Chapter 49 – Ex Protects Her Again
The lights were merciless.
Bright, white-hot beams blared from every direction as if the producers had decided the best way to expose me was literally. The stage was designed to look like a decadent rooftop lounge—plush couches, glowing firepits, a fake skyline twinkling like diamonds. It was supposed to scream romantic ambiance, but all I felt was the invisible hand of manipulation pressing down on my shoulders.
The segment was called The Reckoning, which told me everything I needed to know. Drama was about to be forced.
I sat perched on the edge of a couch, trying to look composed while my insides twisted. Around me, contestants sipped mocktails, their laughter sharp-edged and performative. The rival—always so perfectly coiffed it made me itch—slid closer, her lips curling into a smile sweet enough to rot teeth.
"So," she said, loud enough for the boom mic to pick up. "I heard our dear starlet here has been hiding things."
The words were a match to dry tinder. The set hushed. My chest constricted.
The producers wanted this. They wanted whispers of scandal, lies dressed up as revelations. They wanted my humiliation.
"What are you talking about?" I managed, my voice tight.
"Oh, just stories I've heard," she purred. "That maybe your past isn't as… picture-perfect as you'd like everyone to believe. Maybe you've broken a few hearts. Maybe you're not as innocent as you seem."
Gasps, of course. Manufactured shock rippling across carefully chosen faces. I felt the heat of the cameras zeroing in, the way vultures circle a wounded animal.
And then—his voice.
"Careful."
It cut through the tension like steel. Low, calm, dangerous.
I turned. My ex—my maddening, infuriating, irresistible ex—was on his feet. He wasn't towering over her, not exactly, but the way he carried himself left no doubt who held the power. His shoulders were squared, his gaze sharp enough to slice, his presence pulling every ounce of oxygen out of the set.
"You don't get to smear her just because you're desperate for screen time," he said, each word precise, lethal.
The rival blinked, visibly flustered. "I—I was just making conversation."
"That wasn't conversation," he snapped. "That was character assassination. Try harder."
The silence that followed was electric. Contestants stared. Producers probably foamed at the mouth behind the cameras, delighted at the unplanned drama. And me?
My heart was pounding so loud I was certain the microphones were catching it.
Because in that moment, he wasn't just defending me. He was protecting me. Again.
I wanted to reach for him, to press my hand to his chest and feel the steady beat beneath all that righteous anger. Instead, I stayed rooted to the couch, too aware of the lenses trained on us.
The rival huffed and turned away, muttering something about "thin skin." But the damage was done—not to me. To her. Because the cameras had caught every flicker of her pettiness, every ounce of his ferocity on my behalf.
And when his eyes finally met mine, softening in the aftermath, something unspoken passed between us.
I see you.
I've got you.
My throat tightened. I managed a small, grateful smile, but the truth was, I wanted more than a smile. I wanted to grab his hand, lace my fingers with his, and let the world see the connection we were barely holding back.
The rest of the segment blurred. Questions were lobbed, answers half-hearted. My rival sulked in her corner, occasionally shooting daggers my way, but I was too buoyed by the memory of his defense to care.
It wasn't until the cameras cut and we were herded offstage that the next moment hit.
Backstage corridors always smelled like a mix of hot lights, nerves, and too much hairspray. I was trailing behind, lost in thought, when a sudden voice stopped me cold.
"You okay?"
He was leaning casually against the wall, arms folded, but there was nothing casual in the way his gaze searched mine. Concern radiated off him, threading under my skin until I couldn't pretend anymore.
I exhaled shakily. "You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah, I did," he countered instantly. "They were circling you like sharks. I wasn't going to sit there and let her tear you apart."
The conviction in his tone nearly undid me.
"Every time you do that," I whispered, "I forget why we ever broke."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. Heat rushed to my cheeks. His expression flickered, a storm of emotions I couldn't decipher fast enough.
Then he stepped closer. Just enough that I could feel his body heat, that I had to tilt my chin to hold his gaze.
"Maybe because we weren't ready," he said softly. "But don't mistake that for me not caring. I've never stopped."
My breath caught. The world shrank to the space between us, buzzing with the possibility of what could happen if either of us leaned in.
"Careful," I murmured, echoing his earlier warning, though my voice trembled for a very different reason. "The cameras could be anywhere."
His lips quirked into the smallest, most dangerous smile. "Then let them watch."
He reached out—not to kiss me, not yet—but to brush his thumb along my wrist. A touch so subtle, so tender, it nearly brought me to my knees. My pulse hammered beneath his touch, betraying every guarded wall I'd tried to maintain.
I didn't pull away. Couldn't.
We lingered like that, suspended in a bubble where it was just us and the history we carried. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that left me breathless, and for a moment, it felt like we'd stepped out of time itself.
Footsteps clattered around the corner, shattering the spell. A crew member rushed past, muttering into a headset, too busy to notice us. Still, we jumped apart, guilt and longing painting our expressions.
He cleared his throat. "You should get some rest before the next shoot."
"You too," I whispered, though my heart screamed at me to say more.
As I turned to go, his voice stopped me once more.
"For what it's worth…" He hesitated, then added, "I'd do it again. Every time. Protecting you—it's not a choice. It's instinct."
My chest tightened, warmth spilling through me so intense it was almost painful.
I nodded, unable to form words, and walked away on trembling legs.
Behind me, I could feel his gaze linger, heavy and magnetic.
And though the rival's jealousy simmered from the shadows, though I knew another storm was coming, one thing had never been clearer:
Whatever battles lay ahead, I wasn't facing them alone anymore.
Not when he was willing to protect me, on camera and off.
Not when every touch, every glance, every unspoken word screamed of the love neither of us had stopped carrying.
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