The applause still rang in her ears when Layla stumbled out of the studio lounge.
Her body felt lightheaded, as if all the energy had drained out of her. The makeup artists fussed over her lips, brushing away smudges she hadn't even noticed. Damien hovered nearby, eyes narrowed—not with concern, but calculation.
"Perfect shot," he whispered, as if he had witnessed a performance that would boost ratings.
But Layla wasn't listening.
Her eyes kept drifting back to where Cole stood at the far end of the hallway, talking quietly with another contestant. Even from a distance, she could sense his presence like a force pulling at her chest.
I always do…
The words replayed in her mind like a haunting refrain.
Later, when the crew was wrapping up, Layla slipped out the side door leading to the balcony overlooking the city skyline. The late afternoon sun bathed the glass buildings in a soft amber glow, turning the horizon into a sea of gold.
She pressed her palms against the cold metal railing and closed her eyes.
Why now? she whispered to herself.
She had built walls to protect herself. Distanced herself from desire, closeness, vulnerability. She had thought cutting ties would free her from pain.
But standing before him again, those walls crumbled like sand.
Behind her, footsteps echoed softly.
"Layla."
She turned.
Cole stood in the doorway, his expression softer now, stripped of its usual guardedness. For once, the mask had fallen away.
"I'm not here to make this harder," he repeated quietly, echoing his earlier words—but this time without the steel edge.
She hesitated.
"Then why…?" she began, but the words caught in her throat.
He smiled faintly, as if aware of the battle raging inside her.
"Because I can't pretend it didn't happen," he said. "Because the camera doesn't tell the whole story."
His eyes searched hers for something deeper than compliance, deeper than obligation.
"Because… I still care," he finished softly, barely above a whisper.
Her breath hitched.
Layla's hands clenched at her sides. Her heart raced so fast it hurt.
"I thought if I left, I'd spare you the chaos," she said hoarsely. "But maybe I just made it worse."
Cole stepped closer, but didn't touch her. The space between them crackled with unspoken words.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly. "Why didn't you fight?"
Tears threatened again, but she blinked them back.
"I was scared," she admitted, the words tasting bitter. "Scared of losing myself… scared of losing you."
His eyes softened, but the pain in them remained.
"I waited," he whispered again, his voice barely audible but steady.
"I know," she whispered back.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
The silence stretched, trembling with the weight of everything they hadn't said in years.
Layla's chest heaved.
"I shouldn't feel this," she breathed, more to herself than to him. "This was supposed to be… a role."
Cole's eyes didn't waver.
"It's not acting," he said simply.
Her eyes shot to his.
The confession stunned her.
But before she could respond, a voice crackled through the intercom.
"Layla! We're ready for the next scene!"
The spell broke.
Cole's jaw tightened. He stepped back, as if pulling himself away from temptation.
"Take care of yourself," he murmured before turning and walking away.
Layla stood frozen, staring at the city skyline as if it might offer answers.
When she re-entered the lounge, Damien was waiting, arms crossed like a storm about to break.
"You let it slip, didn't you?" he asked without preamble.
Layla flinched.
"Careful," he warned, his voice low. "The audience doesn't care about real feelings. They care about drama, about scandal. If you let this… this softness show, you'll lose them."
"I'm not acting," she snapped before she could stop herself.
Damien's eyes narrowed. "Exactly. That's the problem."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. "You need to draw a line. This is a performance. Stick to it. If you don't, you'll destroy your comeback before it even begins."
Layla's throat tightened.
But a small voice inside her—one she hadn't heard in years—whispered back.
Maybe I don't want to stick to it.
The next challenge was announced shortly after—a group scene where contestants were paired to create improvised scenarios designed to provoke jealousy and rivalry.
Layla's stomach twisted.
She stole one last glance at Cole across the room.
His eyes met hers briefly.
The message was clear.
I'm here. No matter what.
Her breath caught.
For the first time since stepping onto the set, she didn't feel alone.