Chapter 5
FIVE
The first few seconds of the show begin, and I’m already triggered. My breathing slows. All I want to do is turn the TV off.
But I can’t. I have to watch.
What still baffles me is how I was declared the winner without loyal fans storming the network with pitchforks and foaming outrage.
First up: Heather, playing the theme from Titanic on her flute.
Thank God I wasn’t around for that. I would’ve exploded with laughter—like I am now.
“What the hell is going on?” I manage to say between tears, wiping my eyes.
Then comes Lilith from San Diego, reciting a poem.
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
If you pick me,
I’ll pick you.”
Dear God.
Embarrassing. And desperate.
Which Lilith absolutely was—right up until the second pinning ceremony, when her eagerness finally became too much for even Jaxon. Letting her go was the kindest thing he did all season.
Still, I can’t deny it: every girl’s introduction was solid TV. Watching it now, it almost feels like any one of them had a real shot with the guy from hell. And Jaxon plays the role of the noble bachelor—our so-called knight in shining armor—so well. Too well.
Of course, anyone using their prefrontal cortex knows that kind of man is a myth.
I can’t take it anymore. I skip ahead.
Jaxon and my first introduction is the one scene I’ve been dreading. The only meet-and-greet that went tragically wrong.
I fast-forward until I see myself emerge from the backseat of the limo.
A wave of prickles rushes through my skin—and not just because I’ve been in the tub too long.
There I am.
My red gown hugs my body like it was sewn on. Cap sleeves, high slit. My hair is pulled back from my face, the rest cascading in big, sand-colored curls behind me. Tiffany, my designated hair stylist, hated the way it turned out—mostly because I arrived four hours late to call time.
I wasn’t even sure I was going to go through with the show. The night before, I watched two episodes from the previous season before realizing I couldn’t stomach any more. The desperation for one man? Pathetic, actually.
But what was I going to do? Not show up? Give up on my comeback? Let the world keep thinking I’m the “crazy actress” who stole for no reason at all?
I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Just thinking about what happens next makes me sink deeper into the water, wishing I could disappear beneath the surface.
Regardless... I look pretty. Stunning, even. Jaxon raises his eyebrows and smiles—all teeth—like he’s impressed.
But that’s not what happened.
I was there. I know.
He stiffened as I approached. Then he looked away, turned to the pit of producers, and said:
“Really? You’re giving me the shoplifting actress?”
That’s what he said.
I stopped in my tracks, gasping.
After a beat, I snapped. “What did you call me?”
“You shoplifted. That’s a crime, isn’t it?”
“You arrogant, classless prick. This is a TV show. I’m pretty sure you’re not the—” I threw up air quotes, “—Prince Charming they’re trying to pass you off as. You asshole!”
I screamed that last part at the top of my lungs, fists clenched, head thrown back.
“Cut!” Hansel, the director, yelled.
We were both pulled aside—me to Betty, him to his producer.
Betty reminded me of the role I agreed to play. Stick to the plan, she said. Do this right, and your career will smell like roses.
And of course, I agreed.
I don’t know what Jake, Jaxon’s producer, said to him, but he came back with a reluctant apology.
“That was rude of me. I’m sorry,” he said with zero conviction.
We were told to smile. So we did. Sort of.
I tried. But the more I forced it, the more my lips trembled.
Jaxon just sighed, over and over, like I had let him down.
I was humiliated. Not just because he embarrassed me, but because I’m an actress. A damn good one. I was almost nominated for an Emmy—twice, I was told.
But what he said... it cut deep. It triggered something in me. My nervous system went haywire. I couldn’t recover. We couldn’t get the shot.
Eventually, Hansel gave up and said he’d fix it in post.
And oh boy… did he ever.
I sit up straighter in the tub, pushing toward the front to get a better look.
That woman on the screen? It’s definitely me.
“You look handsome tonight,” I say.
But I never said that.
“Whoa… You’re the first princess who’s taken my breath away,” Jaxon croons.
My jaw drops.
He’s never said that to me. Not once.
“I can’t wait to know you better,” I say, eyes flirting.
Then I offer him my hand.
He takes it. Kisses it.
I gasp. “Holy shit,” I whisper, eyes glued to the screen.
I blink hard.
Maybe I’m imagining this.
“What the hell?” I glance toward my bedroom, where my phone sits on the dresser.
I need to call my agent, Anne Kim.
I start to rise—then stop myself.
No.
I have to see the rest first.
I carefully step out of the tub, pause the video, dry off, and get dressed.
Because something tells me I’m about to find out exactly why I—or this fake version of me—won the final pin.