Chapter 17
LILA
After lunch, we were scheduled to film the kitchen installation scenes. I had such a nervous stomach that I barely touched the salad craft services provided. The dread coiled tight in my chest, a pressure I couldn’t shake. I felt more and more like I was in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.
Just after lunch, delivery trucks rumbled into the driveway—doors slamming, workers calling instructions over one another as they began unloading cabinets wrapped in protective plastic.
The hum of cameras clicking on and tracking my every move sent my nerves into a full gallop.
I had to remember to keep my cool. Whatever they had planned was meant to fluster me. I had to be smarter than them.
“Let’s move, people,” Carol barked from behind her clipboard, her eyes sharp and calculating as she supervised.
The tension in my chest stretched tighter with every box carried into Vance’s house. This was supposed to be the big reveal—the moment viewers saw the new kitchen starting to take shape. Beau and I were instructed to talk through some of my design choices for the camera.
Filming started. Multiple cameras were set at various angles. Beau unwrapped the first cabinet. My heart dropped. They were green. An avocado green straight out of the 1970s. Not the soft cream I’d so carefully selected.
“Hold on a second.” My voice trembled, panic rising as the camera crew closed in. “These are the wrong color.”
Kenzie, clipboard in hand, exchanged a quick look with Beau before signaling the camera crew to move in even closer. “Keep rolling,” she said under her breath as if she were Martin Scorsese.
My stomach twisted. And even though some part of me knew this was what they wanted, my frustration bubbled over.
“These cabinets were supposed to be cream,” I said, louder now, my voice high and shaky.
“This is not what I ordered. They have to go back. Don’t unwrap the rest of them.
” My hands gestured wildly toward the cabinetry.
“These were supposedly custom-made. If they can’t get us the right color, it’ll put us weeks behind schedule. ”
The workers froze mid-lift, glancing awkwardly between one another. No one moved to stop the filming.
Beau strode over, smooth and calm, like a leading man in a cowboy movie. His hand cupped one of my shoulders in a practiced gesture of comfort. “Hey now, it’s okay. We’ll figure out what to do.”
I shook my head, fingers pressing into my temples as tears welled and slipped down my cheeks. “This puts the entire project way behind.”
Beau glanced toward the camera crew, all gracious and concerned. “She needs a minute. Give us some space.”
Carol didn’t cut. Kenzie didn’t flinch. No one moved.
Beau turned back to me, voice low and soothing. “We’ll make it work, Lila. I’ll paint them myself if we have to.”
And then it hit me. I could see it all now—how they’d planned the whole thing. The flustered woman. The calm, capable man swooping in. The audience wouldn’t see manipulation or setup—they’d see a hero in Beau.
I stood frozen, my tears still fresh, the cameras still rolling, and the realization chilling me to the bone. They’d wanted me to lose it. On camera.
And I had just given them exactly what they wanted.
Without waiting for permission, I pushed through the crowd, shoulder-bumping someone hard enough to make them curse under their breath.
I didn’t stop. The moment I hit the front steps, the fresh air struck my lungs like a slap.
I stumbled into the gravel drive, chest heaving, the low whir of a drone still audible somewhere overhead. Of course they were still filming.
I spun around, fury boiling just beneath the surface. “I don’t care what kind of spin you’re putting on this. If you or Kenzie try anything else—if you so much as send one more photographer near me or my daughter—I will sue both of you into the ground. Don’t think I won’t.”
“Cut!” Carol screamed.
A slow clap echoed from behind the hedge.
Beau stepped into view, the performance smile gone. “So fiery. It’ll play great. Viewers love it when the girl boss cracks.”
“What is wrong with you?” I asked. “All of you.”
Carol and Kenzie approached, both looking slightly wary as I turned on them, furious. “You’re setting me up to look like some kind of unhinged lunatic. This isn’t right. I will not be exploited this way. I’m done. I quit. You can all burn in hell for all I care.”
Even as I said it, I thought about what it would mean to Vance—to have the whole thing implode. This was his house. A real home, not just one on television. Instead of getting his home back, it was being used for some kind of agenda. One that wanted me to look bad. But why? None of this made sense.
“You’re not quitting,” Carol said. “Because we’re not letting you out of your contract.”
“You can find someone else. Someone who doesn’t mind lying for fame’s sake,” I said. “Someone who doesn’t mind being manipulated for ratings. I’m out.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Beau said.
I turned, heart sinking as Beau approached, his usually affable expression hardened. His eyes reminded me of a snake. He held out his phone, and my stomach dropped at the images glowing on the screen. It was me and Vance on my patio last night, clearly kissing, illuminated by my porch lights.
“What is this?” I felt what little lunch I’d had rumbling in my stomach. They’d love it if I threw up for the camera. I could see the teaser already.
Beau’s eyes narrowed, his tone edged with threat. “Kenzie and I have people who can ignore this little liaison—or explode it. Your choice.”
My hands trembled, panic rising in my chest. “Explode? Why would you—”
“Ratings,” he said bluntly. “Nothing pulls an audience like a love triangle scandal.”
