Page 71 of Groomsman to Groom

“Oh, shit.” How thehelldid 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 tothe 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 familyactuallyleaked 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.”

“Youcannotair 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 havingan 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.”

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