My eyes don’t leave his as I rattle off part of the contract.
“Section four, bullet three: you are required to provide equal, functioning equipment to all contestants. Section four, bulletseven: you are required to avoid any and all interference that materially affects the outcome of a bake.”
Hal exhales slowly through his nose.
“Are you threatening us? Legally, I mean.”
I ignore the question, cracking my neck as I continue to stare him down. The air between us is razor-sharp.
“We’re going to bury you in the edit,” he says through gritted teeth, and a slow smile curves my mouth.
“You think I care?”
It isn’t a real question. I don’t care what they do to me. I don’t care if they cut every decent moment I’ve had on this show and turn me into public enemy number one. I don’t care whatThe Harrington Grouphas to say about it, either.
If Taylor loses because she wasn’t good enough, that’s an honest competition. But if she loses becauseAmerica’s Next Great Bakerstirred up drama for tension and footage…
A shudder skates down my spine.
“Let me be perfectly clear, Hal.” I lean down, bringing my face inches from his. “I will burn this entire production to the ground. I don’t care. Taylor’s off limits from here on out. You understand me?”
Hal’s throat works as he swallows. Even as the executive producer of the show, he shrinks back from my words. Men like him make me want to puke.
“You’d tank your own career over a girl you met a few weeks ago?”
There’s zero hesitation. “Yes.”
The answer lands harder than I expect. Surprise flickers in my chest at how absolute it feels—no mental math, no weighing options. Just yes.
Between late-night prep sessions and quiet glances across workbenches, Taylor stopped being a distraction. She became inspiration.
“You’re being irrational right now, Alex. Think this through.” He studies me differently now, his eyes tracking every movement.
“I’ll call Standards and Practices. I’ll call our contact atFluxTV. And if I have to, I’ll call the financial team that helped fund this entire show.”
I push off the edge of his desk and tap my phone once with my finger, drawing his attention to the screen.
“Touch her oven again,” I continue, my tone controlled but deadly. “And see what happens.”
Silence stretches for a beat before he leans back in his chair. “You’ve made your point.”
“Good.” I turn toward the door.
“Alex.”
I pause, hand on the knob.
“You escalate this, you’re declaring war.”
I glance over my shoulder.
“Then don’t give me a reason to.” I walk out without waiting for his response.
The hallway feels cooler. My pulse is still pounding, but underneath it there’s a clarity sitting heavy and solid in my chest.
FluxTVcontrols the narrative. They control the footage. They control this entire game. But they don’t own me. And if it ever comes down to it—if they try to interfere or push Taylor to see if she’ll break—I’ll make them wish they hadn’t.
I’ll choose her over the optics, the title, the exposure. Over the version of my life that’s always been about reputation and expectation. I meant it when I said I’d burn it all down for her without a second thought, and I wouldn’t regret it.