“There’s no triangle. You and I are nothing. Vance and I are in love. We have little girls who need our protection. You’re messing with real people’s lives.”
“Yeah, we know you’re together,” Beau said, voice cool and detached.
“That’s clear. But imagine the reality gold of this whole thing—designer falls for client and co-host. Audiences will think you’re lying to one or both of us.
Viewers love drama. Everyone loves a good love triangle.
Who will she choose and all that. This show will blow up so big you won’t know what hit you. ”
“But there is no triangle. I’m in love with Vance.” I narrowed my eyes, gesturing toward Beau. “You would be the last man I’d ever choose.”
“Again, this isn’t about reality. It’s about what brings in viewership,” Carol said, sounding perfectly reasonable.
Anger sparked through my panic. “I agreed to do a job. Remodel homes. Be a charming host. I didn’t agree to something that will hurt my daughter.
Seeing me portrayed as some kind of femme fatale is a nightmare for a girl about to start high school.
Not to mention Vance’s little girl, who has been through heartbreak and is finally feeling safe and cared for. We’re real people. With children.”
“Oh, boo-hoo,” Kenzie said. “You’re going to be rich and famous. How awful.”
“Consider it good television.” Carol shrugged casually, her eyes hard as polished stone. “You signed a contract. We’re all in this together now.”
In tandem, she and Kenzie walked away.
I swallowed hard, trapped by the stark reality of my situation. My reputation, my business, my family—all of it was in jeopardy. How had I ever thought this was a dream come true?
“Now, come on. Let’s get the rest of this scene done so we can get out of here at a reasonable hour.” Beau slipped his phone back into his pocket and left me standing there, stunned and helpless.
I leaned against the wall, heart hammering. I was trapped—in this fake world. Used and betrayed for ratings.
The rest of the day’s shoot passed in a blur.
I went through the motions—discussing paint colors, reviewing tile samples, nodding at Beau’s suggestions like a puppet on strings.
The cameras captured it all: my fake smile, my forced enthusiasm, the way I flinched every time Beau stood too close.
By the time Carol finally called it for the day, I felt hollow—scraped out like an overripe avocado.
Nothing left but a hard outer shell, torn into pieces.
I grabbed my bag and portfolio, moving toward my car without saying goodbye to anyone. I just needed to get out of there—to go home to Vance and the girls.
My hands shook as I unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat. For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the steering wheel. Then my phone started buzzing. First one ping. Then another. Then a full cascade of notifications that made my heart seize.
I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. All the moisture in my mouth vanished, leaving my palms slick and trembling. I pulled my phone from my bag. A text from Kenzie. My stomach dropped as it loaded.
There it was—the photo of me and Vance on my patio. We were kissing, the porch lights soft around us like a halo, his hand gently tucked beneath my chin. A private, intimate moment on my own property. Now splashed across a gossip blog for the world to devour.
The headline screamed in bold, all-caps font:
DESIGN DIVA IN LOVE TRIANGLE? HOME SHOW HOST CAUGHT BETWEEN CLIENT AND CO-HOST!
I stared at the screen, my vision swimming. They’d done it. Why had I thought otherwise? All three of them had been clear about their intentions.
Another notification came in. This time from Beau. Another link. I clicked it with numb fingers. Footage from this morning. The cabinet disaster—but edited. No, butchered—into something unrecognizable.
Dramatic, suspenseful music played over a grainy freeze-frame of my face mid-blink, eyes wide, mouth open like I was screaming.
Then it cut to a close-up of my hands flailing.
I sounded like I was shrieking, thanks to a sound mix that heightened every octave of distress.
The camera angle exaggerated my movements.
Jump cuts made it feel more chaotic than it really was, trimming out anything calm or composed.
Then—a tight shot of me clutching my temples.
And the worst part: a slow-motion sequence of Beau stepping into frame, calm and steady, placing a hand on my shoulder. The split screen showed my tear-streaked face beside his soothing expression. He looked like the rational hero taming the hysterical woman.
Everyone in Willet Cove would see this. And what would that do to Mia and Margot? They had to go to school. Kids would ask questions. I could already hear the whispers and taunts:
“Is your mom with both of them?”
“Who’s she going to choose?”
“Did you know your mom was such a slut?”
This wasn’t just going to harm my reputation—it would make everything harder for the girls. Vance was a grown man. He and I could figure out what to do next. But the kids … they were the ones who would suffer most.
I dropped the phone into my lap, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. A sob caught in my throat. Get it together. I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet. Not here. Not in the parking lot where someone might see—where another camera might be waiting.
I started the car, hands still shaking, and pulled onto the street. The drive home felt endless. Every stoplight. Every turn. My mind spiraling through scenarios. Maybe I could fix this. Call a lawyer. Issue a statement. Explain that it was all manipulation and lies.
But who would believe me? The footage looked real. The photo was real. And they had the resources to spin any narrative they wanted—all for ratings. Yet something made me pause. A feeling. An instinct. This wasn’t just about viewership. It felt personal. Calculated.
Kenzie and Beau wanted me to look bad.
The question was—why? What were they really after?