The villa's chaos screeched to a halt when the executives barked their command. Cameras powered down, boom mics dropped, and the room filled with the sound of heavy silence.
All eyes turned toward Sasha.
The taller executive scanned the stunned faces of the contestants, then jabbed a finger at her. "Her. Room. Now."
Gasps rippled through the villa.
Sasha's pulse raced as she followed, every step heavier than the last. She caught a flash of Ethan, starting to move after her—until a producer blocked his path.
The office they shoved her into was cold, sterile, nothing like the staged luxury outside. The two executives loomed over her, arms crossed.
"Do you have any idea what you've done?" the shorter one demanded.
Sasha lifted her chin. "I didn't leak anything."
A bitter laugh. "Don't insult our intelligence. That footage, those notes—it didn't walk out on its own."
Her throat tightened. They had no proof. Not yet. But if she denied too hard, she'd look guilty. If she admitted anything, she was finished.
"You're a liability," the tall one said flatly. "And liabilities get cut."
The words landed like a blade to her gut. Cut. Elimination was one thing. But this—this sounded permanent.
"Of course," the shorter exec added, voice smooth as poison, "we could salvage this. The audience loves a redemption arc. All it would take is a little… cooperation. You go on camera tomorrow, tearfully confess that you broke under pressure, apologize to the producers, and beg forgiveness. We spin it as a desperate cry for relevance."
Sasha's stomach turned. "You want me to humiliate myself."
The exec leaned closer. "We want you to survive."
Her nails dug into her palms. She could play along, buy herself time—or she could refuse and risk everything.
But before she could answer, the door burst open.
Ethan. His face was a storm, his voice razor-sharp. "If she goes down, so do I."
The executives stared, blindsided.
And for the first time, Sasha realized Ethan might not just be her co-star or her betrayer.
He might be her only shield.