Chapter 19 – Sabotaging Myself
Alexis Harper stared at the bright studio lights overhead, squinting as if they might offer her a shred of courage. Today's challenge had been announced with the kind of fanfare reserved for a royal coronation.
"Villain Night," the producer had declared, clapping his hands so hard the echo bounced off the walls like a warning drum. "Each of you will embody your inner antagonist. Mischief, mayhem, and sabotage are your weapons!"
The cast groaned collectively, a chorus of theatrical despair, but Alexis felt an unexpected spark. Villainy? Mischief? Sabotage? That was her territory. For years, she'd been dodging critics, bad reviews, and public humiliation. Tonight, she could wield chaos as her ally, finally take control of the narrative, and—just maybe—throw Dante Chase off balance.
She marched toward wardrobe with determination, trying to channel her inner anti-hero. Racks of sequins, faux leather, and ridiculously high boots awaited. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her: dramatic eyeliner wings sharp enough to cut glass, lips painted crimson, hair teased into cartoonish perfection.
"You look like Maleficent's sarcastic cousin," Lorenzo quipped from behind, tugging at his own cape like he owned the place.
"That's the point," Alexis replied with mock villainy, tossing her hair. "Tonight, I dominate, disrupt, and leave them all in awe."
"You'll trip over those boots in five minutes," he predicted, sipping water like a fortune teller sizing up the doomed.
"I'll prove you wrong," she snapped, more out of instinct than actual conviction.
Spoiler alert: he wasn't wrong.
The first scene was a staged jewel heist. Cameras swooped in as contestants plotted in exaggerated villainy, delivering monologues that made the set feel like a Broadway stage mixed with a reality TV circus. Alexis's role was simple: stride in, deliver a cutting line, snatch the fake necklace, and saunter off with flair.
Except the universe had other plans.
She stepped forward, heel catching in the velvet carpet. Instead of gliding, she stumbled. Instead of snatching the necklace, she sent the pedestal crashing to the floor, scattering fake jewels like a glitter bomb gone wrong.
Gasps erupted from the cast and crew. Her face burned hotter than the studio lights.
"Smooth," Lorenzo whispered, grinning. "Very villain chic."
She wanted to disappear into the floorboards, melt into the set, teleport—anything to escape her own clumsiness.
Then, as if summoned by the gods of timing and terrible irony, he appeared. Dante.
He swept into the scene like a rehearsed superhero, bending to scoop up the scattered necklace with ease. His fingers twirled the faux jewels with the practiced flair of someone who was terrifyingly good at everything.
"Sloppy thieves need guidance," he said, voice dripping mock disdain. His gaze met hers, sharp and gleaming, and for a moment, the chaos faded.
Why do I feel relief when he's around? I wasn't supposed to. I was supposed to want revenge, to gawk at his arrogance, maybe even enjoy his discomfort. Instead, I felt steadied, safe, and disturbingly aware of how much my chest wanted to collide with his presence.
The cameras captured every second, and the crew erupted into laughter and applause. Disaster turned into cinematic gold, and Dante's grin was the cherry on top.
Next up was the villain monologue challenge. Alexis had rehearsed her lines in the mirror, practicing that exaggerated evil laugh she thought would terrify the audience. It did not. Standing under the spotlight, words evaporated. Mouth moving, sound nowhere to be found. Her limbs stiffened, panic flaring. Then, something terrible happened: she laughed. Not the diabolical "mwahaha" she'd intended, but real, loud, hopeless laughter that echoed across the studio. The cast froze. Lorenzo choked on his drink. Vivienne's eyes rolled so hard it seemed dangerous.
"Fear me, peasants!" Alexis wheezed, clutching her cape for dramatic effect. The line fell flat. Devastatingly flat.
And, of course—because the universe clearly had a sense of humor—Dante was there again. Sliding effortlessly into frame, he delivered his own line, bold and commanding:
"She laughs because she knows your doom is inevitable."
The room erupted in genuine applause this time. Alexis's blunder had become a triumph. The audience, both live and imagined online, loved it. And he… he looked at her. Really looked at her. A spark. A silent conversation that said: I've got you. And, worse, her entire body believed him.
Filming finally wrapped for the evening, and Alexis slipped backstage, hiding behind a water bottle like a shield. Her plan to be a flawless villain had crumbled spectacularly, but beneath the humiliation, a dangerous warmth spread through her chest. She hadn't failed alone. Dante had been there, saving her, guiding her, keeping her from total disaster.
Later, while the other contestants bickered over takeout, she drifted to a quiet corridor. Her boots clicked against the concrete floor, echoing in the empty hallway. And predictably, he found her.
"You've got quite the talent for sabotage," Dante said, leaning casually against the wall.
"Go away," she muttered, cheeks burning, wishing she could disappear entirely.
"You're better at improv than you think."
"That wasn't improv," she shot back. "It was humiliation. Big difference."
He tilted his head, studying her like he could read every thought. "Humiliation? I saw someone who turned disaster into comedy. The audience will love you."
Her chest tightened. Walls cracked. And she realized, with alarming clarity, that she might not want him to go.
"You're infuriating," she whispered.
"And you're terrible at being a villain," he countered. "Stick to being yourself. You're better at it."
That night, lying in bed, Alexis didn't replay the pedestal fiasco or Vivienne's smug laughter. She replayed the way Dante had held the jewels, the way his eyes had softened when he saved her, the quiet, unspoken reassurance. Her career was still a mess. Her public image teetered on the edge of disaster. Reality TV had already humiliated her once. But maybe, just maybe, she could survive this, even thrive. And maybe… she could survive it with him by her side.
And for the first time in months, the thought didn't terrify her.
It felt like hope.
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