The cameras never turned off.
Ren knew that now. Even when the lights dimmed and the crew "left," even when the walls looked empty — the blinking red dots were always there.
So he waited until 3 a.m.
He crept out of his room, barefoot, past the sleeping quarters.
He needed air. Or silence. Or something that didn't smell like fake vanilla and unresolved tension.
The library on the second floor was quiet. Shelves of romance novels. Candles. A fake fireplace.
And a leather journal, half-buried between two books.
Ren paused.
It looked… familiar.
He pulled it out.
Brown cover. No label. No bookmark.
He opened it to the first page.
March 5They said I'd forget.But I don't.Not everything. Not her.
Ren froze.
He flipped to the next entry.
March 6Vanessa watched me sleep again. She thinks I don't notice. But I do. And I'm scared of what she'll do if she finds out I'm faking it.
His pulse quickened.
This wasn't a prop. It wasn't planted.
The handwriting?
It was his.
Every word.
But he didn't remember writing any of it.
He flipped further in.
March 11Someone moved the cameras in my room. One's aimed at my closet now. Why? What do they think I'm hiding?
March 13Emily cried in the shower. I heard her whisper my name. I couldn't knock. I didn't know how to be the person she remembered.
March 15They said ten exes.I've only met five.What if I don't remember the rest because… I wasn't supposed to?
Ren shut the journal.
His hands were shaking.
He wasn't just faking amnesia.
He was forgetting things he'd once tried to remember.