Chapter 7 – Avoidance and Observation
The mansion's sunlit lounge buzzed with activity as contestants milled around, chatting, laughing, and glaring in equal measure. I perched on a high stool near the bar, pretending to scroll through my phone while my eyes covertly tracked Dante.
I told myself—strictly, firmly, absolutely—that I wasn't staring. I was... observing. Analyzing. Professional. Strategic.
He leaned against the fireplace, arms crossed casually, effortlessly magnetic, as if the cameras themselves were drawn to him. He had aged like fine wine—or perhaps more like a perilous cocktail that promised pleasure and danger in equal measure. Confidence radiated off him in waves, and I found myself strangely aware of my posture, my hair, the curve of my lips. Not now, Alexis. Not now.
But the universe had no interest in timing.
Every movement he made—the tilt of his head when he laughed at something someone said, the way his dark eyes flicked around the room, scanning for drama or amusement, the subtle flex of his jaw as he listened intently to a contestant explaining their strategy—sent a mix of admiration and jealousy twisting in my stomach. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scold myself for letting him affect me this much. And yet... the pull was undeniable.
I sipped my coffee, more for distraction than need, and made a mental note: Observe, do not interact. Neutral. Professional. Do not—under any circumstances—engage emotionally.
Easy, right?
Ha.
The moment I lowered my cup, Vanessa appeared, like a storm cloud in Prada heels, and slid onto the stool next to me. Her smile was sharp, predatory, and way too bright for anyone's good.
"Watching him again, Alexis?" she purred, voice syrupy sweet. "Or just... imagining all the ways he might notice you?"
I froze, the heat rising in my cheeks, though I forced a calm laugh. "I'm observing the dynamics of the room," I said, carefully neutral. "Professional curiosity. You know, for... strategy."
Vanessa's smirk widened. "Oh, sure. Professional. That's one way to put it." She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "It must be... thrilling, watching him. After all, you were... so close before, weren't you?"
I stiffened, hands gripping my coffee cup tighter than necessary. "Vanessa, why don't you—"
"Relax," she said, tilting her head innocently. "I'm just making conversation. No judgment."
I scowled, but internally I was boiling. Vanessa had a talent for prying, for poking at old wounds, and for planting tiny seeds of doubt that sprouted into chaos faster than any reality show producer could hope for.
I tore my gaze from her and refocused on Dante, who had just caught the corner of my stare. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away, though the smirk that tugged at his lips didn't escape me. My stomach twisted. That look carried layers: recognition, memory, amusement, perhaps even longing.
Stop it, Alexis. Focus.
I inhaled slowly and tried to concentrate on the contestants' interactions. My role demanded attention to detail: who aligned with whom, who was growing jealous, which alliances were forming, and—most importantly—where I could subtly insert myself to stir trouble without damaging my own carefully curated persona.
Yet, every time my mind drifted back to Dante, I found my strategic planning derailed. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once. Confident. Calm. Mysterious. Dangerously intoxicating.
During a brief lull, a group challenge coordinator announced a mini scavenger hunt across the mansion. Contestants were to form pairs—but with a twist: the pairings were assigned, and alliances were being closely monitored by the producers.
My stomach did a loop. The last thing I wanted was to be paired with him. Or the exact opposite—I secretly wanted it. My emotions were an unpredictable storm, swirling between fear, longing, and old attachments that refused to fade.
As if reading my thoughts, Dante appeared at the perimeter of the lounge, talking casually with another contestant. He paused, glanced in my direction, and raised a single eyebrow in that infuriatingly charming way.
Yes, I see you. Stop ruining my life with a look.
Of course, Vanessa noticed too. She tilted her head, whispered something to a nearby contestant, and immediately the little rumor mill started grinding. A few contestants shot curious glances toward me, smirks tugging at their lips, whispering under their breath.
"Alexis," someone muttered, "you're not subtle."
I gave a tight smile, teeth gritting, heart hammering. Dante's gaze had the ability to dismantle every defensive wall I'd spent years building, and Vanessa's manipulation threatened to expose me even more.
The mini scavenger hunt began, and I maneuvered through the tasks, keeping careful tabs on everyone, but mostly on him. Every glance, every smirk, every casual movement made my pulse spike. I found myself analyzing him in a way that was both frustrating and impossible to stop: the way his hand flexed as he picked up a clue, the tilt of his head when he was puzzled, the quiet chuckle he gave when someone else made a mistake.
By the second task, I was caught. I had to navigate a series of clues that required subtle communication with my partner—unfortunately, not him. My chosen ally was a bubbly, oblivious contestant named Chloe, whose enthusiasm was endearing but dangerously chaotic.
"Okay, Alexis, I think the key is in the library!" Chloe whispered dramatically, as though the other teams weren't within earshot.
"Right," I muttered, glancing over my shoulder. Dante was assisting someone else, but I could see the way he tilted his head, scanning the room, aware of my presence. Every instinct screamed at me to retreat, to focus, to protect myself from his observation.
But I couldn't.
Chloe flailed toward the library, and I followed, silently cursing her over-enthusiasm. We reached the grand shelves lined with books, and I crouched to examine the hidden clue. That's when Dante appeared in the doorway, not intrusively, but like a shadow one couldn't ignore.
"Looking for something?" he asked casually, tone teasing, eyes glinting with humor.
I forced a laugh, attempting nonchalance. "Maybe. Just... practicing scavenger skills."
He smirked, stepping slightly closer than necessary. "You've always had a talent for finding things... and people."
My chest tightened. The room felt smaller, my control slipping, and for a moment I wanted to leave. To disappear. To escape the gravity of his presence. And yet... I stayed.
The rest of the hunt was a blur of subtle sabotage, playful taunting, and moments stolen for silent observation. I learned more about his movements, his reactions, his subtle attentiveness, and I hated how much it affected me. My amusement, my jealousy, my longing—they collided in ways I hadn't anticipated.
By the time the challenge ended, I was exhilarated, exhausted, and painfully aware that the game had shifted. It wasn't just about strategy or sabotage anymore. Every glance, every accidental brush of hands, every fleeting moment of proximity carried weight.
And Dante—infuriating, maddening, undeniably him—was at the center of it all.
As I walked back to the lounge, careful to maintain my composure, I realized with a jolt that the real challenge wasn't the scavenger hunt, the cameras, or the competition.
It was him.
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