“Before everyone disperses,” she says, clapping her hands together with that fake smile she saves for shitstorms, “one more update. Starting tonight, we’re moving to co-ed sleeping arrangements.”
The group loses their minds. Voices overlap, Kylie mutters a curse under her breath, and a producer in the back just nods like it’s Tuesday.
Miranda continues. “You’ll have the afternoon to get settled. New couples, my suggestion is to use the time to get to know each other better because soon you’ll be sharing a bed.”
Suggestion, my ass.
I lock my face down, eyes straight ahead. My brain’s already spinning.
What the actual fuck just happened?
I told Valerie flat-out I wasn’t interested, suggested she should pick Damon. Why the hell would she choose me anyway? Why throw away her advantage like that? Unless she doesn’t see it that way.
This is a goddamn cluster fuck. On one side, I’ve got a woman I don’t want thinking we’re a thing. On the other, Lyla’s about to get hauled off by Damon, and I can’t stop it. And even if I did, regardless of cameras, I don’t think she’d let me.
I need to know why Valerie chose me. Before this day gets any worse.
I grab Valerie’s arm, gentle but firm. “We need to talk.”
She doesn’t fight it, following me through the scattering crowd.
The villa’s already turning into chaos—bags hitting floors, people claiming beds, that low hum of everyone figuring out the new rules. I don’t stop. I’ve had this spot mapped since day one. A narrow gap between the kitchen and the production hallway where the two corner cameras don’t quite overlap. A blind spot.
I steer us in, looking back behind me to make sure we’re not being followed, and put my back against the wall. I then reach down and kill my mic pack. She must realize what I’m doing because then she does the same with hers. We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before production notices they can’t see or hear us. It’s not ideal, but it’s what I’ve got.
“Why did you do that?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
Valerie’s composure cracks. Tears well in her eyes.
“I’m not mad,” I tell her. On the outside, I’m calm. Inside, I’m already calculating how fast this is going to blow up in my face. “Just tell me what happened.”
She swallows hard. “I was going to pick Damon. I’d decided last night after dinner. But this morning, right before the ceremony, a producer pulled me aside.”
My stomach drops. I already have an inkling on where this is going.
“She sat me down. Said she’d been watching the footage from our date. Told me she saw something real between us.” Valerie’s voice wavers. “She asked why I was so quick to throw it away just to play it safe.”
I go completely still.
These motherfuckers.
They know exactly which buttons to push.
Valerie keeps going, words tumbling out. “She made it sound like choosing you was the brave thing. Like picking Damon was me running away from something good again. Same crap I always do. She got in my head, Scott. By the time I was standing there, I…I just said your name. I didn’t realize what I’d done until it was out. I’m so sorry.”
I can’t be pissed at her. Not really. She’s just another person this show is chewing up and spitting back out. They manipulate scenarios and emotions for a living. She never stood a chance.
“It’s not your fault,” I say. The words taste like ash.
But the real problem hits me like a gut punch.
Lyla is never going to believe a word I say now. Not after this. Not with us split up, not with cameras in every corner, not with Damon right there for Lyla to think she’d be better off with him. I can explain until I’m blue in the face, and I worry it won’t matter. This place is rigged. I’ve known that for a while. But now that it’s royally screwed us like this, every move I make will only give her another reason to think I’m full of shit.
Valerie wipes at her cheek. “For what it’s worth…I saw her face when I said your name. She’s not as indifferent as she’s pretending.”
I don’t answer. Because that’s the worst part. Even if she’s hurting, even if some tiny part of her still wants what we had, I’ve got no way to come off as genuine. Not here. Not like this.
I answer with a plastered-on smile. “Thank you, Valerie.”
