Jesse's POV
I punched the wall in my bathroom and my knuckles starting bleeding.
Good. At least the pain was real. At least something made sense.
"Jesse?" Vanessa knocked on the door. "Our date starts in ten minutes. Are you ready?"
No. I wasn't ready. I'd never be ready.
"Yeah," I called back. "Just a second."
I ran cold water over my wounded hand and watched the sink turn pink. Three years. Three years of wondering where Isla went. Three years of making myself crazy with questions.
And now she was here. In this house. Playing some kind of game I didn't understand.
Why? Why would she come here? Why would she do this to me?
Another knock. "Jesse, the cameras are waiting."
I dried my hand and wrapped it in a towel. Forced myself to look in the mirror. Forced my face into the mask I wore for everyone else. Jesse Moreno. Hollywood's golden boy. The guy who had everything.
Except answers.
I opened the door. Vanessa smiled at me, beautiful and fake.
"Ready for our date?" she asked.
"Let's go."
The date was on the beach. Of course it was. Everything on this show was meant to look romantic and perfect. Sand. Sunset. Champagne.
None of it was real.
"So," Vanessa said, drinking her drink. "That was intense. Isla showing up like that."
I didn't want to talk about Isla. "Yeah."
"Do you know her? You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
"We met once. A long time ago." The lies came easy now. I'd been lying about Isla for three years. What was one more lie?
Vanessa leaned closer. "She seems... difficult."
I thought about Isla's face when I picked Vanessa. How her eyes went dark. How she looked like I'd slapped her.
Good. Let her hurt. Let her feel one tiny piece of what she'd done to me.
"I don't want to talk about her," I said. "Tell me about you."
Vanessa started talking about her Instagram and her followers and her business deals. I nodded at the right times. Smiled at the right times. But I wasn't looking.
All I could think about was Isla upstairs in her room. Was she crying? Was she scared? Did she even care that she'd killed me?
"Jesse?" Vanessa touched my arm. "You're not listening."
"Sorry. I'm just tired."
"From the premiere last night?" She smiled kindly. "Being famous must be exhausting."
She had no idea.
We finished the date. I said all the right things. The cameras got all the right shots. Vanessa kissed my face before going inside.
I stayed on the beach.
Jade's voice came through my earpiece—the one the makers made me wear. "Great job, Jesse. Head inside for dinner in twenty minutes."
I ripped the earpiece out and threw it in the sand.
I needed to think. To breathe. To figure out what to do.
But my feet started moving before my brain caught up. I was walking back to the house. Up the stairs. Down the hallway.
To Isla's door.
I knocked before I could stop myself.
"Isla. Open the door." Silence.
"I know you're in there. Open the door or I'll—"
The door opened. Isla stood there, and up close, she looked terrible. Red eyes. Shaking hands. Pale face.
She looked like I felt.
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"I needed the money—"
"No." I stepped closer, anger burning in my chest. "Why are you HERE? On this show? My show?"
"I didn't know you were—" "Liar." The word felt good. True. "You've always been a liar."
Her eyes filled with tears, and for a second, I almost felt bad. Almost apologized.
But then I remembered. Three years of silence. Three years of wondering what I'd done wrong. Three years of her not caring enough to even send one text.
"Jesse, please—"
"Save it." I started to walk away. But anger made me turn back. "Whatever game you're playing, whatever you're trying to do, it won't work. You broke me once. You don't get to do it again."
I left before she could say anything else. Before I could see if she was crying. Before I could do something stupid like forgive her.
I went to my room and slammed the door. My hand was bleeding again through the towel.
Someone knocked. "Jesse? It's Jade. Let me in."
I opened the door. My publicist pushed past me, looking angry.
"What were you thinking?" she hissed. "Going to Isla's room? The cameras caught everything!"
"I don't care."
"Well, you should care! The bosses are thrilled. They're already editing the video for a promo." She grabbed my shoulders. "Jesse, listen to me. Isla is here to be the evil. That's her job. They're paying her to ruin relationships and cause trouble."
"What?"
"It's all planned. She signed a deal to play the bad guy. To target you specifically." Jade pulled out her phone and showed me something. "Look. This is her writing. Week one: disrupt Jesse's plans. Week two: build a love triangle. It's all fake, Jesse. All of it."
