My arm was linked with a gorgeous model's, and we were trading flirtatious glances. Across the room, Matt Itzin was gripping a kitchen knife, his face as dark as a thundercloud. Yes, I was a guest star on a reality dating show. And the director’s brilliant idea for my role? Seduce my ex-boyfriend Matt’s on-screen partner. 1. After my breakup with Matt Itzin, I got an invitation to a reality dating show. My job as a guest star was to be the villain, the pot-stirrer sent in to wreak havoc on the show's established couples. It was a recipe for drama, a surefire way to go viral—even if for all the wrong reasons. The pay was great. For a struggling, D-list actress like me, I had neither the right nor the reason to refuse. Besides, only a fool turns down good money. After a moment's thought, I gladly accepted. But the second I dragged my small suitcase into the show’s villa, regret hit me like a ton of bricks. Matt Itzin was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smug, triumphant look dancing in his eyes. “Regrets?” he murmured, leaning in so close his breath warmed my ear. I straightened my spine, refusing to be intimidated. I tilted my head away, escaping the heat that was making my ears burn. I arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me," I said, my voice sharp. "You're in my way." He mimicked my expression. "Is that so? What a shame." I didn't hesitate. I shouldered past him, my body brushing against his in the narrow doorway. The contact was brief, but it was enough. I felt his breath hitch, his body tense. Maybe I’d pushed too hard, or maybe it was something else entirely. I didn't care to find out. The small act of defiance did little to quell my anger; instead, it only stirred up hazy, heated memories of our bodies tangled together. Matt and I hadn't exactly parted on good terms. A month ago, some paparazzo had snapped photos of us entering the same hotel minutes apart. The online fallout was instantaneous, and the weight of public opinion came crashing down on me. I’d never had that kind of attention before, and I couldn't handle it. A week ago, I’d told him it was over. Of course, Matt hadn't agreed. I blocked his number, his socials—every possible way he could reach me. I even found a new apartment. I’d buried my head in the sand like an ostrich, but it had worked. At least, I’d been confident it had worked. Confident enough to think I could face him again without falling apart. One look, and that confidence shattered. I practically sprinted to my assigned room, dragging my luggage behind me. The moment the lock clicked shut, I felt my soul rush back into my body. "Phoebe, could you be any more of a coward?!" I raged at myself in the silent room. The sharp ping of a text message cut through the quiet. It was the director, summoning everyone to the main living area. I might be a nobody, but I was a professional. I quickly composed myself, plastered on a smile, and headed downstairs to meet the rest of the cast. "Hi, Phoebe! I'm Mia," a tall, stunning model greeted me, warmly linking her arm through mine. According to the script, Mia and Matt were supposed to be the show’s golden couple. My job was to do everything in my power to break them up. It was a dirty job, but someone had to do it. The male contestants were in the kitchen, putting on a show of their culinary skills. Some magnetic pull drew my eyes that way. Matt’s physique was, to put it mildly, flawless. Tall and lean, the crisp white shirt he wore only hinted at the muscle beneath, creating an aura of restrained temptation. As if he could feel my gaze, he froze mid-chop and looked up, his eyes meeting mine. In that split second, I whipped my head back toward Mia, but it was too late. Mia caught the unguarded emotion in my eyes and a flicker of understanding crossed her face. Her professionalism, however, seemed to have been channeled into her role. "I get it," she whispered, then leaned in closer, her gaze locked on mine. To anyone watching, we were practically snuggling, exchanging intimate glances. Her intense stare was almost too much. I let my eyes drift away, and they landed, inevitably, back in the kitchen. Matt still held the knife. He was staring directly at us, his face impossibly dark. This dating show was all about fast-paced drama, airing the same day it was filmed with minimal editing. It was raw, and it was real. After the first day’s broadcast, the internet exploded. The gossip about Matt and me hadn't even died down, and here I was, already getting cozy with his on-screen partner, Mia. Some people thought I was just desperate for fame. Others found it thrilling. What’s more dramatic than a love triangle? A love triangle where the "other woman" sets her sights on the girl! The #PhoebeMia ship started trending, and suddenly, we both had a taste of real fame. Mia pulled me aside later, a