Chapter 20 – Heart-to-Heart
The mansion felt oddly quiet, as if it were holding its breath. The chaos of the day—the cameras, the staged sabotage, the flaring egos—had faded into soft echoes down the marble hallways. Alexis Harper had managed to slip away from the throngs of contestants, her boots padding lightly against the polished floor as she wandered toward the balcony overlooking the gardens. The night air whispered through the open doors, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and distant fire pits, calming her racing heart.
She didn't expect him to be there. She certainly didn't expect him to be leaning casually against the railing, his silhouette outlined by the soft glow of lanterns. But there he was—Dante Chase, the man who had haunted both her dreams and her regrets for the past three years. Her chest tightened in a mix of dread and anticipation. The sight of him made the past decade of mistakes, heartbreak, and missed chances press down on her all at once.
"You're wandering around like a ghost," he said, his voice low but teasing, carrying that familiar undertone that could melt stubborn resolve. "Trying to avoid someone?"
Alexis drew in a breath and crossed her arms, pretending for a moment that she wasn't shaking slightly. "Maybe," she replied, voice clipped, though she knew it was a terrible attempt at aloofness. "Maybe I just like the quiet."
Dante stepped closer, though not too close—respecting an invisible boundary, or perhaps testing it. "Quiet is dangerous," he said softly. "Especially at night. Thoughts have a way of twisting into the things you try not to think about."
Her pulse skipped. He always had that effect, even after all this time. Even after she had convinced herself that he was a closed chapter. The memory of ghosting him, of leaving without explanation to protect her own heart, suddenly felt heavy, shameful, and achingly alive.
"I'm… thinking," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "About… everything."
Dante's gaze softened. The teasing smirk melted into something warmer, more sincere. "Everything? Or just me?"
Alexis blinked, heart hammering. Of course it was him. He had always been the central axis of her world, whether she wanted to admit it or not. "Maybe both," she confessed, unable to stop the words once they were loose.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I was hoping it was both." He leaned on the railing next to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, yet far enough to leave room for her pride. "You know, I never stopped caring, Alexis."
She swallowed, blinking rapidly, trying to process the confession. Her chest ached, simultaneously tender and heavy. "I… I know," she whispered, letting the words hang between them. "And I've hated myself for leaving, for just… disappearing without explanation. I was scared. I thought if I stayed, if I tried to explain… I'd fall apart. I didn't want to hurt you. But maybe I hurt you anyway."
Dante shook his head, brushing back a strand of hair from his face. "You hurt me, yes. But it wasn't forever. We both… we were young, reckless, afraid. You left to survive, Alexis. I get that. I always got that."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to punch something, all at once. The man who had once held the power to make her world crumble was now here, standing beside her, understanding her in ways no one else could. And yet, she was terrified. Terrified of what opening up now might mean.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "I'm scared of letting anyone in. Scared of… feeling again."
Dante's eyes softened, that deep, steady gaze anchoring her like nothing else ever could. "You're allowed to be scared," he said gently. "And you don't have to do it alone. Not with me."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The breeze danced between them, carrying the faint rustle of leaves and distant laughter from the other contestants. Alexis's hands, which had been fidgeting nervously, finally relaxed. She turned slightly to face him, noticing the little details she had once adored—the curve of his jaw, the way his eyes caught the light, the subtle strength in his posture that spoke of quiet confidence rather than arrogance.
"I… missed this," she admitted, voice small. "Missed you."
"And I missed you," he said simply, and it was the kind of truth that didn't need embellishment. It settled in her chest like warm sunlight through a winter window.
Alexis chuckled nervously, covering her mouth with her hand. "God, I sound pathetic."
"You sound human," Dante replied, a playful lift to his brow. "And a little dramatic. But I like it."
She laughed, the sound breaking through the tension like a bell. And there it was—the first shared laugh since their reunion, light and honest, threading a fragile new connection between them. Her walls, built high over the years, wavered in the warmth of his presence.
Dante glanced down at her hand, still covering her mouth, and reached out. Slowly, deliberately, he took her fingers in his. The touch was light, almost hesitant, yet it sent an undeniable shiver through her spine.
"You don't have to hide from me," he whispered. "Not tonight, not ever again, if you don't want to."
Her heart pounded, a chaotic rhythm of fear, longing, and desire. She wanted to pull away, to protect herself. But she didn't. Instead, she let herself lean into his hand, letting the warmth anchor her.
"Promise me something," he said softly. "Promise me you'll let yourself feel, Alexis. Even if it's messy. Even if it's terrifying."
"I… I'll try," she admitted, her voice quivering. The word try felt heavy, loaded with hope and uncertainty all at once.
He smiled, that slow, knowing smile that had once undone her completely. "That's all I ask."
They stood there, hands entwined, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the night. No cameras, no producers, no scripted chaos—just the two of them. And for the first time in a long while, Alexis didn't have to be anyone else. Not the villain, not the performer, not the desperate actress clawing her way back into the public eye. Just Alexis.
Dante squeezed her hand gently. "You know," he said, voice teasing now, "I think you'd make an excellent villain. Just… maybe one with a soft spot for me."
Alexis rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. "Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself."
"Flattery?" he asked, arching a brow. "I prefer honesty."
They laughed together, the sound echoing softly into the night. And in that laughter, in the gentle brush of fingers, in the shared looks that spoke more than words ever could, something shifted. The tension that had clawed at her chest all day eased, replaced by a tentative, fragile hope.
Alexis's mind wandered briefly to the chaos waiting inside the mansion—the challenges, the cameras, the relentless competitors. But here, now, she was untouchable. Here, she was understood. And as she looked at him, she realized that maybe surviving the show didn't have to be about winning. Maybe it was about finding pieces of herself she had forgotten, pieces that had always been waiting for him.
"I should probably go," she murmured eventually, reluctantly pulling her hand back. Reality had a way of crashing in, even in stolen moments like this.
"Do you have to?" he asked, a subtle note of challenge in his tone, as if daring her to linger.
"I… probably," she admitted, smiling despite herself. "But I'll be back."
"I'll be waiting," he said, eyes softening, unwavering.
And as she walked back into the mansion, Alexis carried something rare with her: the warmth of trust, the spark of laughter, and the undeniable certainty that some things—some people—were worth the chaos. Worth the vulnerability. Worth every risk.
Tonight, she didn't just survive. Tonight, she felt alive.
⸻