Me: It is.
I leave the building through a private exit, because the press is already gathering out front and I’m not feeding them a performance. Legal will handle the statement, compliance will handle the process, and the agencies will handle what comes next.
I head back to the rental, and when I open the door, Lila’s on the couch with her knees tucked up, hands resting over her stomach like she’s holding the center of her world in place.
She looks up, and her eyes search my face.
“It’s over,” I say.
She stands, crosses the room, and presses her forehead to my chest, and the contact hits like a reset, because the last month has been pressure and risk and restraint, and she’s the only part that’s been steady.
I wrap my arms around her and hold her there.
“What about Sabrina?” she asks quietly.
“She signed,” I reply. “She’ll testify, and she’s not getting immunity the way she wanted, because cooperation isn’t innocence.”
“And Gavin?”
“He’s not coming near you again,” I say. “He’s facing charges that don’t disappear because he tells a story.”
Her breath shudders once, and she nods.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. “And the lie?”
“It’s handled,” I tell her. “We’ve got proof, we’ve got affidavits, and we’ve got payment trails, and it’s going on record as false.”
Her eyes close for a second, then open again.
“Say it,” she whispers.
I don’t pretend I don’t know what she means.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell her, and I keep it direct. “You didn’t deserve any of it, and you weren’t responsible for cleaning up someone else’s violence, and you weren’t responsible for the story they built to trap you.”
Her throat works, and she nods again, holding onto my shirt like she needs something solid.
“I’m done letting them write me,” she says.
“I know,” I answer. “And they’re done writing anything around you.”
She exhales, and her shoulders drop in a way I haven’t seen since before she ran, and it isn’t dramatic and it isn’t loud, but it’s real.
I lean down and press a kiss to her hair, and I don’t say anything else, because this part doesn’t need speeches.
This part needs a closed door, a quiet room, and the fact that for once, the people who tried to control the outcome are the ones in custody.
Lila tips her face up toward mine, and her voice is steady. “Okay. Now we move forward.”
“Yes,” I reply, and I mean it. “Let’s go home. Unless?—”
“Your penthouse.” She nods. “But we’re redecorating.”
I chuckle warmly. “Deal.”
25
LILA
