Chapter 16 – Bound Together
The producers had a favorite game: torture disguised as "team-building."
We gathered in the courtyard, a sunny California morning with just enough of a breeze to make it feel staged. Contestants shifted nervously, whispering guesses about what today's challenge would be.
When the host strutted out in an electric-blue suit that could blind passing aircraft, I knew we were in trouble.
"Contestants!" he boomed into a microphone he didn't need. "Today is about trust. About cooperation. About testing how strong your connections really are."
That was producer-speak for: prepare for humiliation.
He clapped his hands dramatically, and stagehands wheeled out a cart stacked with ropes, carabiners, and what looked suspiciously like climbing harnesses.
No. No, no, no.
"We're doing a paired obstacle course," the host announced gleefully. "You and your partner will be literally tied together—hand to hand, waist to waist. Every stumble, every slip, every fall… you'll face it together."
Groans echoed through the courtyard. I silently begged the universe to pair me with someone harmless—maybe Daisy, the yoga instructor with eternal optimism. Or Kevin, who spent more time flexing in the mirror than competing. Anyone but—
"Alexis Harper and Dante Chase!" the host read from a card.
The universe cackled at my suffering.
I froze. Dante, standing just a few feet away, turned his head slowly toward me. That infuriating, unreadable half-smile tugged at his lips.
"Looks like we're stuck with each other," he said, voice low enough that only I heard.
I wanted to throw myself into the nearest hedge.
Moments later, a production assistant cinched a thick rope around our waists, binding us together at the hip. Another tied our wrists with a softer fabric band, a mockery of intimacy.
"There," the assistant chirped. "Nice and snug."
Snug was an understatement. Dante's arm brushed mine with every breath. His body heat seeped into me, impossible to ignore.
I swallowed hard. It's just a game. Just a challenge. Ignore him. Pretend he's a chair. Chairs don't make your pulse race.
"Comfortable?" Dante asked, leaning slightly closer. His breath tickled my ear.
"Like a prisoner of war," I muttered.
He chuckled. "Then let's make it a daring escape."
The obstacle course loomed ahead: balance beams over shallow water pits, net crawls, ridiculous inflatable hurdles. It looked like a cross between boot camp and a children's birthday party.
We lined up at the start. Other pairs shuffled into position, muttering strategies. The host raised a flag.
"On your mark… get set… go!"
Chaos erupted.
Dante tugged me forward immediately, his stride confident, controlled. My legs scrambled to keep up, the rope at our waists pulling taut.
"Slow down!" I hissed.
"Speed wins," he shot back. "Trust me."
"Trust you? Ha!" My foot caught on the first balance beam. I wobbled, arms flailing. Instinctively, Dante's hand shot out, gripping mine.
For a split second, the world stopped. His palm was warm, strong, steady.
Our eyes met. Electricity shot up my arm, straight to my chest, where my heart thudded so loudly I was sure the cameras would pick it up.
"Careful," he murmured, his thumb brushing my knuckle. Not on purpose—probably. But the contact made my breath hitch anyway.
Why does he still make my chest tighten?
I yanked my hand away, glaring at the beam as if it were personally responsible for my emotional collapse. "Just don't let me fall."
His voice softened. "Never did before."
The words lodged in my ribs like a stone, heavy with unspoken memories.
We somehow cleared the balance beam, though not gracefully. The next obstacle was a rope net we had to crawl under. Crawling. While tied together.
"This is absurd," I muttered, dropping to my hands and knees.
"Absurd but entertaining," Dante countered, smirking.
"Easy for you to say. You look like an action movie star. I look like roadkill."
He laughed—a deep, genuine laugh I hadn't heard in years. It hit me like a punch, reminding me of late nights when that sound used to be mine alone.
I forced the memory back. Focus. Survive. Escape this cursed net.
Halfway through, my hair snagged on the rope. I jerked to free it, but the tug pulled me off balance. My shoulder slammed into Dante's.
"Watch it!" I snapped.
"Not my fault you have dramatic hair," he teased, though he steadied me, his hand briefly brushing my lower back.
The touch sent heat skittering down my spine. I hated how much I noticed.
By the time we reached the final obstacle—an inflatable wall we had to scale together—sweat clung to my skin, my lungs burned, and I was ready to strangle the producers with their own rope.
Dante glanced at me, breathless but composed. Of course he looked maddeningly good: hair damp, eyes sharp, a sheen of sweat making him glisten like a magazine spread.
I, on the other hand, resembled a drowned raccoon.
"We climb together," he said, voice steady.
"I was thinking I'd just drag you down with me."
"Cute. But I've got you."
Before I could argue, he boosted me up, his hands gripping my waist, lifting me higher with ease. Heat flared through me at the contact.
"Dante—"
"Keep moving," he said, his voice low, urgent.
We scrambled to the top, clumsy but determined. At the summit, we paused, both panting, the rope at our waists tugging us closer until we were pressed shoulder to shoulder, chest to chest.
The world went still again.
His eyes locked on mine. My pulse hammered. I could feel every rise and fall of his chest, every ounce of tension coiled between us.
For one wild second, I thought he might kiss me.
Instead, he whispered, "Ready?"
I swallowed hard. "Yeah."
Together, we jumped down.
The host declared us the winners—something about speed and teamwork—but the applause barely registered. All I could think about was the accidental brushes of his hand, the way his touch still unraveled me, the undeniable fact that every step tied to him had felt… right.
And I hated it.
Because this was supposed to be a game. Pretend. A show.
But nothing about the sparks in my chest, the quickening of my pulse, the way my body leaned toward his without permission—nothing about that was pretend.
Later, as we untangled the ropes and rival contestants cast curious glances, I heard whispers ripple through the group.
"They make a good team."
"Did you see the way he looked at her?"
"Chemistry off the charts."
Jealousy flickered in a few faces, sharp and gleaming. Rivalries brewing, alliances shifting. The game was changing.
And at the center of it, tethered unwillingly, stood me and Dante—bound not just by rope, but by something far more dangerous.
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