I looked at the script on her phone. Every move thought out. Every word written for her.
Isla had agreed to destroy me on camera. For money.
"I need to leave," I said. "I can't do this show."
"You signed a deal too. If you leave, you owe them two million dollars."
Two million dollars. The same amount I'd have to pay to break my deal. They had us both trapped.
"This is insane," I whispered.
"This is Hollywood." Jade sighed. "Look, just get through one show. Then we can figure out how to minimize the harm."
She left.
I sat on my bed, holding the towel to my bleeding hand. Isla was being paid to hurt me. It was all fake. All written.
But her face when I picked Vanessa—that looked real.
Her tears when I called her a liar—those looked real.
What if some of it wasn't fake? What if there was more to the story?
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
"You want answers about why Isla left you three years ago? Meet me in the production office in ten minutes. Come alone. Tell no one. -M.W."
M.W. Marcus Webb. The producer.
This was a trap. It had to be. Marcus Webb was famous for influencing people. For making drama out of nothing.
But what if he really did have answers? What if he knew why Isla left?
I looked at the time. Seven forty-five. Dinner started at eight. If I was late, people would notice.
But I had to know.
I opened my door and checked the hallway. Empty. Everyone was getting ready for dinner.
I found the production office. The door was open.
Inside, Marcus Webb sat at a desk covered in computer screens. Security camera feeds. Every view of the house.
"Jesse Moreno." He smiled like a snake. "I thought you'd come."
"You said you have answers about Isla."
"I do." He turned one of the screens toward me. "But first, you need to see something."
The screen showed Isla's room. Right now. Live footage.
She was on the floor, crying. Holding a phone that wasn't hers.
"What is this?" I asked.
"Watch."
On the screen, Isla read something on the phone. Then her face went white. The phone fell from her hands.
"What did that message say?" My heart was pounding.
Marcus smiled wider. "Her sister Diana. She's dying. Coded in the emergency room about thirty minutes ago."
The room started spinning. "What?" "Isla came on this show to earn money for Diana's medical care. But now Diana's dying, and Isla's stuck here. If she leaves before we film one show, she owes us everything. Two million dollars plus the hundred thousand she was supposed to earn." Marcus leaned back in his chair. "So what do you think she'll choose? Her sick sister or her career?"
"You're keeping her here? While her sister is dying?"
"I'm not keeping her anywhere. She signed a deal. She made a choice."
"You're a monster."
"I'm a producer." He stood up. "And here's what's going to happen. You're going to go to dinner. You're going to act everything is fine. And you're not going to tell Isla that you know about her sister."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because if you tell her, if you help her, if you break your deal to save her—I'll release every piece of dirt I have on both of you. Including the real reason she left you three years ago."
My blood went cold. "You're bluffing."
"Am I?" He pulled up another video. Old footage. Grainy and dark. But I recognized the spot. My old place in Brooklyn.
The night Isla left me.
"I have cameras everywhere, Jesse. I have footage you didn't know existed. Footage that will destroy both your jobs if it gets out." He paused. "So here's the deal. You play your part. She plays hers. We get our show. And everyone's secrets stay secret."
"And if I don't?"
"Then I destroy you both. And Diana dies anyway because Isla won't have the money for treatment." Marcus smiled. "So what's it going to be, golden boy?"
I wanted to punch him. I wanted to run to Isla's room and tell her everything. I wanted to burn this entire house down.
But he had me trapped.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Tomorrow, you're going on another date with Vanessa. Isla will stop it—it's in her script. When she does, I want you to shame her. Make her look desperate and sad. Make America hate her."
"No."
"Then Diana dies and both your careers end. Choose."
On the screen, Isla was still on the floor. Still crying. Completely alone.
"Fine," I whispered. "I'll do it."
"Good." Marcus turned off the screens. "Now go to dinner. Smile. Pretend everything is great."
I left the office. My hands were shaking. My head was spinning.
Isla's sister was dying. Marcus was blackmailing us both. And tomorrow, I had to destroy the only girl I'd ever loved on national television.
I walked toward the dining room, but stopped at Isla's door.
I pressed my hand against it. Wished I could tell her everything. Wished I
could save her.
But I couldn't.
Because Marcus Webb had us both exactly where he wanted us.
And there was no way out.