Chapter 10
1361 Words
IT'S NONE OF MY BUSINESS.
BELLA
I wake up with a sharp gasp.
For a few disorienting seconds, I don't know where I am. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar. The walls are unfamiliar.
Even the scent lingering in the room, fresh paint mixed with expensive linen, is unfamiliar.
Then it all comes back, playing in my mind like a rewinded movie.
The reality house, Chase, the cameras.
I squeeze my eyes shut, steadying my breath. Rose had appeared in my dreams again.
But unlike every other nightmare, this one felt different. There had been no fear. No helplessness.
Only determination. A fierce certainty that I couldn't let another story disappear. That I wouldn't let another girl be forgotten.
My throat feels dry. I reach blindly across the bedside table until my fingers find my phone. I turn the flashlight on, as I glance at the time on my phone screen.
3:07 AM.
I hate this.
Now sleep clearly isn't interested in making a return appearance.
I push back the covers and step onto the cold wooden floor. The house is silent. I c***k my bedroom door open and peek into the hallway.
It's empty. At least that's good. The last thing I need is an awkward midnight encounter.
I make my way downstairs. My body tenses involuntarily as the cameras immediately catch my attention.
A tiny red light blinks from above a doorway. Watching. Recording. A shiver crawls down my spine.
I quickly avert my gaze and head toward the kitchen. The refrigerator hums softly when I open it. Cool air brushes against my skin.
I grab a bottle of water and take several long gulps. Relief instantly spreads through my aching throat.
Mission accomplished. Or at least it should have been.
Instead, as I reach the top of the staircase, several steps away from my door, my attention drifts toward the door directly opposite mine.
Chase's room. As I notice that the door is slightly open, curiosity immediately rears its ugly head. I know I should ignore it, but unfortunately, curiosity has always been my greatest weakness.
It's practically the reason I became a journalist. I step closer and peek inside. But strangely, it's empty.
My brows furrow. At three in the morning?
The discovery should end there. Instead, it ignites something. Five minutes later, my simple water run has unexpectedly become a full-scale investigation.
I wander further down the hallway. One room contains dozens of blank canvases and art supplies. Another holds racks of elaborate costumes. A third appears to be some kind of music room.
This house is absurd.
I'm about to investigate another door when I hear a sound. It's soft, barely audible; like a strained breath.
My entire body stills.
The sound comes again. This time it's like a long and uneven groan, and it sounds painful.
I follow the sound slowly as it leads toward a back door standing slightly ajar. The silver moonlight spills through the opening.
I step closer, and freeze.
Chase is sitting on the outdoor staircase. His back is hunched.
Arms wrapped tightly around himself. Like he's trying to hold himself together. He's wearing only a gray tank top and athletic shorts despite the cold.
The night air should be freezing. Yet sweat glistens along his temples. His breathing is ragged and uneven, while his fingers tremble slightly where they're clenched against his arms.
It's like he's having a panic attack. And I know this, not because I've experienced one, but because I've interviewed enough people who have.
For a second, I just stand there confused, watching. Because this isn't the Chase Carter I've spent weeks imagining.
This isn't the arrogant hockey superstar. This isn't the untouchable golden boy. This is someone struggling to breathe. Someone hurting.
A dangerous flicker of sympathy sparks inside me, but I immediately extinguish it.
No. I can't afford that. It's none of my business.
The second I start feeling sorry for him, I lose objectivity. I came here for answers.
For truth. Not for friendship, and definitely not empathy.
I take a careful step backward. Then another. Just then, my shoulder bumps into something.
I don't even wait to see what it is, I just run back to my room, shutting the door and dreading the inevitability of the coming activities.
******
CHASE
The alarm that wakes me up should honestly qualify as psychological warfare.
The shrill sound tears through my skull. I groan and bury my face in my pillow.
Four hours. That's all I managed. And that was after another night spent wrestling with my own thoughts. Eventually, I drag myself out of bed.
At least the shower helps. By the time I'm dressed, I almost resemble a functioning human being.
Almost.
I open my bedroom door. At the exact same moment, Bella opens hers. For a second we simply stare at each other. This morning, something is different. I notice it immediately.
Her gaze lingers longer than usual. There's still some of the usual hostility, but now it's accompanied with...hesitation.
Her mouth folds like she wants to say something. Like she's debating it. Then she bites her lower lip, turns around, and walks away.
Weird. Very weird.
*******
The production crew greets us in the living room. Far too enthusiastically for this time of morning.
"Good morning!"
Neither of us matches their energy. The director outlines today's filming schedule.
Apparently, today's episode is supposed to show us settling into the house.
Exploring. Bonding.
Pretending we're a normal couple moving into a new home together.
Simple.
I glance toward Bella. She's wearing black shorts and a fitted black crop top. Her red hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and loose strands frame her face.
I quickly look away as I find myself staring. Before things become even more awkward.
Then the filming begins.
Room by room, we're guided through the house. We go through the bedrooms first, Bella's before mine, then an art studio.
Next, we were taken through the costume room, and the game room.
The moment we enter the library, Bella practically disappears.
Her eyes light up as she runs her fingers across book spines. Pulls titles from shelves, and actually smiles. At least for the first time this morning.
Not that I care.
Eventually we move on, though Bella keeps glancing back toward the books. Like she's leaving behind a loved one.
We're barely out of the library when she suddenly asks for a break. The crew agrees, and thirty minutes later she returns holding a giant cup of matcha.
I stare, before I burst into laughter. Even though social media stalking had convinced me she liked matcha, seeing her carry it around like emotional support is something else entirely.
Bella narrows her eyes.
"What?"
I shake my head.
"Nothing."
"You're laughing."
"Because you're ridiculous."
She gasps, then rolls her eyes. The look she gives me nearly sends me into another fit of laughter.
Then we check out the pool, ice rink, and outdoor lounge, and it's afternoon already before the crew tells us that we have enough footage for one episode.
We return to the living room exhausted, and meet Ava waiting.
The moment she sees us, she sighs exasperatedly, hands massaging her forehead as she says,
"You two have the chemistry of divorced accountants."
Bella and I exchange a look. Then simultaneously look away.
Ava pinches the bridge of her nose.
"The stiffness is obvious."
"We barely know each other," Bella points out.
"Exactly."
Ava snaps her fingers. Then suddenly her expression brightens.
"What if we change the narrative?"
The room goes quiet. She leans forward.
"No secret relationship."
Bella immediately looks interested.
"What do you mean?"
"We tell viewers that you've agreed to explore the possibility of dating."
Ava smiles.
"Like a courtship."
My eyes move toward Bella. The relief on her face is almost immediate. I can feel that Bella is grasping on straws, or at least anything that would make us not to be as lovey-dovey as possible.
Not that I blame her. The less fake romance required, the better.
As Ava continues explaining the new direction, I find my thoughts drifting elsewhere.
- Writer
