Page 18 of The Silent War

“Schedule,” Alexander started typing again. “You have fittings at two. You have a press brush at four. You will post a statement at eight acknowledging the transition of your digital presence and thanking our ‘community’ for their support while announcing the birthday program. Language is in the draft. Don’t improvise.”

My mouth twisted. “You want me to thank people I’ll never be allowed to speak to again.”

“I want you to behave like a professional,” he said.

“And if I don’t?” I asked.

He met my eyes for the first time. “Then you will learn what it costs to confuse your preferences with our plan.”

He slid one last page across to me, this one with three columns and no header.

“You’ll wear A’s colors Saturday,” he tapped the first column. “If they fail to meet the floor, we move to B Monday. If B postures, we punish them with a leak and move to C. Either way, you will be engaged by next Friday.”

There it was, the week carved into decisions I didn’t make and would live with for the rest of my life.

“What if I say no?”

Alexander’s answer was quiet. “To whom?”

“To all of it.”

His mouth softened like he pitied me. “Then you will choose a smaller version of this life, and someone else will choose the larger version. But the dynasty will make its deal with or without you, Emilia. You know this.” He gestured at the folder I hadn’t opened. “The numbers don’t wait for feelings.”

He paused then, like he’d remembered something else on his schedule. “And don’t be late for Father’s inheritance reading on your birthday. Noon sharp.”

My throat tightened. “Do you know what it is?”

“No. Likely a charity. It’s sealed until the reading.”

The door behind me opened. A handler slipped in, eyes down, tablet ready. “Excuse me, sir. Ms. Adams’s driver is waiting.”

Alexander stood, signaling the end the way men like him signaled most things: by moving on. “Wear cream for the fitting. No black for forty-eight hours. It photographs as grief.”

“Maybe that’s because it is,”

He chose not to hear me. “You’ve done well. Better than expected. Don’t waste it.”

The handler held the door. I picked up the folder, and felt the weight of myself inside it. Data points dressed as destiny.

I followed the handler walked past the four security guards and stepped outside. I found myself staring at the folder for a moment. Then I folded it into my bag.

Pulling my phone out. Staring down at the three messages from Charlotte and Vivienne.

Only my best friends could get me to smile after a meeting like that.

I glanced up, that was first my mistake. The second mistake was making eye contract with him.

This could not be happening.

Luca Crow.

Chapter Nine

LUCA

Emilia was in Villain.

And she was more beautiful in person than on any screen. Every photo, every video I’d obsessed over for three years was an insult compared to seeing her now.