glint in her eye. She thought we’d stumbled onto a goldmine—a perfect path back into the spotlight. We decided to pitch it to the director. But the moment we walked into the director's office, my courage evaporated. There he was: Matt Itzin, our resident "Dark and Brooding Superstar," his face a mask of irritation as he spoke with the director. He looked up as the door opened, his gaze zeroing in on me. My knees felt weak. If Mia hadn't been holding onto my arm, I would have bolted. "Phoebe, Mia? What's up?" the director asked, oblivious. "Director, we… um…" Matt's stare was like a physical weight, pinning me to the spot. My throat went dry, a wave of guilt washing over me. "Since Matt’s here anyway," Mia said, jumping in smoothly, "Phoebe and I were talking, and we think we've found a new angle." "A new angle?" It wasn't the director who answered. It was Matt. "Yeah, Matt," Mia said, completely missing the dangerous edge in his voice. "The #PhoebeMia ship is blowing up online. If we lean into it, the show's ratings will go through the roof…" With every word Mia spoke, Matt's expression grew darker. By the time she finished, he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust. The director nervously wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "Is that what you want, too?" Matt’s eyes had never left me. He bit out the words, each one a sharp, jagged stone. Under that intense pressure, something inside me snapped. A sudden, reckless courage surged through me. I lifted my chin and met his gaze head-on. "That's right. I think Mia and I… we make a better pair than you and Mia." I watched his jaw clench, a thrill of fear and satisfaction running through me. I added, a little shakily, "At least, that's what the audience thinks." Mia nodded enthusiastically beside me. The director looked like he wanted to crawl under his desk. A bitter, humorless smile twisted Matt’s lips. He nodded slowly. "Phoebe," he breathed, "you’ve got some nerve." The director raised a timid hand. "So, uh, Matt… about the script?" Matt leaned against the desk, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. After a long moment, he sighed. "Change it. Do what she wants." Mia reacted instantly. She grabbed my arm, pulled me into a perfect ninety-degree bow, and then hustled us out of the room before he could change his mind. That night, the director sent over the new script. Along with it came a contact recommendation for Matt’s number. Phoebe, Matt said you blocked him. Could you… maybe add him back? His profile picture was a solid black icon with a tiny mute symbol I'd doodled on it ages ago. I used to tease him that it was perfect for him, a man of few words. Now, ironically, I was the one who couldn't find the words to say what I felt. I sent the friend request. He accepted it a second later, as if he'd been waiting. I clutched my phone, my eyes glued to the screen. One second, two… One minute, two… Half an hour passed. Nothing. A sigh escaped my lips, a bitter mix of disappointment and self-recrimination welling up in my chest. I was the one who'd ended things. I was the one who’d run away. What right did I have to feel sorry for myself now? You're being pathetic, I told myself. But tears betrayed me, streaming down my face as if to mock my own hypocrisy. After lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, I picked up my phone again and, on autopilot, opened Matt's social media feed. He rarely posted, so I wasn't expecting anything. But there it was. A new post, right at the top. A screenshot of tomorrow’s weather forecast, showing a blistering heatwave. The caption read: Don’t forget sunscreen. It hit me then. Back when we were together, Matt had always been the one to check the weather for me. It had become a habit, one I'd completely forgotten. Habits are terrifying things. With a heavy heart, I moved the weather app back to my phone’s home screen. The next day's activity was a camping trip and a cookout. The other contestants were groaning about the heat. "Which idiot scheduled a camping trip in this heat?" an influencer muttered beside me. "Seriously," Mia chimed in. "We won't even need a lighter. We could probably just spontaneously combust." I was doing okay, thanks to the warning. I wasn't feeling the heat as badly as the others. Up ahead, Matt, who had been leading the group, glanced back. His eyes swept over me, from my sun hat down to my long sleeves. A small, satisfied smile touched his lips when he saw I was fully prepared. I felt a flush of awkwardness and instinctively ducked behind the person next to me. Only after I’d hidden did I realize my mistake. The influencer gave me a knowing look, then glanced between me, Mia, and his own on-screen partner. "Did we switch partners again without telling me?" he asked, confused. Before I could form a reply, a hard, muscular arm wedged