IV

  The holographic screen casts a sterile light over the assembled contestants with its harsh glare, and it gives Rebecca a headache. Interview number fourteen. Leaning against the wall, she struggles to accept that just yesterday, she was the one lighting up that giant screen. The blinding lights, the shiny clothes, the suffocating pressure to speak the right words—all of it feels like a nightmare, one that sticks, one that just won't fade.

  Reese stands beside her, arms crossed over his chest, his usual playful demeanor replaced by a hard frown. He seems different somehow—his bold attitude has been dialed down to a quiet intensity that unsettles Rebecca. “I’ve had enough of this shitshow,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on the screen. His voice carries across the room, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Let's go, shall we?”

  Rebecca looks at him, her eyes widening. “Go where? And to do what?”

  Reese shrugs. “Do you want to watch?” He gestures at the screen with his head. Rebecca shakes her head. “Not necessarily, but…”

  “Then let’s go.” He walks away without waiting for her answer or looking back to see if she’s following him. He just leaves.

  “Okay, wait up!” Rebecca calls after him.

  As she follows him down the corridor, Rebecca tells herself it’s all an act—a show for the cameras. Yet she can’t shake the doubts, fueled by the way he sometimes touches her and the sincerity she sometimes glimpses in his eyes. Some days, it’s all too easy to believe him and lose herself in the illusion of their connection. But then there are days when she feels nothing more than a pawn in his game—a toy to be played with and discarded once he grows bored.

  She pushes the thought away, refusing to acknowledge the unsettling flutter in her chest and the vulnerability she feels whenever he’s near. She has to stay focused; survival is the only thing that matters. Love, or even the illusion of it, is a dangerous distraction in this twisted game of life and death.

  He stops at his bedroom door and opens it for her. Rebecca, eyes wide, refuses to go inside. “Let’s stay on the balcony,” Reese suggests. “We can go to yours if you want.”

  After a long, heavy sigh, Rebecca enters his room. Thousands of screams erupt in her head, urging her to flee as far as she can. But she doesn't listen. The first thing she notices is just how different his room feels. His mattress looks more inviting, and instead of a mirror, there's an armchair.

  Reese slides the glass door open, and they both step onto the balcony. Neither of them says anything. Reese watches Rebecca as if studying her, with an expression on his face that she can’t quite decipher.

  Finally, he breaks the silence. “I’ve noticed you change when there are people around. You’re more guarded and a little bit more grumpy too.”

  Rebecca feels a bit insulted at first but then recognizes he’s right. “I don’t want the others to think I’m weak because… well, because I’m being a fool.”

  “You still don’t trust me,” Reese says, with a sad smile that moves her deeply.

  Her phone vibrates in her pocket, pulling her attention away. She takes a quick look at it. There’s a notification on the screen, a message someone left on her feed. “You’re Reese’s puppet.”

  She swallows and puts it away. When she looks back at Reese she barely remembers what they were talking about.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “Do you trust me, yes or no?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe, but… how could I?” Rebecca tries to explain. “It’s just that we’re playing different games, Reese. People love you, and your abilities make you nearly impossible to defeat. Meanwhile, I should be in the common room right now, studying Contestants 14 and 41, searching for their weaknesses and…”

  “Rebecca, calm down. Nothing in tonight’s interview will help you.”

  “Aren’t you even a little scared? Is there even a human being inside those muscles?” Reese chuckles lightly.

  “I’m worried my fans won’t give me a chance to have a real fight.”

  Rebecca looks at him, horrified. “Oh, boo hoo,” she drawls, unable to resist the sarcasm. “The fights are brutal, Reese; you could die.”

  Another notification. She knows she shouldn’t but… She looks. “Spread your legs already. We all know you want to.”

  “Are there cameras here?”

  “I don’t think so,” Reese says. Then, he continues. “I read what they’re saying in the chat group. Those muppets want to keep me away from the arena till the finale, let some other sorry bastard survive—someone easy to crush. They wanna hand me the win.”

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  Rebecca raises an eyebrow, finding it hard to breathe, even as the wind batters her face. It’s hard to fathom that there are actually groups conspiring to save Reese. “And that’s a problem because…?”

  “Because,” he insists, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “I don’t want to win like that; I want to earn my victory. I don’t need help from those guys.”

  Something occurs to Rebecca that hadn't crossed her mind before: "Do you really think you could kill someone if it comes down to it?"

  No answer.

  Reese's silence sends a shiver down her spine and presses on her chest—more crushing than any words ever could be. It confirms her suspicions, revealing a merciless side of the man beside her; he can do it—he wants to do it. The realization forces her to step back.

  "I don't think I could," she admits, as her back finds the wall behind her.

  Reese's gaze sharpens as he studies her face. “Didn't you try to burn down your dance mates?” he asks, his voice edged with challenge.

