Heat crawled up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. My heart beat so hard I was surprised that no one could hear it.
“Thank you,” Jacob murmured, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a brief, grounding stroke. “For your answer.”
He rose to his feet with the easy grace of someone whose body had already survived worse than kneeling on hardwood floors. For a second, we stood too close, and I was intensely aware of his scars, my racing pulse, and the weight of the ring sitting on my hand like a promise I had no business making.
Henry cleared his throat.
“Thank you, Number Eighteen and your partner. You may return to your place.”
We stepped back together, side by side. I kept my gaze on the fireplace, because if I looked at Jacob again, everyone was going to see too much.
The rest of the proposals blurred into white noise. More grand speeches. More oohs and ahhs. More dazzling stones held up for judgment.
None of it mattered.
All I could feel was the ring on my finger, light and sure. All I could hear was Jacob’s voice in my head.
If you choose me, you’ll never have to carry your burdens alone again.
I’d told myself when I signed up for this that the Game was just that… a game. A twisted, high-stakes reality show, only with no film crew and better catering. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t confuse any of this with real life.
But when Henry finally dismissed us and the contestants began to file out, chattering in tight little circles, my chest ached with the knowledge that somewhere along the line, the rules had shifted.
At least for me.
“Chrissy.”
His voice — warm, low, familiar — brushed over my nerves like a hand. I turned.
Jacob stood a few feet away, hands tucked into his pockets now, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller again. His eyes flicked from my face to my hand and back.
“Can I walk you back to your room?” he asked.
I should’ve said no. I should’ve put distance between us, both for the sake of my heart and for the stupid glowing rule in my head.
Instead, I nodded.
“Yeah. Okay.”
We fell into step, together in the hallway, the sounds of the other contestants fading behind us. The quiet here felt different. It was thicker and charged like the air before a thunderstorm breaks.
I toyed with the hem of my sleeve, then with the ring, thumb circling the smooth band over and over.
“That speech,” I said finally, because silence had become dangerous. “Was that… part of the script they gave you?”
He huffed out something that was almost a laugh.
“No.”
I swallowed.
“So you just… came up with it.”
“Something like that.” He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. “Did I say anything wrong?”
The question was so earnest it hurt.
“No,” I said softly. “That’s the problem.”
