Chapter 7 Trinity
TRINITY
The rope feels solid beneath my hands as I climb, each grip secure and familiar. Rock climbing at the local gym back home prepared me for this more than I anticipated. Below, Korgan's positioned himself like a human, orc, safety net, which should be reassuring but somehow makes me more nervous.
Focus, Trinity. Cameras are rolling.
I'm three-quarters up when my phone vibrates in the production assistant's hands below. Then another buzz. Then a cascade of notifications that draws confused murmurs from the crew.
"Cut!" Marcus barks suddenly. "Everyone hold positions."
I freeze on the rope, muscles beginning to burn from maintaining position. "What's going on?"
The silence stretches uncomfortably long. Marcus huddles with his assistant producers, their voices too low to catch but their body language screaming crisis management. Korgan moves beneath me, angling for a better view of the commotion.
"Trinity, can you come down please?" Marcus calls out, his usual theatrical enthusiasm replaced by careful neutrality.
I descend quickly, landing with more force than grace. Korgan's hand settles briefly on my shoulder, steadying or claiming, I can't tell which.
"What's wrong?"
Marcus approaches with my phone, his expression unreadable. "There's been some... social media activity regarding your participation in the show."
My stomach drops. Social media during filming is supposed to be strictly monitored. The fact that something's broken through their control systems means it's big. And bad.
"Show me."
The screen fills with notifications from Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. All variations of the same devastating theme:
Trinity Lewis EXPOSED: Reality Star's REAL Motive for Chasing Orc Bachelor!
LEAKED: Small-town baker's massive debt forces desperate TV grab
She's Only Here for Money: Trinity Lewis's Financial Crisis Revealed
My hands shake as I scroll through post after post. Screenshots of loan documents. Photos of overdue notices. Bank statements that should be private, personal, impossible to obtain.
"How did they—" My voice cracks. "These are private financial records."
"We're investigating the source," Marcus says carefully. "In the meantime, we need to discuss how to address this."
The comments are brutal:
Fake. She's just a gold-digger using the orc for publicity.
Pathetic. Can't even run a bakery without begging for handouts.
This whole romance is scripted. She's literally being paid to pretend.
Each word hits like a real blow. Three years of careful budgeting, of skipping meals to pay suppliers, of working eighteen-hour days to keep my dream alive—reduced to tabloid fodder about desperation and greed.
"Trinity." Korgan's voice booms through my spiral. "What financial crisis?"
I can't meet his eyes. "It's... complicated."
"Complicated how?"
The cameras are still rolling. I can see Marcus gesture for them to keep recording, probably thrilled by this unexpected drama goldmine. My private shame about to become public entertainment.
"I took out loans to expand the bakery last year. Big ones. The timing was terrible—supply costs increased, foot traffic dropped, and I... I couldn't make the payments."
Korgan steps closer. "You're in debt?"
"Severely." The word tastes like ash. "I applied for this show because the prize money would save my business. And because the publicity might help me rebuild."
"So you are here for money."
The confirmation hits harder coming from him. From someone whose respect I've begun to crave more than I should admit.
"Yes." My voice comes out small and defeated. "I'm here for money. I'm desperate and broke and stupid enough to think reality TV could solve my problems."
The film crew circles like vultures, capturing every moment of my humiliation. I can already see how they'll edit this—the greedy human using the noble orc for financial gain. The exact narrative I've been trying to avoid.
"Trinity—" Korgan begins.
"Don't." I back away from him, from the cameras, from everything.
"Just don't. They're right, okay? I'm a fraud.
I'm not here for love or adventure or any of the romantic bullshit this show sells.
I'm here because my business is failing and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could salvage something from the wreckage. "
Tears threaten, which will make perfect television. The crying contestant, caught in her own web of deception.
"I work ninety hours a week and I can barely afford rent. I eat day-old pastries for dinner because I give away the fresh ones to build customer loyalty. I haven't bought new clothes in two years because every penny goes back into flour and sugar and the hope that tomorrow might be better."
My voice rises, three months of suppressed panic finally breaking free.
