyard, Manny appears.
One moment I’m staring at the fountain, and the next his shadow stretches across the pale stone in front of me. Solid. Familiar. Unmoving.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
He stands beside me with his arms crossed, gaze fixed somewhere past the hedges like he’s giving me room to exist without commentary.
Manny has always been good at that. Letting silence do the work until I’m ready.
When I finally look up, his expression is calm. “You good?” he asks quietly.
I let out a short laugh that surprises even me. It comes out thin and brittle around the edges.
“No,” I say. “Not even a little.”
“I can’t do this, Manny,” I continue, words spilling now that I’ve started. “I can’t marry someone. I don’t even know him.”
I swallow and look away, blinking fast.
“I don’t want to know him.”
Manny nods once, slow and steady. “I know today was a shock,” he says. “And I know that meeting went sideways fast.”
That’s one way to put it.
“This wasn’t how you wanted things to go,” he adds.
“No,” I say softly. “This was not on my vision board.”
That earns me the smallest huff of a laugh from him.
Then his face settles again, serious but gentle.
“Lila,” he says, lowering his voice, “You can’t keep pretending this is normal.”
“I am fine,” I protest automatically.
Manny turns to look at me fully now. His gaze is steady, kind, and completely unimpressed by my argument.
“You’re surviving,” he corrects. “There’s a difference.”
I press my lips together. The fountain keeps murmuring like it’s on his side.
He doesn’t push closer, but his presence feels heavier now. More intentional.
“You can’t outrun this by saying no,” he adds. “And I won’t pretend that what ERS suggested wasn’t extreme. It was.”
I glance up, surprised by that admission.
“But the risks you are facing aren't imaginary,” he says.
I shake my head, frustrated tears prickling behind my eyes. “I just want to feel safe again,” I say quietly. “And I don’t want to pretend this is some fairytale solution when it feels like a trap.”
Manny’s expression softens.
“I know,” he says. “And I wouldn’t ask you to agree to something that might break you.”
Then he adds, gently but firmly, “But I will ask you to think about what will keep you alive long enough to heal from your past.”
Manny takes a slow breath, like he’s bracing himself for my reaction.
“This isn’t about liking the guy,” he says carefully.
I don’t answer. I just fold my arms tighter, because I feel exposed again.
“You need someone who can move with you,” he continues. “Someone who doesn’t need clearance every time you change floors or decide to leave a venue early. Someone who can step between you and a crowd before it becomes a headline.”
I stare at the stone beneath my feet.
I hate how reasonable he sounds.
“You shouldn’t have to announce your movements like a military operation,” Manny adds. “You shouldn’t have to ask permission to feel normal.”
Normal feels like a myth at this point, but I don’t say that.
“And public perception matters,” he says, almost apologetic. “I wish it didn’t. But it does.”
I close my eyes briefly, then open them again.
“Being seen with someone steady,” Manny continues. “Calm. Grounded. It shifts the energy around you. Fans take cues from what they see. If you look protected, they back off.”
I swallow.
My mind flashes to the contract Evelyn slid across the table earlier. Thick paper. Clean font. My name printed neatly at the top.
The signature line empty.
Waiting.
My chest tightens in that familiar, suffocating way that always signals a decision I don’t want to make.
“And think about it,” Manny continues, softer now. “The moment people see you with someone stable? Someone who doesn’t look like he’s chasing clout or using your fame? It changes the story.”
I hate that a part of my brain immediately supplies the image of Camden Drake. Tall. Controlled. Unbothered.
A man already in the public's eye.
A man my ex idolized.
The thought lands hard, sharp enough to steal my breath for a second.
I look back toward the ERS building, glass gleaming in the sun.
My chest tightens.
“Fine,” I say quietly. “I’ll think about it.”
Manny exhales, relief flickering across his face.
But as I turn away, the image of Camden standing there doesn't leave.