between us, creating a solid barrier. "We didn't switch," Matt said, his voice cold and final. "Go find your own partner," he told the influencer, but his eyes were locked on me. I'd grown somewhat accustomed to his constant staring over the past couple of days. The initial heart-pounding panic had faded into a defiant boldness. I met his gaze. "I need to find my partner, too." A slow smile spread across Matt’s face. "Go ahead." But he didn't move. He stood there, blocking my path. Mia and the others were getting further ahead. Panicked, I jabbed him with my elbow. "Would you move?" He took the hit without flinching. "Your partner is right here. Who are you looking for?" I froze. "What?" He stepped aside, gesturing to the side of the path. A camera was set up there, pointed directly at us. Matt’s features were sharp, but his fair complexion softened his intensity. Backlit by the sun, every strand of his hair seemed to glow, giving him a warm, youthful aura. It was only then I realized he’d been walking just ahead of me the whole time, his body blocking the worst of the sun. My heart began to hammer against my ribs. The feelings I thought I'd suffocated were clawing their way back to the surface. Matt leaned down, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. A devastatingly charming smile played on his lips. "You know what sells even better than a girl stirring up trouble?" he murmured, his voice a low, hypnotic hum. I shook my head, mesmerized. He let out a soft chuckle. "The male pot-stirrer." I was stunned. What was happening? I thought the script was changed so that Mia and I… And then it hit me. Originally, Matt and Mia were the couple, and I was the villain. But now that Mia and I were the couple, the villain role had fallen to… I looked at him in disbelief. He just winked at me. The director, seeing the perfect chemistry unfolding, gestured for two more cameras to surround us. I was trapped in a 360-degree prison of lenses. I took a deep breath, shoving down my shock, and managed a shy, bashful smile for the cameras. Now that's professionalism, I thought, giving myself a mental high-five. My pride lasted about three seconds before I was completely outmatched. With a subtle flick of his fingers, Matt hooked the small bag I was carrying out of my hand. As he took it, his thumb brushed deliberately across my palm. A jolt shot through me. I instinctively tried to pull away, but his other hand shot out and steadied me. "Careful," he whispered. His voice was soft, but his touch was electric. Every inch of skin he’d touched was burning. I lowered my voice. "An A-list actor like you, stooping to play the villain?" He leaned in, his voice just as low. "We dumpees have to be this desperate, you know." "..." I glanced at the cameras. From the slight smirk on the cameraman's face, I knew our entire exchange had been captured. But I wasn't too worried. From the way the director deferred to him, it was clear Matt was the one calling the shots on this show. He'd never let a clip air that showed a superstar like him getting dumped by a nobody. It would be humiliating. I told myself it was only for a few more days and decided to just roll with it. Thankfully, a few other contestants swarmed Matt for some screen time, giving me a moment to breathe. When we reached the campsite, my official partner, Mia, started on the food while I tackled the tent. We kept up the act, exchanging flirtatious looks and "accidental" touches. Working with a beautiful woman was always a pleasure, and I was grinning like an idiot, fully committed to selling our on-screen romance. I was about to lean in for another "candid" moment when the collar of my shirt was yanked, and I was pulled backward. "Phoebe!" Mia cried out, but when she saw who was behind me, her expression shifted to one of subtle amusement. I stumbled into a solid chest, enveloped by a cool, clean scent that felt all too familiar. A soft chuckle vibrated against my ear. "So clumsy," that familiar voice teased. "..." I said, deadpan. "I wonder whose fault that is." He accepted the blame without missing a beat. "Mine." I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me, a real, genuine laugh that seemed to wash away all the tension and gloom of the past few days. Matt took the small hammer from my hand and started assembling the tent. He wasn't just handsome; he was also incredibly skilled. The pile of poles and fabric that had been a confusing mess to me came together like magic in his hands. Within minutes, the tent was halfway done. Other contestants gathered around, drawn by the spectacle. "Wow, Matt, you're a natural at this!" "I knew you could cook, but you can build a tent, too? Is there anything you can't do?" "Hey, superstar, help us out next, will ya?" "Get in line! He's only showing off to impress a certain someone, hahaha!" The group’s playful