Page 3 of Twisted Promise

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Is anyone grossed out by what he said? I mean, hypothetically, if he doesn’t want love but only her, isn’t that like kidnapping? It’s basically ransom logic.

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It’s not like it’s the first time he said something offensive. He even insulted the president of Killorn for wanting him to sponsor their ‘half-assed’ product. They banned him from their app. Please don’t sue me; I’m just quoting him!

Anya sighed a relieved breath. At least they hadn’t latched onto the idea of his secret ex-girlfriend. Most of the comments came from die-hard, level-headed fans who understood what they were signing up for when they became his followers.

The mention of crochet was shoved into the back of her mind, and a part of her refused to acknowledge it. It would open the gate of locked memories that she would love for them to stay asleep.

However, her body betrayed her. A heartbeat, two fluttered breaths, and three trembles in her fingers told her otherwise. They were her most precious memories, haunting between the crevices of her body to deceitfully control her, the same way he used to do.

She wanted it, too.

A sharp knock at the door jolted her from the lethargy in her stomach. Anya shut her laptop and called out before going to answer.

The director stood there, thrusting a five-page contract in her face while rambling off highlights and waving an uncapped pen in his other hand. She scanned the document, carefully catching the traps and hidden fees buried in the legal jargon.

“I’m not comfortable with this,” she began, flipping back to the first page.

Anya valued her privacy and had already risked enough of it earlier. She hadn’t even checked the live chat to see how the viewers reacted to her accidental cameo.

It didn’t take much to figure out why the director had shown up with a contract. He’d likely spotted the shift in Alessio’s demeanor on the monitors and saw an opportunity to stir up excitement.

“You’ll be paid the same as the participants,” the director teased with a confident smirk.

The commission was printed beautifully in crisp black ink.

Breakups hurt, but money doesn’t.

* * *

Anya faced the camera, her hair and makeup freshly done to make her more presentable for the confessional interview. By the sound of the interviewer’s voice, she recognized her as the same one who had conducted the other participants’ interviews.

She introduced herself: Anya, 28 years old, and personal assistant. However, she deliberately omitted her employer’sname. It was better to be cautious and hope viewers glossed over it.

“Are you seeing anyone right now?” the interviewer asked, holding a toy microphone to add to the visual theatrics.

First Love, Dearly Belovedwas a semi-scripted, "go-with-the-flow" type of reality show. Improvisation was loudly encouraged to catch participants off guard and create moments to fuel viewer speculation.

“No,” Anya answered truthfully.

The interviewer was not convinced, likely having seen that uncomfortable moment between her and Alessio, but she didn’t poke at it for now.

“What brought you to this show?”

Money.

She hesitated, internally cursing as the director’s scripted answers flashed in her mind.

“I want to find love.”

A dry heave nipped the back of her throat as she flashed a polite smile at the camera. The truth was, she had zero interest in a relationship. The other participants alone were reason enough to avoid one.

“As you know, this show is calledFirst Love, Dearly Beloved. What was your first love like?”

The prepared answer played in her mind, but the director’s emphasis on raw improvisation made her pause.

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