The lights dimmed slightly as the cameras followed Layla into the main filming area—a sleek, modern studio designed to feel glamorous but deliberately artificial. Every corner sparkled with staged perfection: lush floral arrangements, velvet couches, strategically placed mirrors, and giant LED panels looping promotional footage of the show.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
This is my comeback stage? she thought bitterly.
Her heels clicked against the floor as she followed Damien inside. He kept his posture tight, eyes scanning for trouble, lips pursed in concentration. The assistants and crew moved around her with practiced smiles, offering makeup touch-ups and adjusting lights. Every gesture felt like a calculated move in a chess game.
And then—
"Layla!" A bright voice rang out.
She turned toward it, and there he was again—Cole Hart, standing beside the host, dressed in crisp designer attire that made him look effortless, untouchable. His posture radiated control, the same calm she had seen on the red carpet. He glanced at her briefly, his eyes softening for just a second—before the mask of neutrality snapped back into place.
Layla swallowed hard.
Cole's presence wasn't just a trigger—it was a provocation. Every muscle in her body screamed for escape. Yet every part of her brain reminded her she couldn't walk away. Not now. Not with cameras waiting to pounce.
The host, a perky woman with over-the-top energy, clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Welcome, Layla! We're so thrilled to have you on Love Trials! The fans are already buzzing! Are you ready to play the game?"
Layla forced a smile that felt like it would crack at any second.
"Ready as I'll ever be," she said.
Her voice wavered only slightly, but it was enough to cause a few curious glances from the crew. She lowered her eyes and kept moving.
A large screen lit up behind them with bold letters: SCRIPTED DRAMA. REAL EMOTIONS.
The host grinned at the camera as the crew signaled for rolling.
"This season, we're turning the entertainment world on its head! Our contestants are all rising stars, battling not just for love—but for relevance, reputation, and redemption. Every week, they'll be thrown into scenarios designed to test their charm, resilience, and… emotional endurance."
Layla's stomach dropped.
"Layla, you'll be playing 'the outsider'—the girl who crashes budding romances and stirs trouble for the perfect image contestants. You'll challenge their emotions, provoke reactions, and keep the viewers hooked!" The host winked at the camera.
Layla's pulse quickened.
"Sounds… interesting," she murmured, though the knot in her stomach tightened.
A large box beside her lit up. A staff member handed her a sleek tablet with the schedule and character assignments.
She scrolled through. Every detail was orchestrated. Every move scripted.
Her role description read:
Character: The DisruptorGoal: Insert yourself into romantic pairings to spark jealousy, conflict, or passion.Relationship Anchor: Assigned partner – Cole Hart.
Layla's fingers froze.
The screen blurred before her eyes.
Assigned partner… Cole Hart?
For a moment, her heart thudded so hard she thought she would faint. The letters danced and warped into meaningless shapes.
She shut her eyes tight.
Her breath came shallow.
Damien's hand squeezed her elbow gently, forcing her back into the present.
"Breathe," he whispered without moving his lips. "You knew this would happen."
But knowing and living it were two different things.
Later, between takes, Layla wandered toward the waiting lounge, needing air, space, silence—anything but this manufactured world.
She almost stumbled into Cole.
He stood by the window overlooking the city skyline. His profile was sharp against the glass, his hands clasped behind his back as if nothing could disturb him.
"Layla."
The sound was quiet but clear.
Her body jerked like she'd been shocked. She turned toward him, eyes wide, lips parted.
He tilted his head, eyes calm but unreadable.
"I wasn't sure you'd actually come."
The smirk returned briefly—but it didn't reach his eyes.
Layla's heart surged. Anger, embarrassment, longing, regret—all at once.
"I don't have a choice," she snapped before she could stop herself.
Cole's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"Doesn't seem like it."
A pause hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
"I never wanted this either," she muttered.
He gave a soft chuckle, like amusement and sympathy collided.
"None of us wanted it," he replied.
For a moment, silence settled over them.
Then Layla's lips quivered.
"I blocked you," she whispered, voice barely above the hum of the air-conditioning. "I… I was a coward."
Cole's jaw tightened.
"I waited."
The words hit harder than any accusation.
"I called. I texted. I left messages until my number was banned."
His eyes darkened, filled with something deeper than anger.
"I thought you were running from me," he continued quietly. "From us."
Layla bit her lower lip, tears threatening to spill.
"I thought if I stayed, I'd destroy everything."
Cole's gaze locked on hers.
"And instead… you destroyed it anyway."
The wound in his eyes was raw—but he didn't lash out. He didn't yell. He simply stood there, his hurt barely contained behind composed restraint.
The PA system crackled to life.
"Layla! It's time for the next scene."
Cole's eyes flicked toward the door, the smirk returning like armor.
He took a step back.
"Break a leg," he murmured, half-mocking, half-meaning it.
Layla's throat tightened.
As she turned to go, his eyes followed her one last time—soft, unreadable, like a question neither of them dared to answer.