chatter filled the air, creating a lively, fun atmosphere. Amid the noise, a strange feeling washed over me, and I found myself looking at Matt, the center of attention. His eyes were already on me. Through all the laughter and chatter, his gaze was a steady, burning intensity. It was a look so focused, so unwavering, it felt like he was trying to etch my image into his memory, to brand it onto his soul. So he would never forget. The tent was finished in no time. Matt casually walked over, pulled up a folding chair, and sat down beside me. The other groups were still struggling, making our corner of the campsite feel like a peaceful oasis. "Here you go, babe. Open up." Mia held out a piece of freshly grilled meat, blowing on it gently before holding it to my lips. "Delicious!" I gave her a thumbs-up. A couple of the other female contestants wandered over to chat. We were in the middle of some juicy gossip when a long, elegant hand appeared in front of me, holding a piece of crisp lettuce. "Here you go, babe. Open up." I stared in shock at Matt. The others erupted in whistles and cheers. Matt, however, looked genuinely confused. "What? That’s what Mia just called you." Before I could argue, he pressed on. "She can, but I can't?" Gasps and whoops echoed around us. My own heart was doing a frantic dance in my chest. No wonder they say you only hate a pot-stirrer when they're not stirring the pot for you. Experiencing it firsthand was a whole different story. Another group finished their tent just in time to hear his question. Ryan, an actor known for his roles in teen dramas, yelled out, "Matt, a man can never say he can't do something!" Everyone burst out laughing. To my surprise, Matt played along. "You're right. I guess I have to, then." Mia, my official partner, wasn't about to be outdone. She wrapped her arm around mine and leaned against me possessively. She pointed at Ryan. "Hey! Only I get to call her 'babe.' Right, babe?" Caught in the middle, I laughed and nodded, feeling the weight of a dozen pairs of eyes on me, like a row of spotlights. The director, sensing the peak in atmosphere, called for a cut and announced the start of the game. This show was built on drama. Each team was a trio: an on-screen couple and a designated villain. Our team was the exception. We had a male villain. And he was still fixated on whether he could call me 'babe' as the director explained the rules. "The four teams will be split into two larger groups. You'll take turns throwing darts. No one can throw for you. If one person misses the target, the entire team has to start over. The first group where every member hits the target wins a gourmet meal prepared by the crew and a luxury prize." The target wasn't far, and under normal circumstances, hitting it would be easy. But after a long, hot morning, everyone was exhausted, which made the challenge significantly harder. "Dude, Matt, are you even human?" After hitting his sixth bullseye in a row, Matt had successfully earned the awe and envy of everyone present. Following his lead, Mia and I, having conserved our energy thanks to Matt’s tent-building, were hitting the target five times out of six. The other team in our group, however, was struggling, barely hitting it at all. Though our two teams had vastly different high points, our low points were surprisingly similar. After the other team failed yet again, Mia grabbed a selfie stick and playfully chased after them. "That's it, I'm coming for you! I'm starving!" They ran, laughing and dodging, turning the scene into a ridiculous, chaotic chase. I was watching, thoroughly amused, when a weight settled on my shoulder. The cool, familiar scent filled my senses as Matt rested his head on my shoulder, his soft hair tickling my cheek. I squirmed, trying to turn away from the ticklish sensation. The next second, a hand with long, elegant fingers gently cupped my chin, turning my face back to his. The distance between us was dangerously small. Another inch, another breath, and our lips, separated for so long, would be pressed together just like they used to be. Muscle memory is a terrifying thing. My mind went blank, a roar filling my ears as blood rushed to my limbs, paralyzing me. I risked a glance to the side. Mia and the others were still fooling around, oblivious to what was happening here. "Look at me, okay?" Matt’s eyes were hazy, his thumb tracing the curve of my bottom lip. His voice was a low, husky whisper. "Just look at me. Please?" That was something I couldn’t do. My body, frozen for what felt like an eternity, suddenly lurched back to life. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, I shoved him away. Matt, caught off guard by my sudden rejection in the middle of such a charged moment, stumbled back, a look of pure shock on his face.
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