Chapter 33 Lila
Chapter thirty-three
Lila
The headset mic is too tight against my cheek.
Or maybe my skin is just too sensitive today. Everything feels too close.
This is my first engagement since I cancelled everything yesterday. My team was relieved, to say the least, when I agreed to do the interview today and the concert tonight.
I think I freaked them all out yesterday.
The soundstage is small—supposedly “safe.” Controlled. Low pressure. That’s what my team called it. Like those words are a charm you can say over a room to keep it from biting.
I don’t believe in charms.
I believe in exits. Security. Distance.
But I’m here anyway.
I sit in the chair they’ve placed for me, legs crossed, posture composed, like I didn’t spend last night staring at the ceiling with a cracked heart and an empty penthouse.
My hair is pulled back. Makeup is soft. “Natural.” The kind that takes an hour.
Over my rehearsal clothes, I’m wearing Cam’s sweatshirt.
The one I stole.
It’s too big on me. The sleeves swallow my hands. The hem brushes my thighs when I sit. It smells faintly like laundry soap and cedar and him.
A producer counts down with fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
The interviewer smiles warmly, camera-ready but kind. “Lila, thank you for talking with us today.”
“Of course,” I say.
The first questions are easy. The kind I could answer in my sleep.
Tour date. Setlist. Fans. The stadium finale. Firth City. Excitement.
I give the right lines. I laugh in the right places. I keep my face open and bright.
“There’s been a lot of speculation online,” the interviewer says, voice careful. “About your relationship status. And photos surfaced recently that strongly suggest—” A pause. Measured. “—that you might already be secretly married. Can you address that, Lila?”
I could laugh it off. Say no comment. Say people love to speculate.
Or I could tell the truth.
I glance down at my hands, swallowed by the sleeves of Cam’s sweatshirt. My thumb rubs the cuff without thinking. Grounding. Muscle memory.
I think of him standing between me and flashing cameras.
I think of the elevator doors closing behind him as he stormed out.
I lift my chin.
“Yes."
The interviewer blinks. Just once. “Yes…?”
“I’m married,” I continue, heart hammering so loud I’m sure the mic picks it up. “To Cam.”
The room goes very still.
Not shocked. Just alert. Like everyone sensed the air shift.
“You’re confirming that you're married to Camden Drake?” the interviewer asks, gentler now.
“Yes.”
“It’s real.” I exhale, realizing I’ve been holding my breath for weeks.
The interviewer continues.
“The internet is wild about the two of you. But I have to ask… with everything going on—the lawsuit, the rumors, the contract chatter—are your feelings for him real?”
“I didn’t plan on falling for him.” My fingers curl in the jacket sleeves—his jacket.
The interviewer’s breath stills.
I swallow, eyes stinging. “But yes. I’m in love with him.”
The words feel like stepping into sunlight after months of rain.
Terrifying. Freeing.
Honest.
Her eyes soften.
“Rumor has it you two had a big fight.” The interviewer pauses before she asks, “Are you and Cam still together?”
My breath catches. “I…I don’t know.”
My heart is fluttering like a hummingbird.
I add quietly. “But I know what I feel. And I’m done pretending it’s smaller than it is.”
The room goes silent again.
“Lila, thank you for coming on the show today. That’s all the time we have for this segment.”
Then the producer’s voice cuts in. “We’re clear.”
The red light blinks off.
My shoulders sag as the adrenaline drains. I press a hand to my chest.
I did it.
I told the truth.
My team will panic. ERS will call.
I don’t know how Cam will react.
I take a shaky breath. “I just want him to know,” I whisper to myself. “That it wasn't a lie. Not for me.”