Page 47 of Thawed Gladiator: Lucius
“I didn’t agree to anything. I told him I had to talk to you first, that we have clear boundaries when it comes to your privacy.”
“And his response?”
I swallow hard. “He’s threatening to pull my contract. Says the network needs compelling visuals to justify the investment.”
Lucius nods slowly, as though this development is exactly what he expected. The resignation in his expression cuts deeper than anger would have.
“When we began this journey, I warned this might happen.” He moves to sit at the small desk by the window, his motions graceful despite the tension I can see building in his shoulders. “Patrons rarely remain satisfied with initial boundaries.”
“He’s not my patron,” I protest weakly, though the distinction feels increasingly meaningless.
“The pattern holds, regardless of century,” Lucius says quietly. “Those who hold power or provisions will always seek more than was first bargained.”
My phone buzzes again—a video call this time. Norris’s perfectly groomed face appears on my screen before I can decide whether to answer.
“Raven! Finally!” His voice fills our quiet room, too loud, too insistent. “Did you get my messages about the promotional spot? The network executives are extremely excited about your mysterious consultant angle.”
Lucius meets my gaze, then tips his head toward the balcony—a silent offer to give me privacy. I motion for him to stay.
“I got them, David. But as I’ve said repeatedly, my consultant’s privacy is non-negotiable. That was our agreement from the beginning.”
Norris’s smile tightens. “Agreements evolve, Raven. This is business. The executives need something visually compelling to justify the budget we’ve allocated. Just a few shots—perhaps from behind, in shadow? Doesn’t even need to show his face clearly.”
“That wasn’t our arrangement,” I say, voice firmer than I feel.
“Let me be clear.” Norris’s friendly demeanor evaporates. “Without this footage, there is no arrangement. The network isn’t interested in yet another solo presenter walking through cemeteries. They need the historical consultant angle to distinguish this from a dozen other paranormal shows.”
A sick feeling swirls in my stomach. Five years of building my platform, countless investigations in conditions ranging from terrifying to disgusting, all the research and late nights—all of it hanging in the balance over this one demand.
“I need time to consider options,” I say finally.
“You have until tomorrow morning,” Norris replies. “Either the footage is in my inbox by 9 AM, or we’re pulling the plug… and the funding.” He disconnects without waiting for my response.
Silence fills the room. I set the phone down, unable to look at Lucius.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “This isn’t what I wanted.”
“I know.” His voice holds no accusation, which somehow makes it worse.
I finally meet his gaze, finding not anger but a quiet understanding that brings unexpected tears to my eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “This documentary was supposed to be my breakthrough. Everything I’ve worked toward.”
After a long moment where his face is expressionless, he murmurs, “I could consider a limited appearance.”
The suggestion catches me off guard. “What?”
“Your career matters to you,” he says simply. “You’ve worked hard for it. Perhaps there is middle ground to be found. Footage from behind, as he suggested. Or in shadow, without names.”
The generosity of his offer only deepens my growing certainty. “No,” I say, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice. “Absolutely not.”
“Rosemary—”
“No,” I repeat, moving to kneel before him, taking his hands in mine. “I won’t do that to you. Not after everything you’ve shared with me about your time in the arena, being treated as a spectacle rather than a person.”
His thumbs brush against my knuckles in a gentle caress.
“What value does a career hold if I have to sacrifice my principles? My integrity?”
This wonderful man looks at me with affection, but doesn’t say a word. God, how I respect him for letting me make this decision without pressure.
