Everything is bright.
Everything is perfect.
And I feel like I’ve swallowed an entire set of kitchen knives.
It’s the beginning of week two.
We’ve won challenges, racked up points, slept in the same bed every night—tangled together like roots.
And every morning, I wake up with a truth pressing on my chest harder than gravity itself:
I’m falling for him.
I’m falling for the way he drinks his coffee.
For the way he protects me.
For the way he challenges me.
And because of that, I can’t lie to him anymore.
I can’t keep watching Joe from across the clearing, feeling the weight of my past, and letting Cohen believe he’s just “some guy.”
Cohen deserves the truth.
Even if the truth might cost me the only thing I really want.
“Cohen, can you come here for a second?”
My voice comes out strained.
He’s on the porch of our chalet, lacing up his boots. He looks up, smiling—that easy, crooked smile that’s somehow become my weakness.
“What’s up? You want to go over strategy for the next challenge?”
“No. We need to talk. Away from the cameras.”
His smile fades. He slowly gets to his feet, reading the panic in my stiff posture.
“Okay.”
I pull him around the back of the chalet, toward the edge of the woods, where the shadows of the pines hide us from the crew’s curious eyes.
I stop.
My hands are shaking so badly I struggle to find the transmitter clipped to my belt.
“What are you doing?” he asks, frowning.
“I’m cutting the audio. Take off your mic, Cohen. Now.”
He hesitates for a second, then complies. Unclips the battery pack and sets it on a chopped log. I do the same.
We’re off-air.
It’s just us.
And it’s terrifying.