"So yes, I'm here for money! Yes, I'm desperate! And yes, I thought maybe if I could just get enough publicity, enough prize money, I could stop lying awake at night calculating how many weeks I have left before I lose everything my mentor told me to build!"
The confession hangs in the air like smoke. Final and damning.
Marcus looks delighted. The camera operators adjust their angles to capture maximum emotional impact. Even the sound technicians lean in, ensuring they miss nothing.
But Korgan just stands there, studying me with those amber eyes that see too much.
"Is that what you think this makes you?" he asks quietly. "Desperate circumstances seeking practical solutions?"
"It makes me a liar."
"No." He is absolutely certain. "It makes you a warrior fighting for what matters."
I blink, certain I misheard.
"In orc culture, we have a concept: grath'mor. Battle-honor earned through defending what you've built with your own hands. You could have sold your bakery, taken an easier path, accepted defeat. Instead, you chose to fight."
He turns to address the cameras directly, his posture shifting into something formal and commanding.
"The human commentators mock Trinity Lewis for seeking money to save her business. They call her desperate, as if desperation invalidates courage. But I see a craftsperson who recognized that her skills deserve a platform, her work deserves recognition, and her dreams deserve defending."
Marcus tries to interrupt. "Korgan, we should discuss—"
"No." The single word carries enough menace to silence the entire crew. "Trinity entered this competition honestly. She stated her goals clearly to anyone who asked. The fact that those goals include practical concerns does not diminish her character."
He steps closer to the main camera, his presence filling the frame.
"I have watched Trinity work. She measures ingredients with precision, manages stress with grace, and treats every person on this set with courtesy regardless of their position. These are not the behaviors of someone driven purely by greed."
Is he... defending me?
"Furthermore," Korgan continues, "the violation of her privacy that enabled this attack shows far more about her accusers than about Trinity herself. Honorable opponents face their rivals directly. They do not steal personal documents to create public shame."
The cameras capture every word, but for once the manipulation feels like it's working in my favor instead of against me.
"Trinity Lewis bakes bread that smells like home and tastes like hope. She makes food that nourishes both body and spirit. If she seeks money to continue this work, to expand her ability to feed her community, then she seeks money for the most honorable purpose possible."
My throat closes up completely. No one has ever defended me like this. No one has ever taken my work seriously enough to call it honorable.
"Any human who cannot understand the honor in preserving craft traditions while adapting to modern challenges lacks the wisdom to judge Trinity's character."
Korgan's gaze sweeps the crew, daring anyone to contradict him.
"She is not here under false pretenses. She is here because she recognized an opportunity to save something valuable and had the courage to pursue it despite the personal cost."
He turns back to me, his expression softer but no less intense.
"That is not desperation. That is grath'mor. Battle-honor of the highest order."
The silence that follows feels different. Charged with possibility instead of condemnation.
Marcus clears his throat. "Well. That's quite a perspective."
"It's the correct perspective," Korgan states flatly.
I look at him, overwhelmed by gratitude and something deeper. Something that makes my chest tight and my hands unsteady.
"Can we get back to filming?" I manage. "I'd like to finish this challenge."
Hours later, after the cameras stop rolling and the crew disperses, I find Korgan in the communal kitchen. He's making tea, actual tea, not the flavored nonsense production stocks, using what looks like his personal supply.
"Thank you." I settle onto the stool across from him. "For what you said earlier."
He hands me a steaming mug. The tea smells like pine and something earthy I can't identify.
"I spoke truth. Nothing more."
"You spoke truth when you didn't have to. When it might have hurt your own position on the show."
"My position?" He looks genuinely confused. "What position?"
"Bachelor seeking love. Defending the financially motivated contestant doesn't exactly fit the romantic narrative."
Korgan considers this while sipping his tea. "Perhaps the romantic narrative requires adjustment."
What does that mean?
"I don't understand."
"Human romance stories follow predictable patterns. Wealthy suitor rescues struggling maiden. Powerful protector claims grateful dependent. These stories teach that love requires inequality."
He sets down his mug, meeting my eyes directly.
"But I am not interested in rescue fantasies. I am interested in partnership between equals who respect each other's strength."
"Equals?" I laugh, but there's no humor in it. "I'm broke, remember? Desperate. Hardly your equal."