The villa was restless that night.
Contestants drifted in and out of the common room, some half-drunk, others buzzing from the day's shoot. Sasha pretended to be tired, slipping away early. But instead of going to her room, she lingered in the hallway.
Something in her gut told her she wasn't paranoid enough.
And she was right.
Through a thin crack in one of the office doors, voices bled into the hall. Familiar voices.
"…she's unpredictable," one producer said. "That dinner scene was perfect—messy, raw, just what we needed. But she's volatile. If she pushes back, we cut her sooner."
Sasha's breath caught.
Then Ethan's voice. Low. Controlled. "No. Keep her. She's not done yet."
Her chest tightened.
"She's risky," the producer countered. "She doesn't follow direction."
"That's exactly why people care," Ethan said firmly. "The audience is hooked on her. They'll riot if she leaves too soon. You want ratings? You let her stay."
Silence. Then the producer sighed. "Fine. But if she implodes, that's on you."
Sasha's pulse thundered. She should've felt relief. Gratitude. Instead, her thoughts tangled.
Ethan wasn't just surviving the script—he was shaping it. Shielding her. Keeping her in the game when everyone else wanted her gone.
But why?
Because he cared?
Or because she was his storyline too, and without her, Ethan Cole had nothing to play off of?
She slipped away before the door opened, retreating into the shadows of the hallway.
Back in her room, she shut the door and leaned against it, heart racing.
For the first time, she wasn't sure which possibility terrified her more:
That Ethan was protecting her.
Or that he was protecting the show.