Chapter 11
Zinnia
After some less-than-heartfelt apologies from Wylie and Lulie, the Newlyweds storyline was thrown directly into the domestic fire. Time passed in a blur of rules and failures as she settled into her new repetitive life.
Every weekday morning, a camera pod escorted followed Zinnia and watched filmed her alone for exactly four hours. The network specifically wanted to capture her process for creating new designs for Find Your Zin.
Thankfully, the estate wasn’t an entirely soulless creative black hole like she’d thought.
They’d given her a private corner in a pocket forest. Colorful and fragrant flowers, excellent shrubbery, and wild plants that she never knew existed.
The critters were top-tier—bumblebees, ladybugs, hummingbirds, dragonflies, and not a single sociopathic yellow jacket in sight.
There were even brown field mice running around, who were much cuter than screaming people gave them credit for.
She sent pictures to the group chat, gushing about how cool it was, only to be met with—
FIONA:…they locked you outside? Z I feel like they’re trying to isolate you
GRACE: Lemons. Lemonade. Zinnia.
GRACE: I’m really glad you like it but that’s going to piss them off. Be ready.
By the end of her first week, she had a full set of new springtime critter character sketches to send to Grace for first thoughts and a product wish list. She’d since moved on to resurrecting an old webcomic now that she had extra time for it again.
Click-click.
Zinnia paused mid-drawing and looked up from her tablet to her camera pod. Two new faces again. Everyone else had repeating and rotating pods. Everyone else was on a first-name basis with their pods. Everyone else was allowed to quietly talk to their pods. But not her.
She didn’t care about that last one.
“You might’ve heard this already, but I’d prefer it if you just told me I had ten minutes left instead.” She dutifully began packing up her supplies.
Being filmed was honestly a little weird.
She tried tuning them out, but it was impossible to not know they were there, especially when they clicked at her.
Conversation was against the Zaffre law, but clicker training to keep her on schedule was perfectly fine and not at all dehumanizing.
She felt like a show pony, prancing wherever and whenever they wanted.
Click-click.
“I worked in customer service. I get it. You’re just doing your job,” she said. Mostly to herself. “Let’s go.”
During her second week, she traded her last hour of work in the pocket forest for dying exercising in the home gym. Fiona had suggested running because it helped with her anxiety.
ZINNIA: But I hate running. H A T E.
FIONA: Is running worse than being wound up all the time?
GRACE: Use the elliptical or do yoga then. You have to find a way to reset.
GRACE: They’re trying to stress you out and into an altercation. It’s reality TV 101
Click-click.
Zinnia slowed the treadmill to a stop. “What if I threw something at you?” she asked her camera pod in between breaths. “What then? I mean, I’d never do that but at least consider my imaginary threat before you click.”
They’d also given her one of the guest rooms near the gym to shower and get changed in. She placed her sweaty clothes in a hamper that always made its way back to the bungalow, where her bed was made and room tidier than she’d left it.
It bothered her that she never saw a single housekeeper or any house staff.
She knew they were there—just not where or when.
Her guess was they weren’t allowed to talk to her either, which was just…
She didn’t understand the Zaffre obsession with rendering staff, people, human beings invisible and paying them to play along.
And threatening to fire them when they didn’t.
Click-click.
Ten minutes until Twin Time.
“You’re on thin ice, Magenta,” she said sweetly. They all refused to tell her their names, so she used their hair colors instead.
Twin Time was her least favorite part of the day.
Initially, her participation boiled down to being near them.
Close enough was good enough. Jordan usually stayed with her until Lulie complained loud enough to convince Jordan to convince Zinnia to participate in whatever non–social media thing they were doing.
The network had caught on, and enforced designed a Get to Know You mini storyline. Every afternoon they now had an activity inspired by one of the four of them. Jordan’s was next.
Click-click.
“What now?” she snapped.
Honey Brown wordlessly pointed down the opposite hall. Who needed a map when her camera pod could just click her into place?
“Maybe I was going the wrong way on purpose.”
They both stared as she passed them, following along like ducklings.
“Or maybe I’m in the mood for a wild goose chase. A test to see how long it takes for someone to realize I’ve gone rogue, except this time I won’t hide somewhere as obvious.”
She got turned around so often because even with the Zaffre blue streak, the entire house had a fatal case of white-wall effect. A few lost minutes later, she finally recognized the correct dead-end hall with the white cat den but stopped walking mid-stride.
Lulie was blocking the hallway like a bad omen in designer clothes.
Jordan favored Damon. Sadie favored Amber.
The twins ended up somewhere in the ethnically ambiguous middle.
It was like their genetics made a pact to reinvent the Zaffre wheel together, choosing jet-black kinky hair and very light skin with cool undertones.
But Lulie kept her hair bone straight now and Wylie had a buzz cut, which spoke volumes.
Why wasn’t Lulie in the den already? Was she setting up another prank?
Jordan had promised Zinnia that the pranks were ending, but that didn’t mean the twins couldn’t change their minds. Or decide to go out with a bang.
The now painfully familiar low-grade buzz prickled under Zinnia’s skin as her heart began thudding from suspicion. She wasn’t a naturally anxious person, but this house truly had her fucked up.
All that running for nothing.
Click-click.
“Traitors,” Zinnia whispered.
“You’re late,” Lulie accused.
“Clicker says otherwise. They tell the time, not me.” She pointed to her pod. “It’s quite freeing in a punishing kind of way.”
“Do you always complain so much?”
