7. Locked In
Locked In
HAYES
I can’t sleep. The memory of Brielle’s lips against mine keeps playing on repeat.
Her scent—something floral mixed with her mango lip gloss—still clings to my T-shirt that I purposely didn’t put in the laundry, just so I could catch a whiff as I passed by the chair.
I’m in deep, deeper than I should be one date into this reality TV circus.
Lying in the darkness of my private suite, I stare at the ceiling and gear myself up to get to know the other women.
I’m already interested in Serena, Luna, Jordan, and Chloe—and I really like Annabelle’s vibe if she toughens up a bit.
There are a couple of others on my radar who I haven’t gotten to spend enough time with yet.
I roll onto my side, punching my pillow into submission.
My mind drifts to August, sleeping, probably surrounded by his physics books and that stuffed Vulcan sehlat toy he insists is scientifically accurate based on the species’ evolutionary history.
Brielle would get that. She’d appreciate his explanation of wormhole theory over breakfast cereal.
She wouldn’t look at me with that pained expression Sarah’s friends always wear, like they’re thinking, “Poor Hayes, stuck raising a weird genius kid all alone.”
That thought jolts me fully awake. I’m already imagining Brielle meeting my son, becoming a part of our lives. Dangerous territory for a guy who’s dating nineteen other women. Enough.
The alarm clock glows 6:27 AM. No point trying to sleep now. The producers will be knocking on my door in a couple of hours anyway, microphones ready to capture my morning-after thoughts about the date. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and rub my face. Maybe a run will clear my head.
I throw on fresh shorts and a T-shirt then slip out the side door. The mansion’s quiet, just the way I like it.
The grounds are extensive, with pathways winding through gardens that require an army of gardeners to maintain.
Morning dew soaks through my running shoes as I jog along the stone path that circles the property.
The rhythm of my feet hitting the ground steadies me, brings me back to myself—not Hayes the Bachelor, not Hayes the Internet’s “Peeing Hero,” just Hayes Burke, single dad, son, and photographer.
I’m on my second lap when I hear voices floating from an open window. I slow to a walk, not proud of my eavesdropping, but it’s to tempting. Then I catch Brielle’s name.
“—thinks she’s so special after that carnival date,” a voice I recognize as Gabby’s carries through the morning air. “Did you see how he was looking at her during the Lock & Key ceremony? Like she hung the moon or something.”
“Total teacher’s pet vibes,” comes Kavita’s reply. “The whole nerdy girl thing is clearly working for her, but it’s so fake. Nobody’s actually that into Star Wars .”
“ Trek ,” a third voice—I can’t tell who it is—corrects. “And that’s not the point. The point is she’s pulling ahead, and we need to do something about it.”
I freeze mid-step, staying beneath the shadow of an oak tree. I shouldn’t be listening to this, but I can’t make myself walk away.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Gabby sounds intrigued. “Because I’ve got some ideas.”
“Nothing too obvious,” the mysterious woman—maybe Jordan?—says. “We just need to make her look bad on camera. Maybe question her intentions, start some rumors about why she’s really here.”
“Perfect,” Gabby practically purrs. “And if that doesn’t work, there’s always the classic—just start crying to Hayes about how she said something horrible when cameras weren’t around. His protective instincts will kick in, and boom—instant drama.”
“I like how you think.” Gabby laughs. “Let Operation Take Down commence.”
Their voices fade as they move deeper into the house.
I stand frozen, my stomach knotting with anger and concern.
This is exactly what I was afraid would happen.
Reality TV brings out the worst in people—I’ve seen enough seasons to know that the “villain edit” can follow someone long after the show ends.
And with Brielle’s career in the public eye, that kind of damage could be lasting.
I change course—I need to talk about this, and there’s only one person who might actually give me honest advice.
I find Skye in her room, already fully caffeinated and draped in a silk kimono with peacock feathers embroidered across the back. She’s viewing the show’s footage on her tablet.
“Hayes!” She looks up, surprised. “You’re up early. And sweaty.”
“I need to talk to you.” I close the door behind me. “Off the record. No cameras.”
She studies my face, then nods, pulling the cover over her tablet. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s about Brielle.”
“Of course it is.”
“I just overheard Gabby, Kavita, and someone else, maybe Jordan, plotting against her. They’re planning to spread rumors, make her look bad on camera, maybe even outright lie about things she’s supposedly said.”
“Ah.” Skye sets down her tablet. “Welcome to reality television, Hayes. We’ve been told this kind of plotting happens every season.”
“But it’s different with Brielle,” I insist. “Her career—”
“Is exactly why they see her as a threat,” Skye finishes for me. “Success attracts jealousy like flies to stink.”
“I’m worried about her. About what this could do to her reputation.”
Skye leans back in her chair, studying me with narrowed eyes. “Your concern is touching, but your dark aura tells me there’s more to this. You’re not this protective of all the contestants.”
I hesitate, but if there’s anyone I can be honest with, it’s Skye. “Look, you know about St. Sebastian.”
“Yes, and so do the producers. They were fine with it. Brielle had to sign an NDA to keep that under wraps, and I’m sure it’s somewhere in your contract, too.”
“Of course. But it’s getting harder to pretend. Especially after last night.”
“The Ferris wheel kiss.” Skye nods. “They got the shot from below. Very romantic, that’ll bring great ratings. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that it wasn’t acting, and now there are other women who’re actively plotting to sabotage Brielle.”
Skye sighs, her expression softening. “Honey, listen to me very carefully. Sabotage is part of the game, and Brielle knows that. She works in TV, and she can handle herself. You just focus on you, making sure that nothing slips because if this gets out—if people find out you two had a connection before the show—the backlash will be much worse than whatever mean-girl antics those three are planning now.”
