II

  “Do I look familiar to you?”

  “You certainly do. What about me? Do I remind you of someone?”

  “Yes. Yes, you do.”

  Rebecca waits in the dusty, shadowed corridor between the common room and the storage room, after an intrusive search by the same spider drones they encountered on the roof. She presses her back against the wall, struggling to steady herself against the racing nerves within. Next to her, Reese bounces on his toes, jogging in place with his hands clasped behind his head. Even he feels the weight of the countless eyes watching and waiting for them behind that door.

  When the door swings open, Reese grabs Rebecca’s hand, and they step through together. Rebecca blinks several times, struggling to comprehend the scene before her: thousands of people are seated in tiers, reminiscent of a grand cinema or ancient coliseum. They stand on a wooden balcony, two times larger than the ones in their rooms.

  The audience erupts in a wave of clamor—an uproar of cheers, gasps, and the roar of a million screaming voices. The camera lights flare, capturing their every move. The massive screens around them flicker to life, showcasing a montage of their relationship thus far: stolen glances in the corridors and common room, fleeting touches during meals, and the haunting image of them hugging on the rooftop. That clip has no sound, but Rebecca still can’t believe she didn’t notice the security camera up there.

  To her left, a set of stairs descends to the stage where the hosts await them. From this point, she notices that the hosts are perched on a floating platform several meters above the real arena—the battleground where the contestants will fight.

  “What a pleasure, what a pleasure!” the male host exclaims as they reach the stage. “Please, Contestant 13, sit next to me. Did you notice how I’m dressed tonight? I’m trying to mimic your style.” His outfit does resemble the type of clothes that Reese often wore in his videos prior to the show.

  Rebecca then notices that the female host is wearing a tight baby pink dress, reminiscent of a ballerina's tutu, strikingly similar to the one she wore for the premiere of her last dance presentation—the one that resulted in her getting her legs broken. Trying to maintain her balance, she squeezes Reese’s hand tightly.

  “Yes, yes! That’s right! We want to channel your style tonight because… if our audience is a swarm of bees, you two are the honey!” the female host exclaims. “And let me take a moment to admire how beautiful you look this evening, Contestant 42.”

  Rebecca is wearing a dazzling red dress with a high slit, which she found on her bed after training. A message on her phone instructed her to take a shower and slip into the dress. Beside her, Reese looks sharp in a black suit, a single red rose peeking from his chest pocket.

  “Aren’t you going to offer a compliment to Mr. Handsome over here?”

  “I can’t, I’m afraid I’m going to blush.”

  They are invited to sit; the plush velvet of the interview chair envelops Rebecca completely. Reese settles into his seat with practiced ease, while the hosts take their places on either side of them.

  “So, how do you feel about being the number one couple on the entire Internet?”

  Reese responds instantly, flashing a charming, slightly crooked grin that captivates the camera. His voice, smooth as melted chocolate, fills the studio. “Well, we’re not a couple yet, so guys, don’t scare her away, alright?” His gaze sweeps over the audience.

  Rebecca offers a tight, almost imperceptible smile. The ambiguity in Reese's response keeps her safely on the sidelines. In that moment, she feels deep gratitude—both for sharing the interview with him and for his subtle mastery of manipulation.

  The male host continues. “The viewers are captivated by your chemistry, the undeniable spark between you two. Some are even calling it the most genuine romance Live has ever seen. What do you say to that?”

  That one comment—“Poor girl, doesn’t she see he’s playing her?”—infiltrates Rebecca’s thoughts. Suddenly, the ground beneath her feels unsteady, as if the whole stage dangles from frayed ropes.

  Reese leans closer, locking eyes with her a moment longer than necessary. “Genuine?” he murmurs, his voice barely rising above the cheers—intentionally too soft for the hosts to catch. Then he turns to them. “What can I say? I’m always one hundred percent genuine.” He pauses before adding with a hint of irony, “At least, that’s what I tell myself.” The entire arena erupts in laughter.

