That serious, huh?
My grip tightens on the phone. “Done. Just tell me.”
“I’m so getting fired for this,” he mutters. “You’re not supposed to know this until day one of filming, but the show isn’t for singles; it’s not even called Paradise Found. It’s another season of The One That Got Away. You know it?”
“Not really.”
“Basically, it’s the same structure of a regular dating show, but the whole thing revolves around a group of people reconnecting with their most significant exes. None of the contestants we’ve selected have any idea this is happening.”
The words detonate in slow motion. My pulse slams in my throat. Every muscle locks as the full picture snaps into focus. Lyla, on cable television, will be facing a significant ex from her past. And given this entire conversation…
It’s me.
The room tilts. My grip tightens on the phone, knuckles paling, every muscle coiled like I’m bracing for impact. I ghosted her. I disappeared without explanation. I don’t deserve her—not after everything. But damn if this doesn’t feel like fate shoving me toward the edge, daring me to jump.
I stare at my father’s portrait like it might laugh. Choice. That’s what he’s offering.
The line hums with silence. Alex waits.
A sane man would say no. A sane man wouldn’t walk in front of cameras and manufactured drama just for one woman. But I haven’t been sane, where Lyla is concerned, since I was eighteen.
“When does filming start?”
He hesitates only a second. “First day of shooting is in two weeks.”
I have fourteen days, maybe less, to decide whether I’m going to walk into a televised ambush, hand over every private wound we ever shared to a production team hungry for drama, and pray she doesn’t hate me more when the cameras stop rolling. Also in that time, I have to convince myself I can keep my hands off her long enough to say the words I should have said a decade ago.
By the end of this, I either finally get her back, or I could lose her forever. I’m willing to do whatever it takes for the former, even if it means making an ass of myself to do it.
I close my eyes, the ghost of her scent—vanilla and jasmine—curling through my memory like smoke.
“Send me the contract,” I say.
Alex lets out a shaky laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
Another exhale, this one almost relieved. “Okay. I’ll email it tonight. Nondisclosure is ironclad. You breathe a word of this before the reveal, we’re both done.”
“Understood.”
“And, Scott?” His voice drops, quieter now. “I’m glad you’re doing this.”
I end the call before he can say anything else.
The phone clatters onto the desk. My heart is still hammering, a violent rhythm that echoes in every inch of my skin. I stare at the dark screen, seeing nothing but her—Lyla Clark, ten years older, ten years more beautiful, ten years more dangerous to me than she ever was at eighteen.
I’m going to see her again. Going to touch her again. And this time, I’m not walking away.
Chapter Two
Off the coast of Belize
Two weeks later
Day One
* * *