“If the mood strikes.” She shrugged. “I’ll spare you a joke about that as well, but please believe I do have one.”
“I don’t get what he sees in you.” Lulie sized her up. “Nice sweater. Very kindergarten teacher chic.”
It took over fifty hours for Zinnia’s mom to make just one and she’d given her an entire wardrobe’s worth. She was going to wear her cardigans until they disintegrated and then preserve the pieces in airtight bags.
Wearing a grin as wild as her brother but in the sweetest voice imaginable, Lulie called out, “Hurry up, slowpoke!” She winked at Zinnia before disappearing into the den.
Eyes wide and fists clenched, Zinnia took a step back, ready to turn and run, but then Jordan poked his head out the door.
Seeing him instantly flipped a switch in her brain—from panicked to focused, all of her sharpened into a fine point whenever she was near him. She breathed, shaky and then steady, as she began counting to center herself.
Jordan met her in the hallway on nine, smiling in a way that helped her remember she was safe with him. “Did you two walk over together?”
The look on his face was the killing blow. Lulie’s plan wasn’t a prank, but something much crueler—getting Jordan’s hopes up.
“No, your sister was waiting for me in the hall for some silly reason.”
“Hmm.” He bent down slightly, playfully inspecting her through narrowed eyes. “Sometimes, I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”
That was fair. Her sarcasm was directly tied to her stress levels, which had reached record-breaking all-time highs. “I’m not smiling. That usually gives me away. She told me I was late and insulted my cardigan.”
His gaze sharpened and flicked to her left hand. Zinnia rolled her eyes to confirm. Stand down.
“Hear me out,” he said, for the cameras. “That actually means she’s warming up to you. She just…has an interesting way of showing it.”
She tried to imagine being friends with Lulie, how their relationship could’ve played out if the cake prank had never happened…and there was nothing there but a self-preservation blank wall blocking her from even entertaining the idea. “If you say so.”
White cat den got its name from the wallpaper. The light gray cat line art nearly blended into the shaded white background. Standing nose to paper was the only way to see the cute vertical pattern of cats rolling, pouncing, stretching, and sleeping.
Zinnia entered right behind Jordan—a loud, shattering sound reverberated around the room, and she recoiled backward, almost colliding with Magenta.
“It’s okay.” Jordan held his hands up, palms out, as he blocked her view. “They started early. Wylie’s more interested in learning serving tricks than making drinks.”
Being on high alert all the time had to be bad for her heart. She felt like a damn deer in the headlights, trapped and unable to see where she was going. “Okay. I’m fine.”
He guided her toward their mock bar station.
Three of them had been set up in a triangle formation—Wylie on their right and Lulie parallel across the room.
Inspired by Jordan’s Estranged Son backstory, the structured activity of the day was practicing their technique and preparing drinks during dinner.
Jordan had told her he’d always known he wanted to start his own business. He’d narrowed down his industry options while working two part-time jobs in college—bartending at a club called Red Warren and being a barista at a coffee shop called Salty Sea & Co.
Months from now, he’d film a sit-down interview to fully explain his backstory for narration purposes. Why they didn’t do it all in the same day was beyond Zinnia.
Naturally, he was her partner. Lulie’s instructor was already teaching her how to make martinis, and Wylie’s literally had his hands full with the vacuum on standby.
Seeing the twins together never failed to make her blood pressure skyrocket. She tried to feel past the paranoia of getting something else smashed in her face but only found nerves as shattered as the next wave of tinkling glass now covering the floor.
Zinnia rubbed her temples.
“Sorry. We didn’t have any plastic cups for him to practice with.”
“Oh, plastic must be a poor people thing, I guess.”
“Please don’t do that.” Jordan slid in front of her. He crossed his arms and leaned against the bar. “What would you like to make? Don’t worry, they’re all dupes. I know you don’t drink so I made sure we didn’t have real alcohol at any of the stations.”
“Oh. Thank you.” She’d hit her lifetime limit well before college. “The most colorful drink possible. Preferably one that can be a real mocktail later?”
“Ah, the lady seeks a challenge.”
She snorted. “Nerd.”
“Just wait until you see me wearing my glasses.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You would’ve never married me if we’d met in high school.”
“Yeah, but only because I was too busy being a delinquent. Although if you’d asked, I would’ve let you take me to prom. And mini golf. And the arcade. You give good date.”
He chuckled. “Never heard it phrased like that, but thanks.”
Every night was date night in the bungalow.
They made (or ordered) dessert and spent quality time together doing whatever they wanted—board games, watching TV, and once, they even played open-air badminton.
Sometimes, they made a blanket pallet on the floor and just talked until she could barely keep her eyes open.
And then he always walked her to her bedroom door because he was a perfect, nerdy gentleman.
GRACE: But isn’t his room directly across the hall?
ZINNIA: SO? LMAO LET ME HAVE THIS
The only downside was they were essentially trapped.
Zinnia christened that twist Voyeur’s Revenge—a loophole that classified any date night activities outside the bungalow as fair game.
The second they left, no matter where they tried to go (including leaving the estate), they’d be hunted trailed by the overnight camera pods stationed on their porch.
No sneaking out for a cute little moonlit stroll on their watch.
Another crash and shatter. Zinnia took a deep, even breath.
“I’ll teach you how to make rainbow drinks,” Jordan said in a low, soothing tone. “They’re pretty easy but require layering and blending. We’ll go through each color combination first, then we can create yours from scratch.”
She nodded. Only six hours until they were back in the bungalow. She could do this.
She could do this.