  “Oh, Contestant 13, you kill me.” The female host begins, dabbing at the tears in her eyes with a tissue. “So, Contestant 42, you’ve shown us a self-preservation side of you. Some people call that being individualistic or egotistical, but I like to think it’s self-preservation. Am I right?” Rebecca doesn’t have time to respond—fortunate since she struggles to find an answer to a question that feels more like an insult. The host continues, “And staying away from bad guys like Contestant 13 is a smart move, I know that. But isn’t he everything you’ve ever wished for?”

  For the first time since she burned down her studio, regret washes over her. She wishes, with all her heart, that she could set this arena on fire instead—with the hosts trapped inside. Before she allows herself to speak, however, she draws a deep breath and counts to five, relying on an old technique from her dancing days to steady herself.

  "I mean, who wouldn’t want a love story with one of their celebrity crushes?" she finally replies, and the audience swoons as expected. "But if I have to go, I wouldn’t want it to be with a broken heart."

  To her surprise, most of what she says rings true. Reese must sense it too, as he gazes at her with genuine tenderness.

  But her honesty doesn’t seem to resonate with the cheerful atmosphere of the hosts. The male host leans in, a playful smirk on his face, and says, “Oh, honey, you’re bringing us down.” For a moment, Rebecca twitches, momentarily forgetting the type of company she’s in. The host, unsatisfied with his previous remark, turns to Reese, covering the side of his mouth. “I’m starting to think you can do better,” he adds. Reese’s expression hardens; rather than responding with a smile, he shoots the host a piercing glare that speaks volumes.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Of course you’d think that,” he retorts. “I’ve noticed your cheap taste.”

  The male host is caught off guard by Reese’s unexpected comeback and stumbles for a moment.

  The female host quickly steers the conversation back to Rebecca. “I hear you weren’t sure if your studio was empty when you set it ablaze.”

  “I suspected it,” Rebecca replies, fully aware of how inadequate her answer sounds, yet the words slip out nonetheless.

  “You know what?” Reese suddenly interjects. “I don’t like where these questions are headed. Can I ask them…” He gestures toward the audience. “One question?”

  “This is unusual,” the female host replies, hesitant to deny him the opportunity, especially with the audience cheering for him to engage. Seizing the moment, Reese strides to the edge of the platform. “Have you heard this song… probably one of the best that I’ve written in my humble opinion: ‘I Was Born’?”

  The audience erupts in cheers.

  “Would you like to sing it with me?”

  Though visibly disappointed by the shift away from his dramatic script, the male host maintains his professionalism. He forces a smile and remarks, “Very entertaining, Contestant 13,” and adds, “I’m sure they can hear your songs at home. Let’s allow them to see a more personal side of you, shall we?”

  But Reese isn’t singing anymore—the audience is. He stands at the edge of the floating stage, arms raised, letting the crowd's voice wash over him. When they finish, they call for one more song. Reese fuels their energy, tossing playful jabs at the hosts’ attempts to steer the conversation, clearly signaling that he’s won this round.

  Rebecca feels an unexpected sense of relief, a fragile calm in the chaos. She can’t take her eyes off him, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude. The amusement she experiences isn’t merely a reaction to his antics; she actually feels respect for his authenticity and courage to be himself in front of millions.

  The male host shifts in his seat, his patience wearing thin, then abruptly turns to Rebecca. His question, still professional though carrying a hint of exasperation, shifts the spotlight onto her. “Do you imagine taking him to a family dinner?” he demands, fishing for any response to steer the interview back to its predictable script.

  But Rebecca, feeling oddly steadfast, meets his gaze with cool serenity. As she speaks, Reese interrupts the audience, prompting them to fall silent in anticipation.

  “Thanks to you, I’m not having any more family dinners, remember?”

  The male host lets out a bitter laugh, his disdain for her is evident. “I understand you’re angry. You two have found each other here—true love, real connection—something some of us search for our entire lives…”

  “And some of us never find it, despite the fact that we have the privilege to go to the park or the coffee house whenever we please,” adds the female host.

  “But you two find it here,” he continues, shaking his head as if trying to feign sadness. It’s clear he takes pleasure in halting Reese’s defiance. “You know it’ll be like a…” He takes a moment to think, “a gentle whisper—vibrant and real, but oh so fleeting. So, Contestant 42, can you explain exactly how you feel under these unfortunate circumstances?”

