Both their phones vibrate against the mattress. Rebecca’s eyes open slowly. Heat pushes against her back—it’s Reese’s arm, clamping over her waist. His breath moves languid and steady against her skin. Sunlight knifes through the curtains. Bright and hot. For a moment, she lets herself sink into it, into him. Not forgetting where she is. Not entirely. Just enough to pretend.

  Then the buzzing intensifies, dragging her back, ripping the peace apart. Live. God, how she hates it.

  She glances at the screen. The notifications never end. That can’t be a good sign. Her jaw tightens. The comments slash through the screen, some short and precise, others walls of text. Reese’s fanbase—loyal as always, but more rabid than ever—has turned on her.

  “Don’t throw away everything for a girl you just met.”

  “She doesn’t love you; she just wants to avoid the fights.”

  “We’ll keep voting for her until she dies.”

  “It’s not love, @Reese, it’s adrenaline. You’ll realize it when it’s all over.”

  Each word lands like a hammer to bone. They talk about her like they know her, like they can see inside her head, pick apart what she feels and what she doesn’t. She isn’t a person to them. She’s a target. An outlet for their own misery.

  Rebecca drops the phone. Hands to her face. A breath. Then another. Then she picks it up again. Reads more.

  How can they say those things? Aren’t they supposed to love Reese? Unless… they see her the same way she sees them.

  Reese stirs beside her, his hand tightening slightly on her waist. His eyes open, finding the screen almost instantly. His smile fades into a sigh. He reaches for his phone, taps a few times. The camera app opens. Lens on him. The morning light softens his normally dark eyes, washing them in a brighter shade of brown.

  Rebecca’s heart pounds. What is he doing? He glances at her, a devilish smile plays on his lips, but his focus stays on the screen. Rebecca watches, silent. Muted. Scared, honestly, of whatever plan is forming in that head of his.

  He presses record.

  Oh no. Is this a public declaration? A scolding? An attempt to sway them? Or something worse?

  The red light blinks. He doesn’t speak. He just sits there, thinking. Seconds stretch for what feels like an eternity. Rebecca sinks under the sheets, half-hidden, waiting. What is he planning?

  Then, finally, he begins.

  His face shifts—calm to bright, contemplative to engaged. Rebecca frowns. The change reminds her of the hosts. The way they slip into their roles, faces polished, voices honeyed. Reese could take their job without trying.

  “Hello, loves, my beautiful people,” he purrs, his feline fangs hooking slightly over his lower lip. “How’s life treating you? Hope you’re all doing as good as I am this morning.”

  He ruffles his messy hair, Rebecca exhales a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

  “Listen, I love you lot. Truly, I do. But we need a little chat.” He pauses, glancing at Rebecca, gaze locking like a snare before turning back to the lens.

  “Every time you crazy little shits throw Rebecca into a fight…” Another pause. “I’m fighting in her place.”

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  Rebecca looks at him in complete awe. If not for the camera, she would’ve kissed him. For the first time since she met him, she sees him under a different light. For so long she thought he wanted to use her, that an alliance between them would mean trouble, suspicion. Yet here he is, telling the world he’ll fight her battles. Telling viewers and producers alike that she won't have to face the biggest horror of being trapped in Live. He’s cutting her free.

  They're not going to like it.

  “And I know what you’re thinking,” he continues, “but honestly, I couldn’t care less. I do what I want, folks and for Rebecca I’d do anything… anything at all.” He lowers his phone, bringing his face closer to the camera. “Look, here she is.” The lens flicks to her for a split second. “Beautiful, isn’t she? Well, she’s my girl now, and I swore I’d look after her. Even if she’s using me or,” he narrows his eyes, to read a comment on the unblocked screen of Rebecca's phone, “taking advantage of my good heart and big muscles to survive until the finale.” He leans back, stretching. “Honestly, she can take advantage of my heart… or any part of me, if she wants.”

  Rebecca flushes. Deep. As soon as Reese uploads the video, the messages flood in—not just comments but private ones too. The same people who attacked her minutes ago now swear to protect her.

  “If it makes Reese happy, we’ll keep you alive.”

  “Glad you finally opened your heart.”

  “Reese is one of the good ones. A keeper. You won’t regret it.”

  “You better not make him regret it.”

  That last one sticks. She scrolls past the rest, but that one stays with her. She can’t control what Reese feels. She doesn’t know if he’ll regret this later. And if he does? What happens to her then?

  It’s already terrifying enough, knowing he might get bored of her. Now, she also has to carry the weight of being blamed for it. If one day he decides Contestant 22 is more interesting—or any other girl, for that matter—will Rebecca be punished?

  She exhales, resting her head against his shoulder. The only thing she can do is hope it won't come to that.

  Reese drops a kiss on her head, and some of the weight lifts. She reaches out, her fingers drawing patterns on his chest. She wants to thank him, share her gratitude, but saying the words doesn't seem like enough. So she leans in, pressing a light kiss to his cheek.

  He grins, so pleased with himself that she has to bite her lip to stop herself from punching him. She’s grinning too.

  “Reese,” she murmurs. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? It’s not fair. You’re risking everything.”

  He chuckles, low and deep, his chest vibrating beneath her hand. He squeezes her fingers gently. “Oh, but angel,” he drawls, still wearing the persona from the video, “where’s the fun in letting them think they run the show?”

  His eyes glint with mischief. “Besides,” he adds, “I’ve already proven how amazing I am at fighting—especially when it’s for you.”

  Rebecca rolls her eyes. She’s smiling, despite herself. “You’re impossible.” She punches him lightly in the arm.

  He gasps dramatically, rubbing the spot. Then, in one smooth motion, he pulls her on top of him, wrapping a firm arm around her waist. His expression shifts. His grin fades slowly. “No, but seriously,” he says, voice softer, “I’m not letting them hurt you—not if I can help it.”

  He looks at her. Deep into her eyes. “I don’t know if they’ll listen to me. So I’ll have to train like hell these next few days. I figure they’ll shift their attention to someone else eventually, but for now, I need to be ready.” He exhales. “Last night it was too close. Too damn close. If the cord had snapped clean, I wouldn’t be standing here.”

  Rebecca bites her lip. She wants to tell him he doesn’t need to do this. But she knows better. He’s already decided. So she nods.

  “And I’ll be paying attention,” he continues. “Thinking of a way.”

  Rebecca frowns. “A way for what?”

  His grip tightens. “A way to get both of us out of here.”

  She freezes. “Reese…”

  It’s impossible. She doesn’t say it, but the words are there. Still, she wants to believe him. If he says he’ll find a way, maybe he will. And if he doesn’t… maybe hope will keep her sane.

  They stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms. Then Rebecca nudges him away with a teasing shove. “Alright, Mr. Hero,” she says, smirking. “Let’s get something to eat before your fans accuse me of starving you.”

  He laughs, but when she tries to move, he doesn’t let go. His fingers trace the curve of her cheek, his eyes searching her face.

  For a moment, they just stare.

  They are trapped. Fighting—word by word, smile by smile, tooth and nail—for their lives.

  But they aren’t alone anymore. And that's more than she's ever had.