Chapter 21 – Producers Notice Chemistry
The mansion hummed with restless energy—whispers threading through hallways, camera crews shifting into place, the faint thrum of tension thick enough to taste. Alexis Harper moved quickly, heels clicking against the polished marble, each step a careful mask of control. Her head was still buzzing from the day's spectacle: a challenge engineered for chaos, complete with humiliations, awkward pairings, and perfectly timed explosions for the cameras.
And of course, she had played her role flawlessly—her brand of chaos always walked the razor's edge between disaster and art.
She was almost to the common room when she felt it: that subtle prickle on the back of her neck. The weight of a gaze she could sense before she even saw it.
Dante Chase.
He was leaning against the doorway as if he owned it, broad shoulders relaxed, that devastating half-smile curving his lips. His dark eyes caught hers, glinting with mischief, and she felt that all-too-familiar flutter betray her chest.
"You're smiling again," he said lowly, voice velvet-smooth with a teasing lilt. He stepped closer, brows arched in challenge. "Even after the train wreck you just caused on camera."
Alexis tilted her chin, fighting her grin. "Train wreck?" she echoed. "I prefer… performance art."
"Performance art," he repeated, as if tasting the words. His smile deepened. "If public humiliation is your medium, then yes—masterpiece."
Her lips twitched despite herself. "And you're saying you don't enjoy a little chaos?"
He leaned in, voice dipping so only she could hear. "Oh, I enjoy chaos." His eyes softened, dangerous in their warmth. "Just not when it's aimed at me."
Her laugh burst out before she could stop it, light and unguarded. A few contestants nearby glanced over, their curiosity sharpened like knives. Heat rushed to her cheeks. Damn him. Around Dante, it was too easy to forget the walls she had built, too easy to let something real slip through the cracks.
Before she could think of a sharp retort, the tap-tap of heels cut through the moment. Carla, one of the lead producers, swept toward them with a clipboard hugged to her chest and calculation gleaming in her eyes.
"Alexis. Dante." Her voice was bright, all sugar, but her gaze flickered between them like a camera lens narrowing its focus. "Mind if we have a quick chat?"
Alexis stiffened. A quick chat with a producer was never just that. She shot Dante a glance. He gave the smallest shrug—let's see what this is.
Carla smiled, the kind of smile that promised strategy. "We've been reviewing the footage, and something interesting keeps coming up." Her gaze sharpened, zeroing in on Alexis. "Chemistry."
Alexis' stomach flipped. She opened her mouth, but Carla pressed on, relentless.
"The audience is responding—your banter, your tension, the way you look at each other when you think the cameras aren't catching it." Her brows lifted knowingly. "It's electric. We'd like to lean into that."
"Lean into it?" Alexis repeated warily. "You mean… exploit it."
Carla didn't even flinch. "Yes. Exactly. Nothing you haven't already done naturally. We'll pair you two more often in challenges, nudge situations for… connection. Teasing, teamwork, private chats. Just enough to spark intrigue."
Every muscle in Alexis' body went taut. They wanted to turn her heart—the most guarded, most breakable part of her—into primetime entertainment. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she said carefully. "We're not—"
Dante's fingers brushed hers, so light it could've been an accident. But it wasn't. His quiet anchor steadied her racing pulse. "Relax," he murmured, just for her. "They want sparks. We can give them that—without losing ourselves."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to resist, to claw back control. And yet, some wicked part of her wanted to see just how much fire they could set if they stopped holding back.
Carla leaned in conspiratorially. "Don't overthink it. No scripted kisses, no forced declarations. Just… more of what's already there. Natural. Believable. Compelling."
Dante smirked, dark and playful. "Sounds easy enough."
"Easy?" Alexis shot back, incredulous. "You make manipulation sound charming."
His eyes glittered as he leaned closer, his voice a low tease. "That's because it can be. With the right partner."
Heat swept through her, sharp and disorienting. She looked away too quickly, feigning interest in the flower arrangements nearby, but she could still feel his gaze, warm and unyielding, trailing after her. Their shoulders brushed, and the contact sent a jolt of awareness sparking down her spine.
"Perfect," Carla chirped, scribbling on her clipboard. "We'll set the next challenges to bring out more of this… dynamic. Alexis, subtle flirtation plays well. Dante—keep her grounded."
"Grounded?" Dante laughed, shaking his head. "She doesn't need grounding. She's chaos incarnate."
Alexis shot him a glare that lacked all bite. "Excuse me?"
He leaned down, his lips grazing the air near her ear, voice a husky murmur. "And it's my favorite thing about you."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She hated how much she loved the way he said it.
Carla, oblivious to the storm unraveling inside Alexis, clicked her pen closed and drifted off, her clipboard tucked like a prize. "Just keep it natural, kids. The audience will eat it up."
As soon as she was gone, Alexis let out a shaky breath. "Well. That's horrifying."
Dante chuckled, brushing his knuckles against hers—another almost-touch that wasn't really almost. "They can push whatever narrative they want. But at the end of the day, we decide what's real."
She turned to him, caught in the pull of his steady gaze. For the first time, she let her smile be honest. "Real is dangerous. Especially with you."
"Dangerous?" he echoed, smirking. "That's my specialty." His eyes softened, sincerity threading through the teasing. "But worth it, Harper. Always worth it."
The words lodged in her chest like a promise.
For a suspended moment, the mansion's chaos faded. No cameras. No scheming producers. Just two people in a charged silence that said everything words couldn't.
When Alexis finally turned toward her room, she glanced back. Dante was still watching her, unreadable but unflinching. Her pulse quickened.
The producers might script chemistry. They might stage intimacy. But no one—not Carla, not the cameras, not even Alexis herself—could manufacture the wildfire that sparked whenever she looked at him.
And as she disappeared down the hall, Alexis Harper realized with a mix of terror and hope that this—whatever it was between them—was no longer just for show.
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