The studio lights were still warm from the last shoot when Layla's phone vibrated again.
She blinked at the screen.
Cole Hart: "Need to talk. Now."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
The message wasn't flirty. It wasn't playful. It wasn't even worded with the polite distance of someone unsure.
It was urgent.
She stared at it for several long seconds before standing, grabbing her coat, and heading toward the exit without a word to Damien.
Outside the building, the city was bathed in the amber glow of twilight. The streets were crowded with fans, paparazzi, and onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of the contestants.
But as she turned down a side alley away from the lights and cameras, the world around her quieted.
Cole stood leaning against the brick wall, his silhouette tense but composed. His eyes locked on hers the second she appeared.
Neither smiled.
Neither moved.
"This isn't in the script," Layla muttered, breaking the silence.
"No," Cole replied.
The words hung between them like a challenge.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Layla's defenses cracked.
"I shouldn't be here," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them.
"Neither should I," he answered softly.
A slow breeze rustled through the alley, catching strands of her hair and tossing them against her cheek.
He reached out, hesitated, then let his hand drop before it could touch her.
"I keep trying to stay in character," he confessed, eyes dark. "But every time I see you, the lines disappear."
Her throat tightened.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
His expression shifted—pain mingled with something fierce and protective.
"Me too," he breathed.
Layla's eyes filled.
"I thought running away would save me," she admitted, voice breaking. "But I only left behind pieces of myself I didn't know how to carry."
Cole's jaw tightened.
"I thought staying strong would fix everything," he replied. "But I only built walls that kept you out."
For the first time in years, neither pretended.
Neither smiled for the cameras.
Neither acted.
The silence that followed was not uncomfortable—it was necessary.
It let them breathe in each other's presence without fear.
But reality came rushing back when Layla's phone buzzed again.
A barrage of messages from the production team and social media alerts from fans flooded the screen.
The second challenge had already been teased on social media.
#LaylaColeChemistry
#UnexpectedPairing
#RawEmotionOnSet
Within minutes, Layla's private conversation had become public spectacle.
She looked up sharply.
"We can't—this can't leak," she whispered.
Cole's eyes darkened.
"I know."
"But if they find out—if this ruins everything…"
His lips tightened.
"I'm tired of pretending it's just acting."
His voice shook slightly, as though he wanted to say more but feared the consequences.
Layla's breath hitched.
He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Whatever happens," he said quietly but firmly, "I'll stand by you."
The words struck her like a balm and a warning all at once.
Her eyes brimmed.
"Even if it costs everything?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Even if it destroys the comeback we've both fought for."
For a long moment, Layla didn't know whether to cry, run, or fall into his arms.
But somewhere deep inside, something shifted.
A part of her that had hidden behind ambition, fear, and shame began to unclench.
The distant hum of cameras returning to the set pierced the silence like a reminder of what lay ahead.
"We have to go back," Layla whispered, voice barely audible.
Cole's eyes softened, but he didn't argue.
"Let's go," he murmured.
As they walked back toward the studio together, shoulder brushing shoulder but not touching, neither smiled.
But something unspoken passed between them—a fragile agreement, a silent vow.
They would face whatever came next, together.
The host greeted them with exaggerated excitement as they re-entered the lounge.
"Layla! Cole! Back already?" she teased, eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Layla plastered on a composed smile.
"All in the name of method acting," she quipped lightly.
Cole's jaw flexed briefly, but he nodded with practiced ease.
The cameras rolled again.
But this time, Layla felt the difference.
The script was back in place.
The lines were rehearsed.
But behind the smiles, the silence, and the staged gestures, something irreversible had been set into motion.
The audience might only see sparks on the surface.
But deep beneath the glamour, a fire had been lit.