Back in my room, I collapse onto the bed face‑first.
Mia pounces immediately. “Well?”
“New deal,” I mumble into the comforter.
“English, please,” she says.
I roll onto my back. “One year,” I say. “He keeps me alive, I don’t blow up his world publicly. After that, we talk. No guarantees, but…he said he’d let me go if I still wanted out.”
Mia’s eyes widen. “He actually said that?”
“His exact words were something like ‘I won’t force you,’” I say. “Which, for a man whose entire vibe is coercion chic, is progress.”
She whistles. “So you got him to admit there’s an end date.”
“An *evaluation* date,” I say. “This isn’t a rental agreement. But it’s…less infinite than ‘till death or murder do us part.’”
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“Trapped,” I say. “And weirdly…less trapped? At least now
