TRINITY
The rope feels solid beneath my hands as I climb, each grip secure and familiar. Rock climbing at the local gym back home prepared me for this more than I anticipated. Below, Korgan's positioned himself like a human, orc, safety net, which should be reassuring but somehow makes me more nervous.
Focus, Trinity. Cameras are rolling.
I'm three-quarters up when my phone vibrates in the production assistant's hands below. Then another buzz. Then a cascade of notifications that draws confused murmurs from the crew.
"Cut!" Marcus barks suddenly. "Everyone hold positions."
I freeze on the rope, muscles beginning to burn from maintaining position. "What's going on?"
The silence stretches uncomfortably long. Marcus huddles with his assistant producers, their voices too low to catch but their body language screaming crisis management. Korgan moves beneath me, angling for a better view of the commotion.
"Trinity, can you come down please?" Marcus calls out, his usual theatrical enthusiasm replaced by careful neutrality.
I descend quickly, landing with more force than grace. Korgan's hand settles briefly on my shoulder, steadying or claiming, I can't tell which.
"What's wrong?"
Marcus approaches with my phone, his expression unreadable. "There's been some... social media activity regarding your participation in the show."
My stomach drops. Social media during filming is supposed to be strictly monitored. The fact that something's broken through their control systems means it's big. And bad.
"Show me."
The screen fills with notifications from Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. All variations of the same devastating theme:
Trinity Lewis EXPOSED: Reality Star's REAL Motive for Chasing Orc Bachelor!
LEAKED: Small-town baker's massive debt forces desperate TV grab
She's Only Here for Money: Trinity Lewis's Financial Crisis Revealed
My hands shake as I scroll through post after post. Screenshots of loan documents. Photos of overdue notices. Bank statements that should be private, personal, impossible to obtain.
"How did they—" My voice cracks. "These are private financial records."
"We're investigating the source," Marcus says carefully. "In the meantime, we need to discuss how to address this."
The comments are brutal:
Fake. She's just a gold-digger using the orc for publicity.
Pathetic. Can't even run a bakery without begging for handouts.
This whole romance is scripted. She's literally being paid to pretend.
Each word hits like a real blow. Three years of careful budgeting, of skipping meals to pay suppliers, of working eighteen-hour days to keep my dream alive—reduced to tabloid fodder about desperation and greed.
"Trinity." Korgan's voice booms through my spiral. "What financial crisis?"
I can't meet his eyes. "It's... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
The cameras are still rolling. I can see Marcus gesture for them to keep recording, probably thrilled by this unexpected drama goldmine. My private shame about to become public entertainment.
"I took out loans to expand the bakery last year. Big ones. The timing was terrible—supply costs increased, foot traffic dropped, and I... I couldn't make the payments."
