Every word Jax threw at her felt like a weight that was pressing down on Camila's shoulders, until she felt herself folding inward. The fiery rage that had fueled her walk through the door was being rapidly extinguished by a hollowing sense of defeat. She stopped her pacing abruptly, her hands sliding from her hips to wrap tightly around her own waist, clutching the red silk of her dress as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. As Jax's voice rose, the room seemed to grow smaller, making her feel minuscule against the backdrop of their high-end life. She wasn't the global superstar in this moment; she was just a girl caught in a crossfire she couldn't stop. "I do defend you," she whispered, though her voice lacked the conviction it had only minutes ago. It was barely audible over the sound of tears that started rolling down her cheeks. "I defend you every single time they bring up a headline, I defend you when mami asks why we aren't engaged yet, I defend you every time I choose to spend my nights here instead of at their house."
But as he stood there, looking at her with such resentment, Mila felt a terrifying shift in the atmosphere. He said he was done. She looked at him, and the sight of his stubbornness, his refusal to see her perspective, made her feel smaller than she'd ever felt in her life. She felt weak and exhausted from the years of playing mediator, and suddenly, horribly alone. Her grip on herself tightened, her knuckles turning white against the red fabric. She looked down at her feet, unable to hold his gaze anymore, feeling like she was shrinking into the shadows of their own home. A suffocating silence stretched between them, until she finally forced herself to speak, her voice trembling and small. "You say you're done subjecting yourself to them," she began, finally lifting her eyes to meet his, her gaze glassed over with tears. "But they're my life, Jackson. They're my blood. If you're done with them and done subjecting yourself to the people who made me who I am..." She took a shaky breath, the weight of the realization pressing the air out of her lungs. "Does that mean you don't want to be with me anymore? Is that what this is coming to?" Her voice cracked on the last sentence, the question lingering between them like a threat she wasn't sure either of them was ready to face. "Because I can't change who my father is, and if you're done, then where does that leave us?"
