The offers didn't arrive loudly.
They slipped in through respectable channels—emails marked urgent, calls framed as congratulations, envelopes delivered by people who smiled too much.
Aria laid them out on the table one by one.
Streaming platforms.
Luxury brands.
A studio deal with a number that would've stunned her five years ago.
Noah leaned over the pile. "They're moving fast."
"They always do," she said. "Speed creates pressure. Pressure creates mistakes."
She picked up the thickest folder.
Inside: immaculate formatting, generous guarantees, carefully worded clauses that read like kindness.
Creative flexibility.
Public image consultation.
Mutual reputation protection.
Aria flipped to the appendix.
There it was.
Morality clauses.
Termination rights triggered by unforeseen controversy.
Obligations to participate in narrative alignment activities.
"They want veto power," Noah said.
"They want obedience," she corrected.
Another contract promised "full artistic freedom" while quietly assigning final approval to a third-party committee. Another offered a global campaign—on the condition she remained "available for strategic collaboration."
Availability was a leash.
She set the folders down neatly.
---
The call came while they were still sorting.
A studio executive this time. High enough not to pretend.
"Aria," he said smoothly, "we're thrilled you're back. Truly. But I'll be honest—we need reassurance."
"About my performance?" she asked.
A pause. "About your… unpredictability."
She smiled. "You're worried I won't behave."
"We're worried about risk."
"Then don't invest," she said simply.
Silence stretched, unused to resistance.
"You understand how this works," he tried. "Comebacks are delicate. The public needs consistency."
"The public needs honesty," she replied. "You need control. Those aren't the same."
His tone cooled. "You're making this harder than it needs to be."
Aria glanced at the contracts on the table.
"No," she said. "You're making it clearer."
She ended the call.
---
Noah exhaled slowly. "That'll circulate."
"Good."
She stood, gathered the contracts, and dropped them into a single stack.
"Are you rejecting all of them?" he asked.
"Not yet."
She took a pen and wrote one sentence across the top sheet, bold and unmistakable.
No narrative approval. No silence clauses. No behavioral oversight.
She scanned it and sent it back to every sender.
"Let's see who stays," she said.
Outside, cameras waited.
Inside, phones buzzed again—this time with quieter messages.
She's difficult.
She's not playing along.
This might not work.
Aria sat back down, unbothered.
Contracts with conditions weren't offers.
They were tests.
And she had just failed them on purpose.