The Producers Prompt

Summer

Monday morning brought a mandatory summons to the HypeTV production trailer, a massive, silver vehicle parked behind the campus library that looked like a command center for a small military operation.

"Sit, please," Sarah Sterling said, not looking up from a massive flatscreen monitor that displayed a grid of social media analytics.

Jaxson and I sat down on the leather banquet seat, deliberately leaving a careful two inches of space between our thighs.

"The numbers from Friday night are astronomical," Sarah said, finally turning to face us with a terrifyingly bright smile.

“The courtyard kiss has three million views. The clip of Jaxson refusing to fight Chad after that taunt is trending on T*****r under #ReformedJax. The university board is thrilled. The NHL scouts are actively calling his agent again."

I let out a small breath of relief, looking at Jaxson. His profile was stoic, but I could see the slight relaxation in his shoulders.

It was working.

The lie was saving him.

"However," Sarah continued, her smile instantly dropping into something cold and analytical.

“The data shows a plateau. The 'reformed bad boy' angle is great, but audiences get bored of stability quickly. They want jeopardy. They want to wonder if the relationship is going to survive."

A bad feeling started to bloom in the pit of my stomach.

“What do you mean, jeopardy?"

Sarah tapped her tablet, and the flatscreen monitor shifted to display a profile picture of a young woman.

She was stunning—tall, with long blonde hair, flawless skin, and a verified I*******m badge with over five hundred thousand followers.

"This is Vanessa Vance," Sarah announced. "Derek Vance's older sister, and... Jaxson’s ex-girlfriend from sophomore year."

Jaxson’s entire body went rigid.

“No," he said, his voice flat and hard as iron.

"Absolutely not. Vanessa has nothing to do with this."

"She does now," Sarah said smoothly.

“We’ve just signed her to a three-episode guest contract. She’s transferring back to Eastern this week for her winter term, and she’s going to be joining the show as a 'friend of the couple.' Her narrative purpose is to stir the pot. She’s going to drop hints that you two are still in contact, and that Summer is just a temporary distraction."

"Sarah, that’s a blatant lie," I said, my voice rising in panic. "Jaxson and I are—"

"It’s television, Summer," Sarah interrupted sharply.

"The audience needs to doubt your security. Tomorrow night is the Athletic Department Charity Gala. Vanessa will be there. She will be seated at your table. Jaxson, you will dance with her once for the cameras. Summer, you will look appropriately devastated from the sidelines."

I looked at Jaxson.

His jaw was clenched so hard a small muscle was twitching violently in his cheek.

His fists were white-knuckled in his lap.

"Vanessa left the school because her family forced her to," Jaxson muttered, his voice dropping into a dark, strained register. "She doesn't want this drama any more than I do."

"Her agent says otherwise," Sarah said, closing her folder with a definitive snap.

“The contract you both signed gives us full control over narrative prompts and guest casting. You show up tomorrow night, you wear the clothes our stylists picked out, and you play the scene. If either of you breaks character, or if you refuse to shoot the segment, it’s a breach of contract. And you both know what happens to the funding if that happens."

The threat hung in the air, heavy and absolute.

Ten minutes later, we walked out of the trailer into the crisp morning air.

Neither of us spoke until we reached the quiet, shaded path behind the library.

"Jaxson," I said, stopping him by his sleeve. "Who is she? Really?"

Jaxson stopped, looking out over the campus lawn. The look in his eyes wasn't anger anymore—it was a deep, haunting exhaustion.

"She’s the girl from the diner, Summer," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the wind.

I froze. "What?"

"The guy outside the diner... the donor’s son. He was her current boyfriend," Jaxson whispered, finally turning to look at me, his eyes full of raw truth.

“He was hurting her. She called me because she didn't know who else to call. I showed up, I pulled him off her, and he called the cops on me. The university covered it up because they didn't want the donor to pull his money, and they forced Vanessa to leave campus so she wouldn't talk to the police."

The truth hit me like a physical blow.

The scandal wasn't a reckless bar fight. It wasn't a jock losing his temper.

It was an act of pure, dangerous chivalry to save a girl from an abusive partner—a girl he used to love.

And now, the network was bringing her back to use her as a puppet for ratings.

"Jaxson," I breathed, stepping closer to him, my hand moving from his sleeve to grip his forearm.

"We can't let them do this. We can't let them twist this story."

"We don't have a choice, Summer," he said, looking down at my hand on his arm, a tired, sad smile touching his lips.

“They own us. Until the twelve weeks are up, we’re just characters in their script."

He turned and walked away, his broad shoulders hunched against the cold, leaving me standing alone on the path, realizing that the reality show wasn't just a trap for our futures—it was a weapon that was about to destroy the very real, fragile thing growing between us.