Her laugh carries an edge. "Appropriate boundaries? We were making out three days ago."
"Mistake."
The word hits her like a painful blow. I watch her face cycle through hurt, anger, and finally cold determination.
"Right. Mistake. Got it."
She walks away before I can clarify, and I let her go because explaining would make everything worse.
The producers notice the tension and circle like vultures.
"Trouble in paradise?" Jonathan cornered me after the Thursday challenge. "Because the audience is eating up this will-they-won't-they dynamic."
"No dynamic. Professional distance."
"Professional distance doesn't test well with focus groups. They want passion, drama, emotional investment."
"Then find it elsewhere."
His smile turns predatory. "We might have to manufacture some investment. For the good of the show."
Something cold settles in my stomach. "Meaning?"
"Meaning ratings need a boost, and Trinity's little bakery story has great dramatic potential. Small business owner riskseverything for love? Very compelling. Especially if that risk has real consequences."
"What consequences?"
"Oh, you know. Public perception, brand reputation, financial stability. Amazing how quickly a small business can struggle when the wrong story gets out."
The threat crystallizes with perfect clarity. Threaten Trinity's livelihood to force my emotional compliance.
"You wouldn't."
"We wouldn't need to if you'd cooperate with the planned relationship arc. But if you keep pulling away..." He shrugs. "Well, love stories need obstacles."
That night, I break into the production office.
Security assumes I'm too straightforward for subterfuge, too honest for deception. They're wrong. War teaches infiltration along with combat, and I spent years moving through enemy territory.
The office computers require passwords I don't have, but the filing cabinets use simple locks. Twenty minutes of careful searching reveals what I suspected—a manufactured scandal ready for deployment.
Trinity's financial records, somehow obtained despite privacy laws. Photos of her meeting with various men, taken out of context to suggest romantic entanglements. A fake testimonial from a supposed ex-boyfriend claiming she only dates for money.
All prepared, all ready to leak if I don't perform sufficiently for cameras.
But buried deeper, I find something unexpected. A memo from a consulting firm hired to "ensure maximum dramatic impact through targeted personal revelations." The consultant's name makes my blood freeze.
Darren Strange. The human journalist who interviewed me after Drakar's death, who promised to tell our story fairly, then published an article painting me as a bloodthirsty savage who sacrificed his own brother for human approval.
The betrayal that broke my remaining political connections. The reason my father disowned me. The source of the exile that drove me to this show.
Darren Strange works for the production company now.
He's been feeding them information about my past, my family, my oaths. He knows exactly why I'm pulling away from Trinity, and he's using both our vulnerabilities to craft his drama.
I photograph the evidence with shaking hands, then replace everything exactly as I found it. The files will disappear tomorrow once they realize I've seen them, but I have enough proof to act.
The question is how to protect Trinity without breaking my oath or destroying her dreams of saving her bakery.
