Isla's POV
The wine glass felt heavy in my hand.
I stood at the edge of the beach, watching Jesse and Vanessa walk along the water like they were in a romance movie. Cameras tracked their every move. The cameraman followed three steps behind them. The boom microphone hung above their heads like a vulture waiting for good conversation.
This was it. The moment I was going to destroy everything.
My phone had buzzed exactly thirty minutes ago with Derek's closing instructions: "INTERRUPT NOW. Follow the script. Make her look bad. Make him choose you."
Except the script didn't say "make him choose you."
The script said "be jealous and desperate."
The script said I should spiral. Should cry. Should make myself look unhinged so that America would hate me and pity Jesse for being stuck between two crazy women.
I knew how to follow lines. I'd been following them my entire career.
But this script was asking me to kill the one person I'd spent three years trying to protect.
Diana's text from earlier kept repeating in my head: "Your eyes are sad. You're in trouble."
And then the worst part. That unknown text from Marcus. The one I hadn't told anyone about yet.
"Your sister is so sick. Such a shame if her care got delayed. Meet me. Alone. After the beach date. Or Diana stops getting medicine."
Blackmail. Direct, obvious, brutal pressure.
I was stuck. If I didn't follow the plan, Marcus would hurt Diana. If I did follow the plot, I'd hurt Jesse. And either way, I was playing exactly the part Marcus wanted me to play—the desperate girl with something to lose.
Jesse and Vanessa were getting closer. Jesse was laughing at something Vanessa said. His hand was still holding hers.
I lifted the wine glass.
The producer was watching from behind the cameras, giving me a thumbs up. Derek was nodding. They wanted this. They needed this. This was the moment that would make the season worthwhile.
I was going to fall.
I was going to spill wine.
I was going to follow the script.
But then Jesse looked up.
His eyes found mine across the beach. And in that split second, I saw him understanding exactly what was about to happen. I saw him recognizing the script. I saw him knowing that I was going to hurt him because I had no choice.
And he smiled.
Not a real smile. A sad smile. The smile of someone saying goodbye.
Something inside me cracked.
I couldn't do this.
I couldn't hurt him again. Not after three years. Not after learning what Marcus had done. Not after watching that movie and understanding our entire history was a lie manufactured by a man who destroyed people for entertainment.
I lowered the wine glass.
Derek's thumbs up turned into an angry motion. He was mouthing something. "Do it. Do it now."
I shook my head.
Jesse's face changed. Surprised. Almost hopeful.
Vanessa was looking at me with confusion. "Isla? Are you okay?"
I opened my mouth to speak. To tell the truth. To go totally off-script and expose everything Marcus had done.
But then my phone vibrated.
A video call from an unknown number.
Against every sense, against every rule about breaking character on camera, I answered.
Marcus Webb's face showed on my screen.
And he was sitting in what looked like a hospital room.
Diana's hospital room.
My blood turned to ice.
"Hi, Isla," Marcus said. His voice was calm. Too quiet. "Look who I have here."
The phone tilted, and I saw my sister. Diana was in her hospital bed, looking scared. A man I didn't recognize was standing beside her with his hand on her shoulder.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
"Nothing. Yet," Marcus said. "But here's how this is going to work. You're going to follow your script. You're going to ruin Jesse. You're going to play the evil. And then you're going to do exactly what I say for the rest of this show."
"If you hurt her—"
"You'll what?" Marcus laughed. "You're on a beach in Malibu surrounded by cameras. I'm at a hospital with your sister, and nobody knows I'm here. You can't do anything."
I looked at Jesse. He was staring at my phone with increasing horror, understanding what was happening.
"Or," Marcus added, "you can be smart. Follow the script. Finish the season. And I'll release Diana from my care unhurt. You have five seconds to decide."
Five seconds.
The wine glass was still in my hand.
Vanessa was still standing there confused.
Jesse was watching me with pleading eyes, quietly begging me not to do this.
And my little sister was in a hospital bed with a stranger's hand on her shoulder, frightened because I'd made a deal with the devil.
"One," Marcus counted. "Two..."
I looked at Vanessa.
I lifted the wine glass.
"Three. Four..."
"I'm sorry," I mouthed to Jesse.
"Five."
I stumbled forward carefully. The wine glass tipped. Red wine spilled across Vanessa's white dress in a dramatic curve.
The cams caught everything.
Vanessa screamed. Jesse tried to help her. The producers ran toward us.
And on my phone screen, I saw Marcus smile.
"Good girl," he said. "Now here's what happens next. In two hours, you're going to tell me you want to meet me secretly. You're going to walk away from the cameras in the yard. And you're going to do everything I ask."
"What do you want?" I asked.
"Everything," Marcus said. "Starting with the truth about what happened three years ago. The part of the video you didn't see. The part that tells why your sister will die if you don't cooperate."
The phone went black.
I stood there holding my phone, watching Jesse's face as he processed what had just happened. Watching Vanessa cry about her wrecked dress. Watching the producers enjoy the perfect dramatic moment.
But the worst part was hearing Derek say to another cameraman: "Did you catch that? Isla answered a phone call on camera? That's even better. It shows she's unstable."
They didn't know what the call was about.
They thought it was part of the show.
They didn't understand that I'd just made a deal to sell my life.
And in two hours, I was going to meet Marcus Webb in the yard, and he was going to tell me a secret so dangerous that it would explain everything.
A secret that apparently took holding my sister hostage to keep hidden.
A secret worth ruining my life for.
The beach date continued around me like nothing had changed. But everything had changed. The wine-stained dress. The cameras still rolling. The understanding that Marcus Webb wasn't just a manipulative producer anymore.
He was a monster.
And he had my sister.