Chapter 41 – Producer Ultimatum
The early morning sunlight streamed through the mansion's floor-to-ceiling windows, brushing over the polished wood and gleaming marble. Alexis Harper sat at the edge of the massive living room sofa, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her skirt as she stared at the script the producers had left beside her. Her eyes scanned the lines again, though she already knew what it said: sabotage. She was supposed to orchestrate a scandal, deliberately humiliate Dante Chase on camera, and spark a confrontation that would send ratings through the roof.
Her stomach churned. She could almost hear the producers' gleeful voices echoing in her head: Drama sells. Hearts break. Audiences scream. Ratings soar. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to suppress the wave of nausea that had nothing to do with food.
She'd never been good at this. Scheming, manipulating, playing the villain—it didn't sit right with her anymore. The first few weeks had been an experiment, a game she could rationalize: It's just a show, Alexis. Everyone is acting. But now? Now it wasn't acting anymore; it was personal. The thought of hurting Dante—even for a moment—made her chest tighten, made her palms sweat.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Dante: Morning. You okay?
Her lips curved into a faint, nervous smile. Even the simple concern in that message sent a flutter through her chest. She typed back quickly: As okay as I can be… you?
Almost immediately, his reply came: Better now that I know you're thinking of me.
Her heart skipped. It was subtle, just a few words, but the warmth behind them was unmistakable. He didn't know what the producers had asked her to do. She didn't want him to know. Not yet. She wasn't ready for him to see her compromise her morals—or her heart—for the sake of a show.
A knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts.
"Alexis, can we talk?" The producers' coordinator's voice, tight and professional, drifted through the doorway. She didn't wait for an invitation; she just stepped in, eyes sharp and calculating.
Alexis stood, clutching the script a little too tightly. "Of course," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
The coordinator's smile was thin and merciless. "We've reviewed your scenes, Alexis. The footage is excellent, but we think you're holding back."
Alexis raised an eyebrow. "Holding back?" she asked.
"Yes," the coordinator said, leaning slightly closer, lowering her voice. "You've built undeniable chemistry with Dante, and the audience loves it. But ratings could be astronomical if you push him… if you provoke him. You know what I mean. Sabotage him, make him doubt you. Give the cameras a real showdown."
Alexis felt her stomach knot. Her hands trembled slightly as she held the script closer to her chest. "I… I can't," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm.
The coordinator's eyes narrowed. "You can. You're a professional. You signed up for this. You know what it takes to win the game—and to make the show unforgettable. Ratings are everything. Don't let personal feelings get in the way of what this could be."
Alexis shook her head, stepping back. "No. I… I'm not doing that. I won't manipulate him. Not for ratings. Not for the cameras. Not for anything."
The coordinator's expression hardened. "Think carefully, Alexis. This is your chance. You can either make the show, make your mark… or fade into background oblivion. One moment of hesitation, and—"
"I don't care about ratings," Alexis interrupted, her voice gaining strength. "I care about him. About us. And I refuse to betray that."
For a beat, the room was silent. The coordinator's thin lips pressed into a line, and Alexis could feel the tension radiating from her. Then, slowly, she straightened, tilting her chin up. "You want drama? Fine. But I won't be the one to create it at the expense of someone I care about. I draw the line here."
The coordinator's eyes flickered, a hint of respect—or perhaps irritation—underneath the professional mask. "Bold," she said finally. "Very bold. Just remember… bold moves come with consequences."
Alexis swallowed hard. "I'll take my chances."
As soon as the coordinator left, Alexis exhaled slowly, the tension in her body finally beginning to ease. She sank back onto the sofa, gripping the script but feeling lighter somehow. Her heart was still racing, but not from fear—it was from the exhilaration of standing firm, of refusing to compromise her own moral compass.
And then she felt it—a presence behind her, quiet but steady.
"Refusing them, huh?" Dante's voice was soft, teasing, but carried an undercurrent of admiration.
Alexis turned, and his smile met her own—a small, intimate smile that made the tightness in her chest melt a little. "Yeah," she said, still breathless. "I couldn't… I just couldn't."
He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, eyes searching hers. "I'm proud of you," he said. "Not just because you stood up to them… but because you stood up for us. For what's real."
Her cheeks warmed, a flutter of something dangerously like desire skittering across her skin. She tried to look away, focusing on the script in her hands, but his presence was magnetic, irresistible. Every inch closer felt deliberate, as though he could sense her hesitation and wanted to dissolve it, piece by piece.
"Us?" she asked softly, almost inaudibly.
"Yes," he said, his voice low, steady. "Because that… that thing we have—it's real, Alexis. More than any show, more than any camera, more than anything they can manufacture for ratings. Don't let them make you forget that."
Alexis's pulse quickened. The intensity in his eyes, the honesty in his voice, the undeniable heat of his proximity—it was overwhelming. She had spent weeks navigating scripted drama, faking emotions, and pretending to be someone ruthless for the cameras. But this moment was pure. Raw. Vulnerable. And yet it made her chest ache with longing she hadn't allowed herself to feel in months.
"I… I don't want to lose us," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"You won't," he said, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, a light touch that sent shivers down her spine. "I promise."
A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "Promise? On camera or off?"
"Off," he said firmly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Always off."
Alexis smiled, a genuine, soft smile that felt almost foreign after so much forced performance. She realized, with a surge of warmth, that it didn't matter what the producers wanted. It didn't matter how much they tried to manipulate the cameras or the contestants. Whatever happened on this show, she and Dante had something no one could script: each other.
And yet, even as relief flooded her, a part of her remained cautious. The world outside—the cameras, the rivals, the scheming contestants—was still watching. There would be challenges, traps, and tests designed to pull them apart. But for now, in this quiet, stolen moment, Alexis let herself breathe. Let herself feel. Let herself hope.
Dante stepped closer, closing the small gap between them, his forehead brushing hers. "Whatever comes," he murmured, "we face it together."
Her heart thundered in her chest, a mixture of fear, exhilaration, and longing. "Together," she echoed, the word solidifying in her mind, in her heart.
For the first time in weeks, Alexis felt a sense of clarity. The producers could demand drama, could push for scandal, could threaten the integrity of the show—but they could never touch what she and Dante shared. That was hers. That was theirs. And she would protect it, no matter the cost.
And maybe, just maybe, the chaos of the show wouldn't feel so impossible if they faced it as a team.
⸻