"That's all this was ever meant to be," he replies sharply.
"I know," I say. "And I'm done pretending I forgot that."
The air between us tightens.
"I won't embarrass you," I continue. "I won't jeopardize your position. I won't wander off, make scenes, or put myself in situations that force you to clean up after me."
His jaw clenches at that.
"But I also won't be managed," I add. "I won't be kept on a leash."
The word hangs between us, heavy.
He doesn't respond immediately. When he does, his voice is low. "You're overreacting."
Over reacting? Over reacting he says s
That lands harder than shouting ever could.
I step past him, already done with the conversation.
"Isabella."
I stop but don't turn around.
"This arrangement works because we both play our parts," he says.
I glance over my shoulder. "Then you should be relieved. I'm finally playing mine correctly."
I walk away before he can answer.
