Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Lila
Iwalk into the morning meeting expecting reassurance.
Maybe a calm recap. Maybe Sasha telling me we have options. Maybe someone saying, It’s okay, you freaked out, totally human, we’ll pivot.
Instead, I walk into an ambush.
Everyone is already there.
Every chair filled. Papers spread neatly across the table like evidence in a very polite courtroom drama.
Sasha stands the second I step inside. Not angry. Not cold. Just decisive in the way that makes my stomach sink.
“Sit,” she says.
I hesitate, then lower myself into the chair at the head of the table. My pulse picks up.
Manny leans against the wall to my right, arms crossed.
Sasha slides a document toward me.
The first page stops my breath.
I don’t need to read the rest to know exactly what it is.
The contract.
The one I didn’t sign. The one I didn’t ask for. The one that looks bigger than I remember it. Like it's been multiplying after midnight. Like a gremlin.
“Before you panic,” Sasha says, lifting a hand when my mouth opens, “this is a draft. Nothing is finalized.”
“Why,” I ask slowly, “is there a draft at all?”
Sasha’s expression softens just a notch. Enough to tell me she knows this hurts.
“ERS legal,” she says, gesturing to a man I recognize as the ERS lawyer, Noah, “has been working nonstop.”
My stomach drops.
“You had the ERS legal team plan for my marriage,” I say. “Without me.”
“We planned for protection,” she says. “Marriage is just the mechanism.”
I search the room for someone to disagree with her. Noah won’t meet my eyes. Manny’s jaw tightens, but he stays quiet.
Another page slides across the table.
I glance down and immediately blink.
Then I read it again.
NO INTIMACY CLAUSE — PROTECTIVE ADDENDUM
I look up slowly. “This goes in a marriage contract?”
My voice comes out thin.
Noah, the ERS lawyer, clears his throat from his spot in the corner of the room, adjusting his glasses in a way that suggests he’s about to ruin my afternoon.
“This is not a traditional marriage,” he says calmly. “It’s a protective partnership with legal parameters. Given your circumstances, it would be irresponsible not to include it.”
I glance back down.
Bullet points. Subsections. Cold, tidy language.
No hugging, kissing, or hand-holding unless required for public presentation. No private displays of affection. No sexual contact.
My stomach does a slow, unpleasant roll.
There is something humbling about seeing your worst fears formatted so professionally.
“So,” I say carefully, “Is this a marriage or an emotional witness protection program?”
Sasha winces. Manny almost smiles.
“This isn’t a judgment on you,” Sasha says quietly, stepping forward. “Or him. It’s about keeping everything clean. If he touches you, it’s consensual and documented. If he doesn’t, no one can twist it. You stay safe. He stays protected.”
I read the clause again, slower this time.
The boundaries are stark. Clear. Almost aggressively respectful.
No assumptions. No blurred lines. No pressure for intimacy behind closed doors.
It feels lonely.
It also feels safe.
I hate that those two things are starting to feel interchangeable.
I trace the edge of the paper with my fingertip. The ink doesn’t smear. The words don’t soften.
This isn’t romance.
This is containment.
And for the first time since this whole nightmare began, I can see how it might work.
Noah slides another page across the table.
“This arrangement grants Camden full security clearance,” Noah explains. “Backstage wings. Hotel suites. Transit tunnels. Private floors.”
I glance at Manny, who gives me a slight nod.
I push back from the table and stand, pacing a few steps.
“He doesn’t even like me,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“Good,” Sasha says immediately. “That means he won’t cross a line.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Maybe this isn’t romance.
Maybe it’s infrastructure.
And infrastructure is what keeps buildings from collapsing.
I pace the length of the room, heels soft against the carpet, trying to outrun the feeling that my life is being quietly reorganized without my permission.
I stop near the window and press my forehead to the glass. It’s cool. Solid. Unbothered by my internal spiral.
I turn back to the table.
Sasha is watching me carefully. Manny hasn’t moved. Noah is already annotating something.
“You’re not forcing me,” I say slowly. “But this is the option you all agree on.”
Sasha doesn’t flinch. “We're providing you the safest option.”
I lower myself back into the chair.
The contract waits patiently in front of me.
I picture Camden again.
Not the highlight reels or headlines.
The man in that room who looked like he’d rather be tackled by a linebacker than sit through another second of that meeting. The man who didn’t smile at me. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t try to charm me.
A man who looked rigid. Miserable.
Oddly enough, that helps.
I rest my hands on the table and take a slow breath.
No one moves. No one interrupts.
Sasha reaches for the pen and slides it toward me, slow and deliberate. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t rush. She lets it stop just short of my hand, like this still belongs to me.
Choice. Or the illusion of it.
I stare at the pen.
It’s ordinary. Black. Lightweight. The kind you get in a pack of a dozen. There’s nothing dramatic about it, which feels wrong considering it might be the most consequential object I’ve touched in years.
I pick up the pen.
It’s warm from Sasha’s hand.
“This doesn’t mean I trust him,” I say.
Sasha’s mouth curves faintly. “It means you’re protecting yourself.”
I sign.
Just my name. Nothing fancy. No flourish. The letters look steadier than I feel.
The sound of the pen scratching across paper is louder than it should be.
When I’m done, I set it down carefully, like it might explode if I’m careless.
No applause. No relief. Just a quiet shift in the air, like something irreversible has locked into place.
Manny exhales slowly.
Sasha gathers the papers.
Noah is already pulling out his phone.
I sit there, hands folded in my lap, heart racing, trying to understand what I’ve just done.
I haven’t married anyone yet.
But I’ve stepped onto that path.
And now there’s only one thing left that matters.
Whether Camden Drake will agree to meet me there.