I’m not home, and I scent matched two Alphas.
Two Alphas and a Beta who were just supposed to be one Beta. One Beta that I’ve been talking to for a decade. Who has lied to me for adecade.
Grant is Sax, but he isn’t. Not really.
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t do this.
I’m in love with Sax. I was going to tell him. I was going to confess my love, and we’d be happy together.
But I can’t.
But who am I in love with?
I don’t know who Sax is. How am I in love with someone who doesn’t exist?
I tear at the neckline of my dress, tears running down my face as I try and fail to get it off, to give myself the chance to breathe because I can’t.
Sax isn’t real, and I’m not at my house, and this dress is too tight, and I can’t fucking breathe.
I can’t do this.
I can’t be here.
I should never have left my house.
“I need to go home. I need to go home.” I stand, turning to one of the cameras Drew pointed out to me this morning. “Please, please, I need to go home. Bridgette. Bridgette, I know you’re listening. Please, let me out. I can’t do this. I can’t be here. I need to be home. I need to be home.”
The TV that sits across from the bed flickers on with a soft chime, and Bridgette’s beautiful face fills it.
“Ariana, dear, we’re going to send the medics in, okay?”
“I don’t need a fucking medic! I need to go home!” I continue to pull at my dress as I stare at the television. I know Grant has backed up against the wall, unsure what to do, but I can’t look at him. I can’t look at him and be reminded of the fact that I’m in love with someone who doesn’t exist.
Sax isn’t real.
This was all a game to them.
“I need to go home. I can’t be here with them. I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I need to go home. It’s too much. I never should have come here. It’s not safe. I knew it wasn’t and I came anyway. I need to go home. Please, Bridgette. Please. I just want to go home.”
Drew pushes into the frame beside the host. His eyes are soft, fatherly, as he looks at me.
Is he even looking at me? He’s not, not really. He’s staring at a camera, knowing I’m seeing him.
“Ariana, I’m so sorry. You can’t go home. You signed a contract.”
“Fuck the contract!”
“It has a damages clause. You backing out now will cost the production company a shit ton of money. If you back out, you’ll owe them millions.”
His words hit me square in the chest, and I stumble back and sink onto the bed.
I’m stuck. Trapped here.
I can’t afford to buy out this contract.
