The smile fractures.
“Emily,” he breathes, like her name is a bruise.
Emily’s drink slips from her fingers. Glass shatters against the stone.
“Trevor?” Her voice comes out thin. “What are you—What are you doing here?”
Trevor’s composure wobbles. “You applied, too?”
Around us, the air shifts. The laughter dies. The cameras seem louder.
“You two know each other?” Bradley asks carefully.
“We dated,” Emily replies flatly.
Trevor looks like he wants to explain. Emily looks like she wants to burn the terrace down.
One ex-couple. That’s odd. Is this some kind of twist they’re introducing to make the show more entertaining?
Miranda’s smile doesn’t change.
“Contestants, our next arrival is here!”
Another figure comes up the stairs—tall, composed, the kind of woman who knows exactly how she looks on camera and uses it. She freezes when she reaches the terrace, eyes locking on Bradley.
Her expression flashes shock.
Then she smooths it into something sharp and controlled.
“Well,” she says lightly, “this is unexpected.”
Bradley goes rigid beside me. “What the fuck are you doing here, Renee?”
Renee arches a brow. “Seems we’re both looking for love in paradise.”
The silence that follows is loaded. A history you can’t see but can feel.
Two. Coincidence is starting to lose credibility.
Miranda claps again. “Next arrival!”
A third person appears.
Sean’s easy grin vanishes so fast it’s like someone cut it off. His shoulders lock.
“No,” he mutters under his breath.
The woman steps onto the terrace and lifts her head.
“Sean.”
His throat works. “Valerie.”
Valerie’s gaze flicks briefly to the cameras, then back to him. “So this is why you ghosted me.”
Sean’s face goes pale. “I-I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“Funny,” Valerie’s smile is cool, practiced. “I thought the same thing.”