  Rebecca’s face flushes, her cheeks burning red. “I wasn’t trying to do that,” she retorts, indignation rising in her tone. Yet even as she speaks, doubt assaults her. The memory of that night—the dancing flames and the acrid stench of smoke—plays vividly in her mind. She had been furious, consumed by resentment toward those who sabotaged her career and laughed as she lay injured on the floor. But did she really intend to hurt them?

  “Relax, it's fine. That's exactly why I’m convinced we’re meant—” he begins, then stops abruptly. “We’re not so different from each other,” Reese says softly, his previous hard edge replaced by tenderness. He reaches out, his fingers brushing lightly against her arm. “That fire. That passion. I get it.”

  Rebecca pulls away, her heart pounding in her chest. His words, though meant as a compliment, make her skin crawl. Is he attracted to her strength and resilience or to the darkness that lurks within her? Probably neither, she concludes.

  “Can I ask you something?” Rebecca begins, her voice quivers slightly. "You have your popularity and fighting skills—even this fake love story that you wanted so much.” She pauses, trying to catch her breath as she watches the cityscape. “Can you please not play with my feelings? Can you separate things—keep the acting for when the cameras are rolling and just stop pretending you feel something for me?”

  Reese's reaction surprises her; he doesn’t offer his usual playful smirk or launch into a defensive tirade. Instead, hurt and confusion wash over his face as he takes a deep breath and looks down at his feet. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet—almost devoid of bravado. "You think… after everything that’s happened… you think I’ve been pretending?" He looks up at her with earnest eyes. "Rebecca," he whispers, taking a step closer, cornering her against the wall, "you are the only real thing in this whole damn place.”

  “Why?" Rebecca breathes, caught between giving him another chance to convince her or just shut him out completely. She can’t make sense of it—it feels impossible with someone like Reese. “I don’t… I don’t get it.”

  Her phone vibrates again, several times. She doesn’t reach for it this time.

  Reese’s gaze holds hers—intense and determined—as he moves even closer. His voice drops to a hushed murmur, as though sharing a secret too precious to be overheard. “I don’t have a logical answer, Rebecca,” he admits, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, memorizing every detail. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen this way.”

  Rebecca looks at her pocket. She doesn’t want to check her phone. Not now. But she can’t ignore the sheer flood of messages she’s getting. Was a video released? Is the audience reacting to their interview just now? Are they mad because they’re not watching the show with the other contestants? What the hell is happening?

  "Damn, they really don’t want us together, huh?" Reese says.

  Rebecca looks at him.

  He reaches out; his fingers brush lightly against her cheek. “Rebecca, everything I see in you, the fact that you don’t hide who you are. That you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not....” He smiles—a genuine smile that transforms his features and makes him appear younger and more human than before. “That you fight for what you believe in, even when the odds are stacked against you…” His thumb gently strokes her cheekbone—the touch both electrifying and comforting at once. “You’re flawed, impulsive, sometimes reckless. But those flaws… they make you real. They make you… you.”

  The notifications grow so frequent that the vibration in her pocket becomes uninterrupted.

  Reese leans closer; his breath tickles the tip of her nose as he nuzzles his forehead against hers and whispers: “All those things inspire me to be… me.” He pulls back slightly; their eyes lock—the intensity of his gaze makes her heart pound in her chest. “Maybe that’s why—or maybe I’m just overwhelmed by how freaking beautiful you are.”

  “You really have a way with words,” Rebecca says.

  “That I do,” he admits playfully.

  Despite herself, Rebecca places a hand on Reese's chest. “Please try to understand me. I don’t want this game to become more difficult than it already is.”

  “It won’t be. I promise.”

  Rebecca shakes her head. “I want to go, Reese,” she says as she steps off the balcony, crossing through his room to reach the corridor. He doesn’t try to stop her; he doesn’t tell her to come back. Once outside, her first instinct is to check the comments on her feed. That’s all it takes to confirm it’s better that he just let her go.

  She isn’t surprised when she sees little of Reese in the following days; at night, he immerses himself in his music, and during the day, he disappears into the training room for hours at a time. She catches glimpses of him—sweat-drenched and determined—pushing himself to his limits, and a strange mix of pride and concern blooms in her chest.

  The cycle continues through the remainder of the month, until finally, the interviews wrap up with Contestants 27 and 28.

  The only one that truly captured her attention was Lena’s. Through it, Rebecca learned what Lena’s crime was: after her girls' hockey team secured second place in a championship, Lena broke into the winning team's coach's office and stole the trophy. She was arrested for what was supposed to be just one night. Lena told the hosts, tears streaming down her pink cheeks, that her mum was supposed to pick her up at 5 a.m. By the end of her interview, Rebecca felt nauseous, filled with more hatred for the show than ever before.

  The next day, after the last interview, marks a significant milestone—thirty days since they were thrust into this twisted game, thirty days of relative calm despite the constant surveillance. Because the day after tomorrow, the battles begin. And naturally, that calls for a celebration in true Live fashion.