Chapter 56 – Jealousy Fuels Passion
The mansion's sunlit garden was buzzing with activity, contestants moving through the latest challenge with exaggerated enthusiasm, their laughter echoing like a soundtrack of orchestrated chaos. Cameras rolled, capturing every flinch, every forced grin, every flicker of emotion that producers would later spin into drama.
I tried to focus on the task at hand, maneuvering awkwardly through the obstacle course set up for the day's physical challenge. My muscles tensed, heart racing—not from exertion, but because of the presence I could feel long before I actually saw him.
He was there. Of course, he was there. Leaning against a post with casual ease, watching, waiting, every inch of his posture radiating effortless charisma. But today, there was a twist I wasn't prepared for: Dante was flirting.
Flirtation was not new between us. We had history, undeniable sparks, and an intimacy that had survived betrayal, heartbreak, and weeks of tension. But this—this was for the cameras. And yet, even knowing it, my chest constricted. My stomach flipped. My mind betrayed me with jealousy I didn't want to feel.
He was laughing, low and amused, leaning into the conversation of one of the other female contestants. The casual brush of his hand against hers, the teasing tone of his voice, the way his smile lingered longer than necessary—it was infuriating. And irresistible.
I stopped mid-step, pretending to tie my shoelace, glaring just enough for him to catch it. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"Trying to get my attention?" His voice was playful, dangerous in its familiarity.
"Maybe I am," I shot back, voice dripping with faux nonchalance. I straightened, letting a smirk curl at the edge of my lips. "Or maybe I just hate seeing you smile at anyone else."
His eyes flickered, amused, intrigued, and, just for a heartbeat, I caught that flicker of something I recognized—the pull between us that hadn't gone away, that had never gone away.
"Is that jealousy I sense?" he teased, stepping closer under the guise of adjusting a prop. Our shoulders brushed, sending a jolt of warmth through me that had nothing to do with physical contact.
I rolled my eyes, trying to appear unbothered, though my fingers itched to reach out and touch him. "Maybe," I admitted lightly, trying to mask the quickening of my pulse. "Or maybe I just enjoy being slightly annoyed by you. It keeps life interesting."
He grinned, dangerously close now, and for a moment, the chaos of the challenge and the cameras vanished. It was just us, the unspoken tension stretching taut, teasing, daring one another to cross a line neither of us wanted to acknowledge publicly.
"You know," he murmured, voice dropping low enough for only me to hear, "I could flirt with everyone here… but it wouldn't mean a thing. Not if I wanted only you."
My breath caught. That line, delivered with casual ease, had the weight of confessions hidden for weeks. I felt my cheeks warm, my mind spinning, and for the first time all day, I let myself relax, just slightly, into the magnetic pull between us.
"Is that so?" I asked, arching an eyebrow, letting a faint laugh escape me. "And here I thought you liked stirring trouble for the cameras."
He leaned in, the space between us shrinking dangerously. "I like stirring trouble," he whispered, his lips close enough that I could feel his warm breath against my skin, "but only when it keeps you on your toes."
I couldn't help it. I laughed, a soft, breathless sound that drew his eyes immediately to mine. That laugh, the one he loved more than anything, and the one I hadn't wanted to share with anyone except him, made him smile in that way that made my heart pound. He reached for my hand under the pretense of steadying me on a wobbly plank, and I didn't pull away. I let him hold it, let him anchor me with the faint heat of his touch.
The teasing escalated naturally. A stray elbow from the challenge had me stumble into him, our bodies brushing, and instead of pulling back, he caught me by the waist with ease. "Careful," he murmured, his lips almost grazing my ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to think we're making this a little… personal."
I shivered, and even I couldn't deny the electricity that sparked at that touch. "Personal?" I echoed, my voice a mix of mock annoyance and something far more intimate. "Who said I'm not allowed to enjoy myself?"
His lips twitched upward, and he gave me a look that said he knew exactly what I was thinking, and he liked it. He stepped back slightly, but the tension remained, palpable, delicious, teasing.
The next few moments were a dance, playful yet charged. He leaned close to whisper instructions for the challenge, his voice low, teasing, yet laced with intimacy. Each word brushed against my ear, making my pulse spike. Every accidental brush of his hand against mine or my waist was a deliberate spark, igniting something between us that was impossible to ignore.
I caught myself leaning into him, testing the line, pushing it just enough to elicit a reaction. He responded in kind, subtle touches, lingering gazes, playful smirks that held promises and unspoken desires. We were surrounded by contestants and cameras, yet for all intents and purposes, it felt like the world had shrunk to just the two of us.
"Careful," I whispered, leaning close enough that he could hear the quickened beat of my pulse. "You're walking a dangerous line."
His lips quirked, and his eyes glimmered with mischief. "And you're enjoying every second of it," he replied softly, voice dropping to a tantalizing murmur.
I felt heat rise to my cheeks, and for a moment, I let myself forget the world—the cameras, the producers, the rival contestants plotting schemes from the sidelines. In that instant, it was just us, two people tangled in a web of history, longing, and undeniable chemistry.
Then, as if on cue, one of the rival contestants stumbled, creating a distraction. But even then, our connection didn't break. If anything, the minor chaos only drew us closer. He offered a hand to steady me once more, and I accepted it, letting our fingers intertwine. The world faded around us, leaving only the thrill of proximity and the sweet torture of mutual awareness.
"Are you going to keep teasing me all day?" I asked, my voice a whisper, but no less charged.
"Only if you keep responding," he countered, his thumb brushing against the back of my hand, sending sparks through me that had nothing to do with the challenge.
I laughed softly, leaning into him despite my better judgment. "Then I guess we're both doomed."
His grin widened, and he bent closer, lowering his voice to a sultry murmur. "Or blessed," he added, and the word lingered between us, heavy with meaning.
By the time the challenge ended, I felt lightheaded, my heart pounding from exertion, embarrassment, and exhilaration. We had navigated a minefield of flirtation and jealousy, yet somehow, we had done it together, each spark of tension only deepening the bond we were desperate to protect.
As the crew gathered to congratulate the winners, I caught Dante's gaze across the field. That look—soft, knowing, teasing, protective—was all the reassurance I needed. The cameras might be rolling, the rivals might be scheming, but at that moment, our connection was undeniable.
I knew, without a shred of doubt, that the jealousy, the teasing, the sparks between us—they weren't just for show. They were real. And the intensity only meant one thing: our hearts had no choice but to collide.
As we walked back toward the mansion, hands brushing, playful banter flowing effortlessly, I realized something I hadn't admitted to myself before: jealousy wasn't just a risk—it was fuel. It had ignited something deep and raw, something neither of us could deny.
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, I allowed myself to lean fully into it, knowing that whatever came next, whatever scheming rivals or relentless cameras threw at us, we were stronger together.
Stronger, and undeniably, irresistibly, in love.
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