Page 156 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
“JacqLyn,” he says.
The word hits me like a slap. I go completely still. Not frozen. Absent. Like my body checked out before my mind could catch up. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
But JacqLyn is moving forward, accepting the rose with tears in her eyes. Ryan is hugging her while the other women congratulate her. I’m still standing here in shock, trying to process what just happened.
I didn’t get the rose. Ryan didn’t choose me.
It’s happening again. Just like always. I let myself believe I was special. That I was chosen. And once again, I wasn’t.
“Wren,” Rich says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. “I’m sorry, but your journey ends here. Thank you for being part of this experience.”
I nod mechanically, though I’m not sure what I’m agreeing to. My brain feels like it’s full of static. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I look at Ryan, waiting for him to say something, to explain what just happened. Waiting for him to tell me this is all some mistake, some terrible joke.
But he just looks back at me, his jaw still clenched, his eyes full of something that might be regret or pain or both. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t even mouth an apology.
How can he look at me like that and not say anything? How can he just stand there while my world falls apart?
“I need to go pack,” I hear myself say. My voice sounds strange.
“Of course,” Rich says kindly. “Take all the time you need.”
I walk toward the house on unsteady legs, barely aware of the cameras following me. This must be great television, watching me fall apart in real time. The heartbroken contestant who thought she had it all figured out.
My room feels too small and too big at the same time. I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, just trying to breathe, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Twenty minutes ago, I was sure Ryan was going to choose me. I was sure we had something real, something that went beyond the show and the cameras and all the artificial drama. I was sure he felt the same way about me that I feel about him.
But I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.
I start throwing things into my suitcase, not caring if they’re folded properly or if I’m forgetting anything. I just want to get out of here. I want to go home and crawl into my own bed and pretend this never happened.
My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.
Wait for me.
That’s it. Just three words. No explanation, no signature, nothing.
I stare at the message, trying to figure out who it could be from. Ryan? But why wouldn’t he use his own phone? And why would he tell me to wait when he just chose someone else?
A stupid part of me wants to believe it means everything. That there’s a reason. A plan. A second chance waiting just around the corner. But the smarter part of me. The part that’sdone waiting to be chosen. Wants to throw my phone out the window.
I wait for another message, some kind of clarification, but nothing comes. Just those three words hanging there, cryptic and meaningless.
I finish packing and drag my suitcase to the front door, where a producer is waiting to escort me to the limo. The same limo that brought me here all those weeks ago, full of hope and excitement and the crazy belief that maybe, just maybe, I might find something real.
“Ready?” the producer asks. I nod because I don’t trust my voice.
The ride home is a blur. I stare out the window at the city lights, trying not to think about Ryan, trying not to replay every moment between us and wonder where I went wrong.
But I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me tonight. The pain in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. He didn’t look like someone who had just made the choice he wanted to make. He looked like someone who had just done something that was killing him.
So why did he do it? Why did he choose JacqLyn when everything between us felt so real, so right?
My phone buzzes again. For a second my heart leaps, thinking it might be Ryan with an explanation. But it’s just Jay, asking how the ceremony went.
I can’t even begin to answer that question.
