The following morning buzzed with tension. Even the air seemed sharper, as if it had been sliced clean by nerves. Breakfast was a blur—Harper barely touched her croissant, too busy wondering what the day had in store.
They were told to meet on the main soundstage by eight. It looked like a dreamscape: dramatic lighting rigs, velvet-draped backdrops, gold-trimmed chairs in a circle. Cameras glided silently on tracks, already rolling. This wasn't just a contest anymore. It was a spectacle.
"Today," announced the producer with a too-bright smile, "is about first impressions—your first on-screen debut as Eli's potential match. You'll each film a solo confessional, a mock date, and a group challenge. Make them love you."
Vanessa was practically glowing. "Finally, my moment."
Harper tried to smile but her stomach twisted. She caught Yumi's glance—nervous, but brave. They were all being thrown into the spotlight, and there was nowhere to hide.
Confessional Tapes
One by one, the finalists sat before a plush backdrop and a ring light, speaking to an invisible audience.
"What drew you to Eli?" "What makes you different from the others?"
Harper's turn came. Her throat went dry. She stared into the lens, tried to remember the stories she'd written—how her characters always found a voice.
"I think... I think love should scare you a little," she said slowly. "Because it means you're risking something real."
A long pause. Then the producer nodded. "Good. Vulnerability reads well."
The Mock Date
The scene was staged in a rooftop garden strung with fairy lights, fake stars above them courtesy of special effects.
Eli waited in a charcoal suit, the city skyline behind him. When Harper approached, her heart did somersaults.
"Hey," he said softly. "Look at you."
"Try not to sound so surprised."
He smiled. Cameras closed in. They sat at a bistro table, plates untouched as the director fed them lines through an earpiece. But halfway through the scene, Harper forgot the script.
"You're not really like the tabloids make you seem," she said quietly.
"Neither are you," Eli replied.
A beat. The director whispered, "Keep going."
Harper looked at him. "Do you ever wish you could just... disappear for a while?"
"All the time."
Their eyes locked again. Not acting.
The Group Challenge
Last was the chaos.
They were given costumes, props, and a premise: a fairytale improv game. Harper wore wings. Vanessa was a villainess in a corset. Yumi got a wand. Darius had a cape and was clearly thrilled.
Eli played the bewitched prince, and each girl had to 'rescue' him in a unique way.
Vanessa recited a dramatic monologue. Yumi sang a spell. Harper?
She winged it.
"I'm not here to rescue you," she told him. "I'm here to set you free."
Then she turned to the fake villain and handed her the wand. "Maybe you just needed someone to believe you weren't evil."
Everyone blinked.
"Cut!" the director called. "That was... unexpected. But interesting."
Eli was smiling again. Like he'd just seen something real slip through the fantasy.
That night, Harper collapsed into bed, utterly spent. The cameras had captured everything—the good, the awkward, the terrifying. But through the chaos, she'd felt something more than nerves.
Maybe this wasn't just about pretending.
Maybe this was the start of something real.