The chime gave one thin, dissonant note as the door shut.
Amelia looked at the napkin. At her name drowning in ink insects.
“Ants on my name?” she whispered.
Tabitha looked pale. “Looks like a prediction,” she muttered, tucking the napkin into her notebook. “Must think you guys are being ‘bugged’ by something.”
Chase rolled his eyes. “He’s dramatic. It’s his brand.”
But Amelia felt cold. Collateral damage. That’s what the drawing meant. Chase was the target; she was just ‘bugging’ the situation.
“Registrar,” Chase called, trying to break the tension. “Got a cup for me today?”
Tabitha handed him one. SILVER TONGUE.
“And a new one for me?” Amelia asked, voice faint.
Tabitha met her eyes. “TOO GOOD FOR THIS still stands.”
Amelia held up her cup. “Then I’ll stick with it.”
She looked at Chase, who was checking his phone again, probably looking for the contract from Vincenzo. He looked determined, a man trying to steer a ship to safety.
But looking at the notebook where Tabitha had hidden the drawing, Amelia wondered if he was actually steering them straight into the iceberg.
The meeting with the bank loan officer was shorter than the drive there.
It turns out that charm, a nice suit, and a solid credit history don’t mean much when your employer is flagged for an “active liquidity audit” by a massive conglomerate.
“We’d love to help, Mr. Wright,” the officer had said, clicking a pen that probably cost more than Chase’s current checking balance. “But given the uncertainty surrounding Michael & Cole and Miss Winter’s poor credit, you two are classified as high-risk. Come back if Viento reestablishes contracts.”
They walked back to the car in silence. The rain had stopped, leaving the city slick and shining like cheap plastic.
Chase unlocked the Acura. They got in, the leather seats cold against their backs.
“Well,” Amelia said, staring out the windshield. “That went… poorly.”
Chase stared through the glass, jaw tight.
“This didn’t happen today,” he said.
Amelia turned toward him. “What didn’t?”
“The bank saying no,” Chase replied. “That decision was already made. We just showed up to hear it.”
He flexed his grip on the steering wheel, then glanced at her.
“Whatever’s happening didn’t start with the loan,” he said quietly. “The loan was just where we felt it.”
“Collateral damage,” she whispered. “What if I’m bringing nothing to the table, and it’s hurting you? What if Snakes wasn’t being poetic. He was being literal.”
Chase looked at her. She looked small in the passenger seat, the “power couple” energy from the café drained away. She shouldn’t be dealing with this. She should be editing vlogs about cats and planning where to put her coffee maker in their kitchen.
He felt a surge of protective anger. Not at her, but at the invisible net tightening around them. He wanted to assure her that her credit didn’t matter, only her how his heart feels when he looks at her. Make her know that they’ll make it together.
His phone buzzed in the cup holder. A single notification.
Sender: VIM_Admin Subject: Contract // Pilot Episode: “The Salt & The Honey”
Chase picked it up.
“The timing isn’t a coincidence,” Chase said quietly.
Amelia looked over. “The offer?”
Chase opened the attachment. The numbers were staggering. It wasn’t just a paycheck; it was a signing bonus that would clear his debts, cover the move, and stabilize Amelia’s budget enough to fix her credit.
“It’s a lifeline,” Chase said quietly. “A golden, diamond-encrusted one.”
Amelia tapped the screen. “It’s sugar. Look at the language. ‘Authentic commentary.’ ‘Relationship dynamics.’ That’s not neutral.”
Chase nodded once. “Don’t let Snakes get in your head. It’s just an offer that could help us.”
“This isn’t about helping us,” Amelia said. “It’s about buying us, our time, our faces.”
“They come with contracts about positions,” Chase said, turning to face her. “Slots. Roles. We play the game on camera, and live our normal lives off.”
“This isn’t a game,” Amelia said. “This is our life.”
“Then we treat it like a game,” Chase replied, too quickly. “Boundaries. Characters. A version of us that exists on the screen – and stops there.”
He gestured to the phone, not triumphantly, but carefully.
“We take the money to buy time. A safety raft from the firm and the clinic. Long enough to figure out what comes next.”
He leaned closer, searching her face. “Not because it’s safe. Because it’s just a system.”
“We’re smarter than any system, Ames. We use the platform to breathe. Long enough to figure out our next steps together.”
Amelia bit her lip, looking from Chase’s determined face.
She thought about her manager’s face when the hours were cut. She thought about the “Protocol Beta” wilderness prisons and the way El Viento owned the very concept of justice now.
“If we do this,” she said slowly, “we have to have rules. No real secrets on air. No using our actual problems for drama. No filming at the clinic. Ever.”
“Agreed,” Chase said instantly. “Church and State. The show is the show. Us is Us.”
She looked at him for a long moment, searching for a chink in the certainty. She didn’t find one. Or maybe she just didn’t want to look hard enough because the alternative was drowning.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Chase exhaled, a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding releasing from his shoulders.
“Okay,” he repeated.
He tapped REPLY.
Interested. Schedule a meeting.
The message whooshed away.
Outside, the streetlights flickered on, buzzing with electricity that El Viento owned, too.
“We’re going to be fine,” Chase said, starting the car. “We’ll do some streams. We’ll take the money. And we’ll play the game till we get bored.”
“I hope so,” Amelia said, staring out the window. “Because I really don’t want to end up as a prop in someone else’s season finale.”
Chase put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic, merging into the flow of a city that was watching him closer than he knew.