Layla stared at the tablet for a full minute before her fingers found the screen again.
Assigned Partner – Cole Hart.Mission – Disrupt budding romances, spark tension, and keep audiences entertained.
The words didn't sit right in her stomach. They crawled under her skin like ants.
She wanted to throw the device against the wall. She wanted to scream. She wanted to disappear.
But she also knew she couldn't. Her manager's voice echoed in her memory: One last shot. One last comeback.
Her eyes flicked to the hallway. Assistants hurried past, arranging props, testing lights, rehearsing lines. The set buzzed with artificial warmth—smiles, laughter, rehearsed excitement. No one noticed the storm brewing inside her.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
A text from Damien popped up.
"Stick to the script. Don't let emotions ruin this."
She rolled her eyes but didn't reply.
The Costume Room
The wardrobe assistant led her into a small dressing room with mirrors lining the walls. Rows of dresses, accessories, and makeup kits filled shelves and tables. The smell of hairspray, fabric, and perfume mingled in the air.
"Let's glam you up for tonight's first challenge," the assistant chirped with professional enthusiasm. "You'll need something edgy, something that'll stand out."
Layla nodded silently.
Her eyes wandered to the corner of the room where a monitor played clips from previous seasons of Love Trials. Contestants laughed, cried, argued, embraced, and staged jealous fits—all for ratings, all for attention.
The scenes blurred together into a dizzying montage.
Is this what they expect from me? she thought.
A knock at the door interrupted her spiral.
Cole stepped in without waiting to be invited.
The assistant froze mid-adjustment. "Mr. Hart, we… didn't realize you had–"
"Just here to check if she's ready," Cole said smoothly, his eyes on Layla.
The assistant scurried out, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, silence wrapped the room like thick velvet.
Cole's eyes scanned her face carefully, as if searching for cracks she couldn't hide.
"Well," he said finally, voice low but not unkind, "looks like we're stuck together."
His smirk danced at the corner of his lips, but it lacked cruelty this time. There was something heavier there—something burdened by memory.
Layla swallowed hard.
"I… I know," she whispered.
Cole took a step closer, closing the distance between them.
"Look," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I'm not here to make it harder for you."
His words stunned her. For a moment, she thought she misheard.
"What?" she asked.
"I'm not here to humiliate you," he said plainly. "But I'm also not here to play pretend like nothing happened between us."
Her eyes widened. She felt her heart lurch.
Layla sat down in the chair by the mirror, hands clenched in her lap.
"I ruined everything," she breathed.
Cole didn't flinch.
"I know," he said quietly. "But that's not the only thing."
She turned to face him fully.
"What… do you mean?"
His eyes darkened, but there was no bitterness—only weary honesty.
"When you left, I kept thinking about what I did wrong," he said slowly. "I thought if I was just better, stronger, more… everything… you wouldn't leave. I kept waiting. I kept hoping you'd come back."
His jaw tightened.
"I hated myself for not being enough."
The confession hit Layla harder than any argument. She hadn't expected that vulnerability—not from him.
Tears prickled her eyes, but she blinked them back.
"I thought if I stayed, I'd drag you down with me," she whispered. "I thought leaving you was… saving you."
Cole's eyes softened briefly.
"But leaving didn't save either of us," he murmured. "It just left us broken."
A heavy silence stretched between them again. Neither moved. Neither spoke.
The moment hung like a fragile thread that could snap with the slightest touch.
A sharp knock on the door startled them both.
The wardrobe assistant peeked inside, cheeks flushed. "We're on in five minutes!"
Cole's eyes flicked toward the door. His smirk returned, but softer this time.
"See you out there," he said, and with a final glance, he turned and walked out.
Layla sat frozen.
He's not pretending, she thought. This… this is real.
Her fingers trembled on the fabric of her dress.
For the first time, the mission's cold words—Disrupt. Spark. Entertain—felt meaningless.
What if I fall for him again? she wondered, a pang of terror curling in her chest.
But another voice, quieter yet stronger, whispered back: Maybe that's exactly what you need.
Minutes later, she walked out onto the set with her head high, though her stomach fluttered like a trapped bird.
The cameras followed her every step. The host greeted her with over-the-top excitement. Contestants from other teams waved enthusiastically, some eager to mess with her, others curious if the former starlet would crumble.
Cole stood at the center of the stage, arms crossed, watching her approach. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked—and something unspoken passed between them.
The lights dimmed.
The host's voice boomed: "Let the games begin!"