25. The Impossible Choice
The Impossible Choice
HAYES
I barely make it ten steps into the foyer of the mansion before Tanya swoops in, headset blinking. “Hey, Hayes—quick update. Luna has a photo of you and Brielle kissing and unclothed on the beach from before the show. She just confronted Brielle about it, and things got ugly.”
“Oh, shit.” How the hell did Luna get a photo of us? My brain can’t process anything as I glance around, noting that only Annabelle and Serena are in the room looking pale and distraught. “I need to talk to Darren.”
“Yes, you do.”
I rush with Tanya through the labyrinth of the mansion’s back corridors, where the illusion of luxury gives way to the practical reality of filming—cables taped to floors, lighting equipment stacked against walls, crew members with clipboards and coffee hurrying from one crisis to the next.
My mind races. That kid took a picture that day on the beach, and his family actually leaked it? That’s disgusting! And where did Luna get it? She’s been in isolation, except she hasn’t because we all went to hometowns. Hometowns! Dammit!
As I fly into the converted pool house that’s Darren’s office—he’s pacing, phone pressed to his ear. He holds up one finger in the universal “wait” gesture, then continues his conversation.
“I don’t care what legal says. This is gold. Absolute. Fucking. Gold.” He pauses, listening. “No, we need the predicted numbers for this. It’ll go viral within hours.”
My face burns, fire hot. He’s talking about that footage of Luna outing us!
“Listen, I’ll call you back,” Darren says abruptly, noticing my clenched jaw. He pockets his phone and turns to me. “Hold it together, Hayes.”
“You cannot air that,” I grind out, fighting to keep my voice calm.
“Look, I know it seems bad, but it’s really not. People will eat it up for a day or two then move on. This is reality TV. Drama happens. It’s what viewers tune in for.”
“People tuned in to watch me find someone to share my life with,” I remind him. “Not to watch women tear each other apart and destroy their reputations.”
Darren sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Hayes, let’s be real here. You’re smart. You know how this works. The love story is the wrapper—the pretty package we present—but the content people actually consume is the conflict, the tears, the moments of raw emotion.”
“Like publicly demolishing Brielle? Is that the ‘raw emotion’ you’re after?”
“That wasn’t planned.” Darren drops into his chair. “Luna went rogue.”
My rage is seconds away from boiling over. “And the rest of it? The photo she somehow obtained? Was that all ‘unplanned’ too?”
Darren has the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. “The photo was... unexpected. But look, the situation is what it is. Now we need to decide how to handle it moving forward.”
“How did she get that photo?”
“No idea. I’m guessing someone gave it to her when she went home.” Darren blows out a long sigh. “Hayes, I’ll be straight with you. That footage from last night is ratings dynamite. The network wants it aired. All of it.”
The implications hit me like a physical blow. “We all signed NDAs to keep that information private. If you don’t mind destroying Brielle and me, you at least need to care about the show’s reputation. It doesn’t look good for you, either, remember?”
“It got leaked, Hayes.” Darren leans forward. “If Luna has it, others will too—it’s just a matter of time. The best thing we can do now is to get ahead of it and address it head on.”
“Jesus.” The bile rising in my throat. But I went to three other hometowns with three other women and I saw nothing, heard nothing. If it’s really out there, why hasn’t anyone else said a word?
I imagine Brielle’s face when Luna made those accusations, the mix of shock and humiliation. I think of what she told me about her career as a screenwriter, how important her professional reputation is. How devastating this kind of publicity could be.
The photo, on its own, isn’t the worst thing in the world if the show doesn’t hype up the drama of it all.
It’s only a big deal to the other contestants, and if viewers don’t see the women having an issue with it, they won’t either.
Darren’s wrong. “I want that footage buried.” My voice drops to a dangerous level.
“All of it. Luna’s accusations, the photo. None of it airs.”
Darren laughs—actually laughs—before catching himself. “That’s not how this works, Hayes. You signed a contract. We all did. The network has final say on what makes the cut.”
“Then I walk.” The words come out before I can fully consider them. “I’m done. The show ends now, no finale, no proposal, nothing.”
Darren’s expression shifts, all traces of amusement vanishing. “You can’t do that. The contract—”
“Has provisions for talent welfare,” I finish for him.
“Including mental health considerations. I’m telling you, as the star of your show, that continuing under these circumstances would be detrimental to my well-being, my son’s, and Brielle’s.
Other executive producers have been fired for it, and you know it. So you better watch yourself.”
