LOGINThe local supermarket had been transformed into a gladiator arena.Cameras were mounted on the ends of aisles. GoPro cameras were strapped to the shopping carts. The fluorescent lights buzzed with a manic intensity that matched Mira Kovari’s smile as she stood by the automatic doors, holding a stack of envelopes."Welcome to the 'Domestic Bliss' Challenge!" Mira announced, her voice echoing over the store's PA system. "Love isn't just about candlelit dinners. It's about budgeting! It's about compromise! It's about arguing over which brand of toilet paper is softer!"She handed an envelope to each couple."Inside is fifty dollars cash," Mira said. "Your task: Buy a week's worth of groceries for two people. Healthy, balanced, and creative. You have forty-five minutes. The couple with the most nutritional value and the least waste wins the 'Date Night' card. Go!"Elion stared at the fifty-dollar bill in his hand.Fifty dollars. For a week. For two grown men.His chest tightened. The fami
The dining room table had been extended to accommodate all thirteen contestants, creating a long, candlelit runway of white linen and tension.Mira had declared tonight a "Family Dinner." No challenges, no eliminations, just "authentic connection." Which, in reality TV terms, meant free-flowing wine and cameras zooming in on every micro-expression of annoyance.Elion sat at the center of the table, flanked by Cale on his right and a very chatty Mia on his left."I’m just saying," Mia said, gesturing with a forkful of roasted potato, "that mercury is in retrograde. That explains why the souffle collapsed yesterday. It wasn't the oven temp, it was the cosmos."Elion took a sip of wine. "That is certainly one hypothesis, Mia. Another is that someone opened the oven door too early.""Energy affects matter, Elion," Mia insisted. "You of all people should know that. You're dating Mr. Vibe Check over there."She pointed her fork at Cale.Cale was cutting his steak with surgical precision. He
The Green Room was buzzing with the post-breakfast high. Kieran was loudly recounting his culinary disaster to anyone who would listen, framing it as an avant-garde choice rather than incompetence. Mia was blotting a stain on her blouse with soda water, muttering about lawsuits.Elion sat in the corner, nursing a bottle of water. He watched Cale.Cale was standing by the craft services table, organizing the tea bags by caffeine content. He looked calm. He looked normal.But Elion knew better. He knew about the eggs. He knew about the specific salt ratio."Elion! Cale!" a production assistant shouted. "Individual interviews. Now. Elion in Booth A, Cale in Booth B.""Separation," Elion murmured, standing up. "Divide and conquer."Cale looked up. "It's standard interrogation tactics. Isolate the subjects. Compare stories.""We don't have a story, Cale. We have a breakfast.""We have a narrative," Cale corrected. "Stick to the truth.""Which truth? The one where you're a psychic chef, or
The intercom buzzed at 6:00 AM, a harsh, electric drill sound that shattered the fragile peace of the suite.Elion groaned, burying his face in the pillow."I'm not here," Elion mumbled. "Tell them I died in the night. Tell them it was tragic.""They have cameras, Elion," Cale’s voice came from the floor. "They can see you breathing."Elion lifted his head. Cale was already up, folding the blanket on his makeshift bed. He looked alert, as if he had been waiting for the buzzer."You're disgusting," Elion said. "How are you awake? We went to bed four hours ago.""I rested," Cale said. "Efficiency.""Stop saying that word. It makes you sound like a blender.""Good morning, lovers!" Mira’s voice screeched through the speaker. "Rise and shine! Today is about service! Today is about care! Report to the kitchen in fifteen minutes for the 'Breakfast in Bed' Challenge!""Breakfast in bed?" Elion repeated, sitting up. "Does that mean we get to stay in bed?""It means one of us cooks," Cale inte
The laundry room of the mansion was located in the basement, a stark contrast to the gilt-and-velvet excess of the upper floors. It was a utilitarian space of concrete floors, humming machines, and the cloying scent of industrial detergent.To Elion, it was paradise.It was the only room in the house that didn't feel like a stage set. It felt real. It felt like a Tuesday.He stood in front of a row of six washing machines, clutching a basket of dirty clothes. He was wearing his glasses, his hair was unstyled, and he was staring at the settings dial with the intensity of a bomb defusal expert."Cold wash," a voice said from the doorway. "Delicate cycle. Low spin."Elion didn't turn around. He recognized the cadence. He recognized the calm, unauthorized authority."I know how to do laundry, Cale," Elion said. "I've been washing my own clothes since I was twelve.""I know," Cale said, walking into the room. He set his own small basket on the folding table. "But you're holding a cashmere
The mansion settled into the night like a beast exhaling.Floors creaked. Pipes groaned. The wind rattled the windowpanes of Suite 1 with a persistent, rhythmic tapping that sounded, to Elion’s sleep-deprived brain, like a code he couldn't crack.3:14 AM.Elion lay on his back, staring at the canopy of the bed. His body was exhausted—drained by the panic attack in the alcove and the forced cheerfulness of the budget victory—but his mind was a centrifuge, spinning at maximum velocity.Rent. Utilities. Therapy. Cat food.The numbers from the ledger danced behind his eyelids. They weren't just numbers. They were markers of failure.He rolled over. He punched his pillow. He rolled back."You're thinking too loud," a voice whispered from the corner.Elion froze. He peered into the gloom.Cale was sitting up on the chaise lounge. He wasn't lying down. He was sitting with his back straight, legs crossed, looking like a sentinel guarding a tomb. In the faint moonlight filtering through the ga






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