Cupid's house

Emily arrived at Cupid’s House just as the sun dipped low, the sky blushing pink behind the towering white gates.

The place looked nothing like a facility meant to decide women’s futures. It looked like a resort. Tall iron gates swung open silently, revealing a long curved driveway lined with palm trees wrapped in twinkling lights. The mansion itself rose at the center, all white stone and glass balconies, glowing warmly as if it welcomed everyone equally.

Emily knew better.

She stepped out of the car with her overnight bag clutched tightly in her hand. The driver didn’t wish her luck. Didn’t say a word. He simply nodded and drove off, leaving her standing alone at the foot of the stairs.

A woman in a crisp white suit approached immediately, tablet in hand.

“Emily Harlow?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

“Welcome to Cupid’s House. Phones on silent. Cameras are everywhere. What you say here may be used on air.” Her smile was polite, professional, empty. “Follow me.”

Emily did, quietly.

Inside, the house was breathtaking. Marble floors. High ceilings. Mirrors everywhere. Too many mirrors. Emily caught her reflection more times than she wanted to. She looked small. Her red hair was tied in a messy bun. Her birthday dress, which had felt sparkly earlier, now seemed cheap in this luxurious place.

She looked across the room. Other girls were already there, scattered across the wide living room. Some sat on plush couches, others stood near the massive windows, pretending not to size one another up. She counted ten, but guessed there might be more.

Her guide clapped her hands lightly. “Ladies, we have another arrival.”

Every head turned.

Emily felt the weight of their gazes immediately. Some curious. Some assessing. Some already dismissive.

“This is Emily,” her guide said. “You all have twenty minutes before costume changes. You can spend that time getting to know one another.”

A tall brunette smiled first. “Hi. I’m Lila.”

She was quite beautiful. Not model-beautiful, but she looked good. Emily wondered what had brought her to a show like this.

“Marianne,” another said, flicking her hair back.

A blonde leaned against the arm of a chair, arms crossed, lips curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. Her eyes swept over Emily slowly, critically, before she looked away. She didn’t introduce herself.

Emily swallowed and offered a small wave. “Hi.”

No one responded to that.

She moved toward an empty seat near the corner, relief washing over her when she noticed someone already sitting there. A girl with dark hair pulled into a low braid, her posture stiff, hands folded neatly in her lap. One of her legs was braced, metal visible beneath the hem of her dress.

Emily hesitated, then sat beside her.

“Hi,” she said softly.

The girl looked up, startled, then smiled shyly. “Hi.”

“I’m Emily.”

“Nora,” she replied. Her voice was quiet but warm. “Nice to meet you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the room buzzing with low conversation around them.

“So,” Lila said from across the room, laughing a little too loudly, “how did you all end up here?”

Silence. No one responded.

“Well, I’ll go first,” Lila offered, then launched into a tale of being a forever girlfriend for eleven years until he broke up with her and married another woman less than a year later.

The conversation flowed easily after that. Like an invisible microphone being passed around, the girls narrated their experiences. Stories of terrible dates. Men who vanished mid-conversation. Only the blonde declined to speak, holding her cards close to her chest.

The invisible microphone passed to Nora, who talked about how her ill health had stopped her from pursuing romantic relationships. While her friends had been going on dates, she had been shuttling between hospitals.

Emily felt silly thinking about her own problems. Nora had it far worse.

“Life sucks. Men suck worse, darling,” Marianne said with a shrug.

The blonde scoffed softly.

Emily glanced at her.

The blonde finally spoke. “Or maybe it’s just standards.”

The room went quiet.

“What do you mean?” Lila asked carefully.

The blonde tilted her head, eyes flicking toward Nora’s brace, then back to Emily. “I mean, I didn’t realize Cupid’s House was expanding its criteria.”

Silence thickened.

“I didn’t know we were taking in… freaks now.”

Emily’s heart slammed into her ribs.

Nora stiffened beside her, hands tightening in her lap.

Emily stood before she realized she was moving.

“That’s not okay,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “You don’t get to talk about her like that.”

The blonde raised a brow, amused. “Relax. I was just asking.”

“You weren’t,” Emily replied. “You were being cruel.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

The blonde smiled slowly. “And you’re being noble. How sweet.”

She stepped closer. “But don’t pretend you’re different. You’re sitting next to her for a reason.”

The attention shifted. Like a spotlight swinging.

Emily opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her throat closed. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. Every practiced response vanished.

The blonde leaned in slightly. “Defending charity cases won’t change what you are.”

Emily’s face burned. She wanted to say something. Anything.

She couldn’t.

A coordinator appeared then, clapping sharply. “Alright, ladies. Dressing room. Time for fittings.”

The moment broke.

Nora looked up at Emily, eyes glassy. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Emily smiled weakly. “Of course.”

They were ushered down a long hallway into a spacious dressing room filled with racks of gowns and harsh white lights.

A woman with kind eyes and short silver hair approached Emily. “I’m Marla. I’ll be handling your look.”

Emily nodded, suddenly exhausted.

Marla studied her face, then her posture. “You’re pretty enough,” she said plainly.

Emily let out a small laugh. “Thank you.”

“What is a girl like you doing here?” Marla asked. “I think you shouldn’t have any problem getting a man.”

“Well, I’m twenty-seven today, and it hasn’t happened yet,” Emily said. “They always disappear. Like I scare them.”

Marla’s expression softened. “You don’t scare men,” she said gently. “You disappear for them.”

The words hit harder than the insult earlier.

“We’ll fix that,” Marla added, already guiding her toward a seat in front of the mirror. “Or at least make sure they see you.”

Emily glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t recognize herself. She couldn’t linger, as Marla was already pushing her toward the dress stands.

“I have just the right dress for you,” she said, shuffling through different gowns until she stopped at a royal blue sequin-and-satin dress. “Aha. I hope it fits. Go try this on.”

Emily changed, the gown slipping over her skin like armor. When she looked in the mirror, she almost didn’t recognize herself.

As they finished, the guide called from the hallway.

“Let’s line up, girls. We’re about to go live.”

Emily paused beside Nora as they stepped out. “You look beautiful,” she said, meaning it. Nora glanced at her reflection, then nodded, shy but steadier. “So do you.” The doors opened. Lights spilled in. The girls filed out, heels clicking. Emily took her seat, hands folded, courage already thinning.

She gestured to someone onstage. The TV screen started the countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.