“But—”
“No buts. I’m trying to protect both of you here. Trust me, I’ve watched this show enough to see how these things can spiral.” She leans forward, lowering her voice. “Look, I can keep an eye on Brielle, try to run interference with the others.”
I rake a hand through my hair, frustration building. “So I’m just supposed to stand by while they target her? While Darren pushes the narrative that creates the most drama, regardless of who it hurts?”
At the mention of Darren, Skye’s expression darkens. “Darren plays by his own rules. I haven’t known him long, but that’s already clear.”
That’s when it hits me—Darren. The one person who has the power to actually change this situation. The show’s executive producer. The man who ultimately calls the shots.
“I have to talk to him,” I say.
“Hayes, no—”
“I’m going to tell him that having Brielle on the show is too big of a risk. For her career, for my integrity, for the show itself if the truth comes out.” I stand, determination hardening my resolve. “He’ll understand. It’s his job to protect the show’s reputation, too.”
Skye looks deeply skeptical. “Darren doesn’t care about reputations unless they affect ratings. And right now, your chemistry with Brielle is television gold.”
“I have to try.”
She sighs. “Fine. He’s probably in the onsite office now. But Hayes?” Her voice turns serious. “Be careful. Darren isn’t your friend.”
I nod, already heading for the door. “Thanks, Skye.”
The main production office is in the pool house, a short walk from the mansion.
I shower and change quickly, not wanting to meet with Darren looking like I just finished a run.
The whole time, I rehearse what I’ll say—how I’ll explain that sending Brielle home is the best solution for everyone involved.
Darren’s assistant eyes me with surprise when I walk in. “Mr. Burke. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, but I need to speak with Darren. It’s important.”
“He’s preparing for today’s shoot—”
“It can’t wait,” I say firmly.
She hesitates, then picks up her phone. After a brief exchange, she nods. “He can give you fifteen minutes. Go on in.”
Darren’s office is exactly what you’d expect from a reality TV producer—sleek, modern, with multiple screens showing different areas of the mansion. He looks up from his desk, not bothering to stand.
“Hayes. Making great TV so far. The execs are thrilled.”
“Thanks.” I close the door behind me. “I need to talk to you about one of the contestants. Brielle Wilson.”
“Ah, yes. The screenwriter. Great chemistry between you two last night. Those Ferris wheel shots were perfect.” He gestures to a chair. “What’s on your mind?”
I sit, gathering my thoughts. “I think it would be best if Brielle were sent home at the next ceremony.”
Darren’s eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me? She’s one of our front runners. The audience will already be invested in your connection.”
“That’s just it,” I lean forward. “You know our connection—it’s not entirely authentic to the show’s premise.”
“Oh, come on. You two had a moment. Big deal.”
I shift. “You know the other contestants will make it a big deal.”
“They won’t find out because they have no connection to the outside world.” Darren leans back, studying me. “Last night you couldn’t keep your hands off her. If you send her home, she’ll be done with you. You sure you want that?”
Yikes—no. He makes a good point. “No, I don’t. But this is getting ugly, fast. Brielle has a successful public-facing career. A scandal could ruin her.”
I don’t like the way his lips curve upward. “You’re concerned about her career.”
“Yes. And August—my son. I don’t want him exposed to tabloid speculation about his dad.”
“Noble,” Darren says, though his tone suggests he doesn’t believe my motives are entirely selfless. “But I’m afraid I can’t accommodate your request.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because, Hayes, you clearly care about her and might end up with her—the end goal of this show, by the way. Your chemistry with Brielle is off the charts, and the viewers will be obsessed with you two.”
“But if the other women find out—”
“They won’t,” Darren cuts me off. “Not unless someone tells them. And the only people who know are people who are all under contract to keep our traps shut, including you.” His smile turns cold. “And none of us has any reason to talk, do we?”
I stare at him, the implication clear. “Are you... threatening me?”
“Threatening? No.” He stands, moving to a coffee counter where he pours himself a cup, not offering me one.
“I’m simply reminding you of the contract you signed.
The very detailed, very binding contract that includes damages for breach of confidentiality, misrepresentation, or actions that harm the show’s integrity. ”
“The show’s integrity was compromised the moment Brielle showed up at the mansion,” I argue.
“Perhaps. But it’s done now.”
My stomach twists as I realize the corner I’m back into. “So I have no choice but to keep up this charade?”
“I’m telling you to keep quiet about the one evening you shared with Brielle, and she stays.
You continue to explore your obviously genuine connection with her—on camera.
And you also show appropriate interest in the other contestants.
” He moves back to his desk, pulling up a document on his computer. “Particularly Gabby and Kavita.”
I respond with a glare, and Darren continues, “They bring drama, Hayes. And drama brings ratings. I need you to keep them around for the international trip.”
I knew I signed up for this, but now that I’m facing it, it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. “I’ll try, but I’m not an actor.”
“You are now.” Darren slaps his desk. “It’s all part of the game. But if you keep Brielle, you walk away with a chunk of money and maybe your future wife.”
I nod, knowing he’s right. I did agree to this. And if I wanted to protect her reputation, I should’ve eliminated her that very first night. I didn’t, and now I’m trapped. “Okay.”
“Excellent. I knew you’d see reason. Was there anything else?”
My lips purse tight when I say, “No. Nothing else.”
“Great. We start makeup prep in an hour. I’m sure you’ll want to look your best for the group date. The women are doing a charity calendar photo shoot—your professional expertise will be useful.”
“Okay.” The dismissal is clear, so I leave.
As I walk back toward the mansion, the weight of impossible choices pressing down on me, I realize that every moment I spend with Brielle is a gift and a curse.
Every smile, every touch, every shared laugh is genuine—and completely undermined by the fact that at any moment, her career could be toast. How did something that started as an honest connection on a beach become so dangerously complicated?