Louis froze in place, his gaze locked on the hallway where Nolan's tall frame had disappeared around the corner, then slammed toward Violet's closed door. A hot, stinging sensation of jealousy rose to his temples, far stronger than the frustration he had felt seeing the audience's comments on the screen earlier.
A midnight visit? Nolan? Coming out of Violet's room? What had they done? What had they said? How could the Iceberg—Nolan—possibly…
A mix of territorial frustration and raw envy gripped him like iron chains. Louis almost stormed to Violet's door, pounding on it to demand answers. But remnants of reason, and the implicit rules of the show, held him back. He tugged at his hair, spun around in exasperation, and finally, with his face a deep shade of crimson, stomped toward his room, slamming the door behind him. That night, the golden-haired dynamo was doomed to sleeplessness.
The next morning, the breakfast atmosphere was unusually tense.
Louis arrived with faint dark circles beneath his eyes. As Violet and Nolan appeared in succession, his gaze sharpened like knives. Gone was the usual eager enthusiasm to hover beside Violet. Instead, he crossed his arms, sitting at a distance, a mix of scrutiny, grievance, and discontent radiating from him. Like a large dog robbed of its favorite bone, he exuded a palpable aura of "I am displeased."
Nolan remained the ever-icy figure. As he ate, he ignored the almost tangible weight of Louis's burning stare, the same man who had been his friendly rival just a day before.
Violet observed Louis's reaction with subtle satisfaction. Jealousy, after all, was one of the most effective catalysts for stirring emotions and escalating competition. She deliberately refrained from performing her usual cheerful morning ritual, savoring breakfast with elegance, occasionally leaning toward Rily to exchange a few whispered words, fully ignoring the fiery gazes trained on her.
Rily, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle shifts in tension. Her warm eyes glided between Louis, Nolan, and Violet, a knowing smile playing at her lips. She poured coffee for Violet, leaning slightly closer, whispering: "The beans seem especially rich today." She skillfully sidestepped the delicate topic, yet quietly reaffirmed her own presence beside Violet.
Giselle, sensing the unusual energy, tilted her head back and forth, scanning her fellow contestants with lively eyes. She sidled close to Violet and spoke just loud enough for everyone at the table to hear:
"Big sister, did you sleep well last night? Any… interesting dreams?" Her gaze flicked subtly toward Nolan.
Violet's lips curved into a faint, teasing smile. Setting down her cup, she allowed her eyes to drift lazily over Louis's tense expression before resting on Giselle's curious face.
"No dreams, really… but last night, there was a 'considerate' visitor who helped me with a minor mishap." She tilted her wrist, showing the faintly healed mark.
Louis's brows furrowed further. Nolan paused mid-cut with his fork, almost imperceptibly. Rily's eyes widened just a touch. Giselle's "Wow" was exaggerated, excitement flaring in her gaze.
Violet's words were deliberately ambiguous. She had explained Nolan's appearance while leaving plenty of room for imagination—maintaining the ambiguity, heightening the jealousy, and keeping Louis on edge.
"A minor mishap? What minor mishap? Was it serious?" Louis finally blurted, his voice teetering between urgency and concern.
"All fine now," Violet replied, her smile calm, the same as always—but for Louis, it landed like a soft pillow over his face, frustratingly gentle, leaving him simmering with restrained emotion.
The day's task involved preparing performances for the beach party that evening. During the pairing, Louis had desperately hoped to work with Violet, but the draw dashed his hopes once more—Violet was paired with Rily for a duet dance, while he teamed with Giselle for a singing performance.
Throughout rehearsal, Louis's attention kept drifting toward the dance room. Giselle noticed immediately.
"Hey! Louis! Focus! If you hit the wrong notes again tonight, we'll be ruined!"
"I know, I know!" Louis muttered, tugging at his hair, distracted by thoughts of Violet.
Meanwhile, the dance studio was a different world altogether. Rily moved gracefully, every gesture fluid, every motion expressive. She guided Violet patiently, and the choreography required constant close contact: waist holds, spins, eye contact. Each touch carried subtle tension, uniquely feminine, soft but undeniably charged.
"Here, raise your arms a bit higher, closer to my body… yes, like that," Rily whispered near Violet's ear, her fingers brushing along her waist, the other hand interlacing fingers. Her warm breath, so near, added to the intensity. "Look into my eyes. Imagine we are dancing together, not just performing…"
Violet surrendered to the artful intimacy. She could feel Rily's warmth, the delicate fragrance lingering in the air, a tension unlike the sexual sparks with a man—softer, yet equally enthralling.
"You're doing beautifully," Rily murmured, her gaze steady and encouraging, "Relax. Just follow me."
As evening arrived, the beach party bloomed into life: lights, music, bonfires, food. The atmosphere was intoxicatingly romantic.
Louis and Giselle's singing surprisingly captivated the audience, though Louis's eyes rarely left Violet. Giselle's energy tried to reclaim attention, but Louis's gaze remained scorching.
Rily and Violet's duet dance became the highlight. Two distinct styles meshed flawlessly. Limbs entwined, eyes locked, every movement an elegant tease, earning constant applause. Comments flew across the stream:
[The lily blooms! Gorgeous!]
[Rily is amazing! Violet queen, so seductive!]
Nolan remained in the shadows at a distance, a glass of wine in hand. His gaze lingered on the pair, particularly on Violet's expression of enjoyment under Rily's lead. His knuckles whitened on the glass.
After the party, the group staggered along the moonlit beach, mellowed by the night's indulgences.
Violet wandered toward the jagged rocks, savoring a moment of solitude, the rhythmic crash of waves a balm. Then—footsteps, hurried and uneven, approached from behind.
She turned to see Louis, hair tousled by the sea breeze, eyes complex with intoxication and suppressed emotion.
"Violet," he said, stopping a few feet from her. His voice was lower, huskier than usual. "Last night… why did he go to your room?" He finally asked the question he had struggled to voice all day, his tone laced with subtle grievance and quiet demand.
The ocean wind toyed with her skirt and hair. Violet regarded him—a man so lost he resembled a forlorn dog—yet did not answer directly. She smiled lightly.
"Are you interrogating me, Louis?"
"I'm not…" His words faltered. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just… I don't understand! That iceberg… he doesn't even know how to make you happy!"
"Oh?" Violet stepped closer, the sea spray mixing with the faint scent of alcohol from him. "Then tell me, how would you make me happy?"
The sudden proximity made Louis stagger slightly, mesmerized by the delicate, moonlit curves of her face. Alcohol and jealousy clouded his mind. He blurted:
"Like me! Passionately, directly, without reserve! I want to see you smile constantly, to protect you, to…"
His words stopped abruptly as Violet's fingertip brushed against his lips, halting him.
Cool, damp from the sea, her touch lingered.
"Louis," she whispered, voice sultry and almost otherworldly, "direct confessions are moving… but sometimes, mystery and controlled chaos are far more enticing, don't you think?"
Her words were both a chill and a flame. Louis froze, yet an even fiercer longing ignited in his chest.
Violet withdrew, facing the waves, leaving him with a slender, enigmatic silhouette.
"The taste of jealousy isn't pleasant, I understand," her voice drifted on the wind, "but these are the rules of the game."
Louis stood rooted, the sea breeze dispersing his anger, leaving only a deep sense of helplessness and being seen through. Yet the fire in his eyes had not dimmed. If anything, it burned more stubbornly than before.
He knew he was far from eliminated. But this game was proving far more difficult to conquer than he had imagined.
Somewhere further down the beach, Nolan silently joined the shoreline, watching the two figures on the rocks, his expression flickering in the moonlight, inscrutable.