The next day dawned with a quiet buzz in the air, as if the house itself had woken with purpose. The cameras were back, positioned in corners, mounted on rails, and operated by half-invisible crew members who moved like shadows. There was no more pretending this was casual—this was a show now, in every sense.
Harper stood outside her assigned room, staring at her reflection in the glass window. Her green eyes looked wider than usual, like they were trying to see through what was coming. Today, there would be another chemistry test, and an improv challenge where the finalists had to play a fake "domestic moment" with Eli in front of the cameras. No scripts. No prep.
She smoothed down the skirt they'd given her—a vintage polka-dot dress that cinched at the waist and made her feel like a 1950s sitcom wife. The irony wasn't lost on her. Harper, who barely remembered to do her laundry, was about to pretend to make pancakes for a pop star husband.
Downstairs, Vanessa had already claimed the kitchen set, tossing her hair and smirking. "This'll be easy," she said. "I've been acting like a perfect girlfriend since I was thirteen."
Yumi sat quietly on a couch nearby, fiddling with a bracelet. She gave Harper a small, encouraging smile. Harper returned it with a nervous one of her own.
Eli walked in, wearing a soft grey henley and black jeans. The kind of look that should've been simple, but on him looked tailored by fate. His gaze swept the room briefly, lingering a moment on Harper, before he went to speak with the director.
Darius followed a moment later, holding two coffees and a crooked grin. He handed one to Eli, clapping his shoulder. "Ready to be fake-married all over again?"
Eli just gave a half-smile. "As ready as I'll ever be."
The scene began.
First up: Vanessa. She turned the pancake scene into a flirtation showcase, accidentally-on-purpose dropping batter on her shoulder and giggling while Eli wiped it off. The director called it "natural," but Harper could practically hear the eye-roll in Darius's suppressed laugh.
Next was Yumi. She didn't do anything flashy. She just talked to Eli like they were really having breakfast. Her hands shook a little, but her honesty showed through. The moment had something quiet and sweet about it. The director even leaned in.
Then it was Harper's turn.
She stepped into the set, heart hammering. Eli stood at the counter, pretending to read a newspaper.
"Morning," she said softly, pulling a spatula from the prop drawer.
"Morning," he replied without looking up.
Harper glanced at the batter bowl. She poured a sloppy circle on the griddle. "Hope you like them semi-burnt."
He looked up, smiling slightly. "Only if there's real maple syrup."
"Budget cut. You get honey."
They bantered for another few lines, and then the moment shifted. Eli leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "You always make breakfast when you're mad at me."
Harper hesitated, spatula in hand. "And you always pretend not to notice."
Something in his eyes flickered. It was a silly improv scene. But her voice had cracked, just enough. And he reacted—his body stiffening for a breath.
The director called cut.
There was a silence.
"Good tension," the director said. "Very lived-in."
Harper walked off set, pulse still racing. Yumi touched her arm in quiet support. Vanessa didn't even look up from her phone.
Later, the contestants were gathered for individual evaluations, seated one by one in a small private lounge where producers asked questions that felt like therapy sessions. "Who do you think your biggest competition is?" "Do you believe he could fall for you?" "What scares you the most about this?"
Harper didn't know what to say half the time.
That night, the house was quieter than usual. Everyone retreated into their rooms after dinner. Harper lay on her bed, scrolling through an old text conversation with her friend who'd entered her into this madness in the first place.
What am I doing here? she typed.
But she didn't send it.
A knock came at her door.
She opened it.
Eli stood there.
"Walk with me?"
She nodded.
They walked through the courtyard, past the fairy lights now dimmed and humming. It was quiet.
"That improv," he said. "You surprised me."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to."
"No," he said, pausing. "I liked it. You made it feel like something real."
She looked away. "That's dangerous, isn't it? Feeling something real?"
He didn't answer right away.
"It is. But maybe that's the point."
They walked in silence. But something between them had changed—thinner air, stronger pull.
Harper wasn't sure if she was falling.
But she knew she wasn't pretending anymore.