  “I honestly can't,” she says.

  “Come on, Contestant 42, give us something.”

  Rebecca sighs.

  "I guess, I feel like I'd kill for a cigarette," she replies flatly, devoid of emotion. "But I'm not allowed matches." The host's self-satisfied expression fades as Rebecca smiles.

  The audience gasps, then their reactions split—some laugh, others shout words Rebecca barely catches. The ones she does, she prefers to ignore. But most of them start singing another one of Reese's songs. The hosts, completely caught off guard, stutter as they try to recover and steer the conversation back on track, but the damage is done. Meanwhile, Reese fixes his gaze on Rebecca, as if he’d only just noticed her, as if the hosts and the audience were invisible to him.

  The interview concludes not with a hug and a goodnight, but with a jarring, high-pitched shriek from the studio’s emergency siren. Red lights flash, casting an alarming crimson glow across the set. The hosts, visibly paling, abruptly cut the feed, mumbling something about "technical difficulties" before the screen goes black. The audience is ushered out in a controlled state of panic, confusion, and unease. Rebecca and Reese, escorted by the spider drones, are quickly led out of the arena and into the deserted corridor between the arena and the living quarters.

  "What just happened?" Rebecca asks as the door closes behind her. The red lights from the emergency siren continue to cast an eerie glow on their faces and the walls. The sirens keep wailing. "Why did an alarm go off?"

  Reese's focus stays on the door, his hands on his forehead, his grin wide and stunned. "They wanted us off the stage."

  "Why? People were thrilled."

  "I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure out how these dumbfucks work." He directs his gaze at her, with the same awe he had when looking at the door. "You were just amazing."

  Rebecca scoffs.

  "What? When exactly?"

  "You handled those jerks like a pro. You didn’t give them a freaking chance to mess with you."

  Rebecca doesn’t even notice when she starts giggling like a schoolgirl. She stops the moment she catches herself playing with a strand of hair.

  "Thank you. You helped." She’s glad the emergency lights paint the whole room red—so it’s not just her cheeks. "Thanks to you, I didn’t end up looking like a psychopath in front of the... whole world."

  Reese simply smiles, his eyes softening.

  "Nah, I wasn’t going to let them twist your beautiful persona into whatever pleases them."

  There it is, the manipulation.

  "Reese," Rebecca says, her voice calm but firm, "you’re good—too good. I’m not falling for it."

  Reese nods. "I know."

  Rebecca doesn’t respond immediately. Before she can even begin to think of a response—or anything to say at all—she reminds herself of the truth. The biting comment she saw on his feed. The effortless kiss he gave Lena. Those are the actions that tell the truth.

  Reese takes a step closer, shrinking the distance between them. She meets his gaze. The wailing siren feels distant now, as if the entire interview belonged to a vivid nightmare she can barely recall. For this fleeting moment, the only thing that feels real is this primal, unfamiliar pull toward him.

  And it terrifies her.

  “Maybe we should go back now, before the others start talking.”

  She attempts to turn around, but his hand catches her waist. Before she can protest, she finds herself pinned between the wall and his body. Suddenly, his lips meet hers.

  Rebecca doesn’t resist the kiss; her hesitation melts away. His lips are rough but incredibly warm, and they dance with hers effortlessly. She grabs his shirt, tightening her hold—pulling him closer, keeping him here, unintentionally, overtaken by the emotions she’s long fought to suppress.

  Only the harsh glare of a spider drone's front light breaks the spell. Several drones rush into the otherwise silent corridor, forcing them apart. The sudden intrusion jolts Rebecca back to reality. She can still taste Reese's kiss and feel his touch, only now, as the spider drones stand between them, she's deeply embarrassed. They are pulled roughly toward the common room, where the other contestants receive them with more blurring opinions and fake camaraderie.

  Once inside, under the watchful eyes of the cameras and their fellow contestants, they keep a deliberate distance, hiding their earlier intimacy under an air of casual indifference. The forced separation, though, leaves Rebecca reeling. While Reese quickly finds himself surrounded by a small crowd and acts as if nothing happened, Rebecca slips away, her mind consumed by the lingering memory of their kiss.