By morning, the villa was buzzing.
The producers hadn't wasted a second. Overnight, they'd cut together a glossy teaser from Sasha and Ethan's dinner. The preview clip played on the communal screen during breakfast, a "special treat" for the cast.
Sasha sat frozen as she watched her own face blown up in high-definition.
Her words—her most private words—looped on repeat.
"I loved you, and it scared me more than failure ever could."
But the edit didn't stop there.
They'd spliced in Chelsea rolling her eyes, contestants whispering, ominous music swelling beneath Ethan's frown. The narrative was crystal clear: Sasha wasn't just the villain anymore. She was pathetic. The desperate ex clinging to a man who didn't want her.
Laughter rippled through the villa. Whispers, too.
"Wow," someone muttered. "Did she just confess on national TV?"
Chelsea smirked across the table. "Guess some people really can't let go of the past."
Sasha's chest hollowed out. The confession hadn't even aired yet, but already, it was poison in the house. Once the episode went live, the internet would shred her.
And Ethan… Ethan sat stone-faced, unreadable. He didn't defend her. Didn't meet her eyes. Just sat there, letting the room swallow her whole.
Her mask cracked. Just for a second. Long enough for a producer lurking nearby to grin and jot down notes.
Sasha shoved back her chair and walked out, heat rising behind her eyes. She knew she shouldn't care—it was a game, a machine, a role—but it felt like she'd just given away the only piece of herself that was real, and they'd weaponized it.
On her way up the staircase, she caught a flash of movement. A shadow slipping into one of the side offices where the producers worked.
Curiosity—or maybe survival instinct—pulled her closer.
Through the cracked door, she saw a producer hunched over a laptop, smiling at an email chain on the glowing screen.
Her blood ran cold.
The subject line read:
"FINAL STORYLINE: SASHA LEIGH ELIMINATION ARC."