I must have a point, because Darren shuts up. He stares at me, reassessing. After a long moment, he says, “Okay. Let’s make a deal.”
“I’m listening.”
“We’ll bury the footage. Nothing about the beach hookup, nothing about Luna’s accusations.” He pauses, eyes narrowing. “But in exchange, you eliminate Brielle tonight.”
The request—no, the demand—hits me like a sucker punch. “What? Why?”
“It’s clean, it’s simple. We’ll frame it as your response to the hometown visit. Say you had concerns after meeting her sister. You realized the connection wasn’t as strong as with others.” Darren spreads his hands.
“But Brielle will believe that too, and it’s not the truth.
” After a night to reflect, I’ve realized that for all the discomfort of Paisley’s interrogation, she forced me to face things I’ve been afraid to fully claim.
Yes, I am ready. Yes, I do believe I can be what Brielle needs. Yes, I have learned from my past.
And most importantly: yes, I am willing to fight for Brielle, to endure uncomfortable questions and skeptical family members and my own lingering doubts.
Because what Brielle and I have found, against all odds and artificial circumstances, is worth defending—even from those who love her most. I say, “She can’t think that, Darren. She’s the one I want to propose to.”
“Look, people will care less about the footage if she’s not a finalist, and you know it. Brielle goes home with her reputation intact, the show continues without the scandal, everybody wins.”
“Except Brielle,” I say. “And me.”
“Hayes.” Darren’s voice softens, taking on the practiced concern of a man who manipulates emotions for a living.
“Let’s be realistic. After what happened last night, do you really think Brielle can have a positive experience here?
The other women are already isolating her.
Social media will be brutal. The kindest thing you can do is send her home, let her regroup away from the cameras. ”
I hate that there’s a grain of truth in what he’s saying. The environment has turned toxic for Brielle overnight. But still...
“That’s not your real concern,” I say. “You don’t want her gone to protect her. You want her gone to better your narrative.”
“Yes, I do. It’s my job to do whatever gets us the best ratings without lawsuits.” Darren stands, coming around his desk. “Look, there’s more at stake here than just your feelings or Brielle’s career. Think about August.”
The mention of my son straightens my spine. “Leave him out of this.”
“I can’t.” Darren shakes his head. “This isn’t just about scandal, Hayes. It’s about your reputation too. How do you think August will feel when his friends at school see edited footage that makes it look like the whole journey was rigged?”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I don’t have a response.
“That’s reality,” he continues. “I’m offering you a relatively clean alternative. Send Brielle home tonight, continue the journey with Serena, Annabelle, and Luna. Pick one of them for the finale, give us the proposal viewers expect, and everyone walks away unscathed.” He pauses. “Even Brielle.”
The weight of the choice settles over me like a shroud. I think of the conversation Brielle and I had in Spain, the declarations I made. I think of August, innocent and trusting, asking if the “funny writer lady” could visit sometime. I think of Sarah.
Sarah.
The image of her floods my mind—her smile, her kindness, the way she’d looked at me the last morning I saw her alive. “I’ll pick August up from practice,” she’d said, keys jingling in her hand. “You go to that photo shoot. It’s important.”
I’d kissed her goodbye, so grateful for her support, never imagining that decision would shatter our lives forever. Since that day, I’ve lived by one rule: follow through on my commitments, no matter what. Don’t leave things unfinished. Don’t make promises I can’t keep.
I promised August we’d see this through. I promised myself I’d be open to finding love again. I promised thirty women a fair chance.
But I also made implied promises to Brielle.
“I need time,” I tell Darren. “Let me think about it.”
He checks his watch. “You have until the Lock & Key ceremony tonight. Which, by the way, we’re moving up to right now.
No cocktail party, no more chances for Brielle to pull you aside.
Clean, quick, decisive. And Hayes,” he continues, stern, “Brielle cannot learn about any of this until a month after the show finishes airing.”
I gasp. “That’ll be…” I count, “… over six months! She’ll have moved on by then.”
“It has to be that way so your selection looks real. Then you can break up, stating that the relationship couldn’t hold in the real world. It’s how it has to be.” He extends his hand. “Do we have a deal?”
This is all too much, and my brain is short circuiting. I’m going to lose Brielle, for good. I look at his outstretched hand, but don’t take it. I need a few minutes to make an impossible choice. “After tonight’s ceremony, you’ll have your answer.”
I storm out, realizing that whatever happens next, there’s no turning back.