Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Not after I swore I wouldn’t put her in that position.
With my jaw locked tight, I drop my bag to the floor and pivot without so much as a goodbye. My feet move quickly, eating up the distance to the conference room where all the media crap usually takes place.
I shoot Rina a text.
Then another.
But there’s no response.
Fuck.
As soon as I round the final corner, I hear the calm and polished voice of a woman and then Lilah’s. Instead of hesitating, I shove open the doors, and the room goes silent as heads snap in my direction. The cameraman freezes, his lens still mid-adjustment. The reporter blinks like she’s just been caught red-handed. And my sweet girl sits in the chair, looking wide-eyed and nervous.
What pisses me off the most is that she’s alone.
“If someone’s going to speak for us,” I say, striding into the room, “then it’s going to be both of us. As a couple.”
Lilah’s lips part slightly, as if she can’t believe I just busted in here. The last thing I’m going to do is leave her to face this mess alone. I grab a chair from the side of the room and carry it over, placing it directly next to hers before dropping down and slipping her hand into mine.
“You good, lucky charm?” I ask quietly.
She nods, eyes glassy with emotion. “Yes.”
Unable to help myself, I lift her hand and press a kiss against her knuckles. “We’ll get through this together. Understand?”
Her lips tremble into a smile. “Thank you for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. And no one else I’d rather be with.”
And that’s the truth.
The reporter clears her throat, trying to gather her bearings. “Mr. Sanderson, I didn’t realize you were—”
“Hi, Chandra,” I cut in smoothly. “Thanks for making time. We’re ready to talk.”
She glances between us, then gives a signal to the cameraman, and the red light glows to life.
One at a time, she asks the hard questions.
Are we in a relationship?
What happened in the photo?
Was there consent?
I let Lilah speak first because her voice matters and she deserves to be heard in her own words. It’s only when she’s finished that I lean forward and look straight into the lens.
My voice is steady.
Controlled.
But every syllable is wrapped in truth.
“What people saw in that photo wasn’t violence. It was intimacy. It was private. And it was real.” I pause, squeezing Lilah’s hand. “This woman isn’t just my best friend, she’s the one I love. The same person I’ve loved since college. Whether she realized it or not, it was always her. And no matter what happens in the future, it will always be her.”
Lilah lets out a shaky exhale beside me, and her grip tightens in mine.
The camera keeps rolling, but all I see is her.
And all I feel is the truth of my words. Raw and out in the open, no longer hiding between stolen glances and half-finished sentences.
It’s us against the noise.
Us against the narrative.
Us against the world.
And after a decade of friendship, it finally feels like we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
46
LILAH
The silence in the car is thick but not uncomfortable.
Well, not exactly.
I sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap, my jacket wrapped tightly around me like armor. My mind continues to replay the interview on a constant loop, stuck on one moment.
One statement.
“This woman isn’t just my best friend, she’s the one I love.”
He said it so plainly.
As if it had always been obvious.
And maybe to him, it was.
But not to me.
The city blurs past the window as we drive toward the penthouse. The lights, the traffic, the noise all fade to the background. Inside the car, it’s just me and the echo of his words.
Steele doesn’t try to fill the silence. One hand rests on the wheel while the other is draped casually over the gearshift. Every so often, I catch his gaze flicking to me.
Checking in.
Watching.
Waiting.
But he doesn’t push.
He never does.
Maybe that’s why it took me so long to see what was right in front of my face all these years.
When we pull into the underground garage, I blink, as if finally waking from a dream. Steele cuts the engine and turns toward me. His face might be the epitome of calm, but his eyes are filled with concern.
He reaches over, gently brushing a few loose strands of hair from my cheek. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” I say automatically, even though it’s only half true.
“Good.” He studies me for a beat. “I wish you would have told me what you were doing.”
I bite my bottom lip and hesitate. “I was afraid you’d try to stop me.”
“You’re right.” His jaw flexes. “I would’ve.”
The warmth of his fingers seeps into the side of my face as he cups my cheek, and I can’t help but lean into the touch, grounding myself in it. This man has always been a steadying presence in my life.