Chapter 2

Back in the sterile, impersonal hotel room assigned to me by the show, I replayed the scene over and over in my head. Jake's cold eyes, his dismissive tone, Chloe's triumphant smile. Each memory was a fresh wave of pain. I curled up on the bed, hugging a pillow to my chest, trying to quiet the frantic beating of my heart. The silence of the room was deafening.

My mind drifted back seven years, to the day I told him I was leaving. We were in our tiny shared apartment, surrounded by moving boxes. I remember the excitement bubbling inside me, the thrill of the scholarship to Paris. I thought he would be happy for me.

"It's just for a couple of years, Jake," I'd said, trying to soothe the wounded look on his face. "We can make it work. We'll visit, we'll call every day."

He had just shaken his head. "Ava, don't you get it? You're choosing a life without me."

"That's not true!" I had insisted, my own voice rising. "I'm choosing my dream! I thought you wanted me to follow my dreams."

I had been so sure of myself, so certain that our love was strong enough to withstand anything. I believed he understood my passion for art was a part of me, not a choice over him. Looking back now, I saw the foolishness of my youthful optimism. He had seen it for what it was: an ending. I had been too wrapped up in my own ambitions to see the depth of his hurt.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling me. I glanced at the screen. It was Liam, our mutual friend from college. The only person who knew the whole story, the only one who had kept in touch with both of us over the years. I hesitated, then answered.

"Ava? Are you okay? I just saw the broadcast," his voice was full of concern.

"I'm fine," I lied, my voice thick with unshed tears.

"No, you're not," he said gently. "Listen, don't let him get to you. He's... he's not himself. He's still hurt, Ava. That whole thing with Chloe is just a front. He's trying to protect himself."

"It didn't look like a front, Liam," I choked out. "He looked at me like I was a complete stranger."

"He's an idiot," Liam said, and I could almost hear him shaking his head. "But he still cares. I know he does. Just... don't give up yet."

His words were a small, fragile sliver of hope in the darkness. Maybe Liam was right. Maybe beneath that cold exterior, the Jake I knew was still in there somewhere.

Later that night, unable to sleep, I wandered out of my room and down the long, quiet hallway of the hotel floor reserved for the contestants. As I turned a corner, I saw him. Jake was standing by a large window at the end of the hall, staring out at the city lights. He was alone.

This was my chance. I took a deep breath and walked toward him.

"Jake?" I said softly.

He didn't turn around. He just stood there, his back rigid. It was like he hadn't even heard me.

Just as I was about to speak again, a door down the hall opened and Chloe emerged, wrapped in a silk robe. She walked directly to Jake, a playful pout on her lips.

"There you are," she said, her voice a low purr. "I was getting lonely."

She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head on his back. And this time, he reacted. He turned, his body language softening as he looked down at her. He said something I couldn't hear, and she laughed. Then, he put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back toward her room, the one right next to his. I watched them go, my feet rooted to the spot. They disappeared inside, and a moment later, I heard the distinct, final click of a lock.

I stood there in the empty hallway for I don't know how long. The hope Liam had given me dissolved into a bitter, heavy lump in my stomach. I had no right to be here, no right to question him, no right to feel this gut-wrenching jealousy. I was the one who left.

Defeated, I returned to my room. I picked up my phone, my thumb hovering over his contact. I scrolled up, looking at the string of messages I'd sent over the years. Birthday wishes, congratulations on his company's success, simple "how are you's." None of them had a "read" receipt. None of them had ever been answered. My fingers fumbled, and before I could stop myself, I accidentally typed and sent a single, desperate character.

"?"

It sat there at the bottom of the one-sided conversation, a pathetic symbol of my lingering, hopeless question.