Scripted Marriage, Unscripted Obsession

[I bet a hundred bucks this fake couple won't last three episodes.]

On this top-rated reality show, my billionaire husband and I were the designated losers, set up to make his brother look like the ultimate power couple.

Then, a hidden camera in the corner caught it.

It caught the ruthless Wall Street titan with eyes like ice, dropping down on one knee onto the carpet.

With the exact same hands that signed off on ten-billion-dollar corporate buyouts, he gently and reverently cradled my ankle in his palm.

He tied my loose shoelaces.

The live chat imploded.

[To hell with the manufactured fluff! I'm here for the hidden gold in the corner!]

[Cut all the cameras to them right now! THIS is the real chemistry!!!]

Chapter 1

The biggest show I, Maeve, had ever been on in my entire life was a local food-tasting vlog three years ago. It had three hundred and twenty views. Not three hundred and twenty million. Not three hundred and twenty thousand.

Just three hundred and twenty. And a hundred and twenty of those were from my own burner accounts.

So when Nathaniel told me, "We're going on 'Heartbeat Countdown'," I nearly choked on my potato chips. "Say that again?"

He stood dead center in our living room. His dark gray dress shirt was buttoned all the way up to his throat. He gripped a contract in his hand, his expression as sterile as a guy delivering a quarterly earnings report.

"Season three of 'Heartbeat Countdown'. The producers need two couples. Ashton and Genevieve are the main attraction. We're the control group."

"Control group?" I asked.

"The bad example," he replied.

I stared at his facea face so cold it could probably save electricity for a refrigerator. He wasn't joking. "Why?"

"Grandmother's orders."

Perfect.

When the matriarch of the family spoke, even the Pacific Ocean had to part ways. I swallowed the last potato chip and signed my name on the dotted line.

Three days later, I stood at the entrance of the show's villa, gripping my suitcase. The European-style mansion covered at least five thousand square feet. The lawn was manicured like a PGA golf course.

Three luxury Sprinter vans and a row of camera equipment blocked the driveway.

I counted the camerasat least twenty. Tucked in the bushes, hidden behind the porch columns, even one staked out right by the bathroom.

I glanced back at Nathaniel. His face remained a blank slate. He grabbed my suitcase and strode ahead.

His dark, bespoke suit hugged his aggressively broad shoulders and narrow waist. He radiated the absolute dominance of an apex predator.

It was as if this five-thousand-square-foot mansion was just his casual backyard, and everyone else needed his personal permission just to breathe.

Except, this was supposed to be his brother and his brother's girlfriend's turf.

I trailed behind him. My footsteps felt light and unsteady, like an extra who had accidentally wandered onto a Hollywood A-list set.

Fact was, I was an extra. A Z-list nobody. I'd taken two background roles with zero lines.

My biggest career achievement was playing a supporting character who got hit by a car in a web seriesthree seconds of total screen time, two of which were just a shot of my back lying dead on the asphalt.

"Welcome, welcome! Right this way, you two" An assistant director jogged over to greet us. His eyes swept over me. His smile glitched for exactly 0.5 seconds.

It was a microscopic pause, but I caught it. He looked at me the way a guy at a seafood market looks at a cheap piece of tilapia sitting in a pile of Alaskan king crabs.

"Mrs. Hunt, the dressing room is on the second floor to your left. The stylists are already waiting for you"

"Skip it," Nathaniel cut him off. His voice wasn't loud, but the assistant director's smile instantly snapped back to one hundred percent.

"Sir?"

"She's fine as is."

I looked down at myself. A white t-shirt, jeans, Converse sneakers, and my hair thrown into a messy ponytail.

Then I looked at the swarm of stylists in the lobby, carrying racks of haute couture gowns I couldn't even pronounce.

I tugged his sleeve and dropped my voice. "Are you sure? Genevieve is a literal superstar. If I go on camera like this, the internet will roast me alive."

Nathaniel glanced down at me. "Yes."

A single word.

But his gaze lingered on my face for two solid seconds before pulling away. I didn't know how to read those two seconds. I just figured he couldn't be bothered to deal with me.

Looking back, that two-second pausethat violently restrained, under-the-surface gazewas the absolute ceiling of sexual tension that took forty million live viewers a whole week to dissect.

Chapter 2

At 2:00 PM, the cameras went live.

The living room had been transformed into a set. Every sofa cushion, coffee table book, and vase of flowers was positioned with clinical precision.

Roman, the host, stood center-stage. He looked into the lens with practiced charisma. "Welcome to Season Three of 'Heartbeat Countdown'! This season, we've brought together two very special couples"

Applause cued. Spotlights swung toward the grand staircase.

Genevieve and Ashton made their entrance first. Genevieve drifted down in a champagne-colored silk gown. Her hair was swept back into a messy-chic French low bun, teardrop diamonds dangling from her ears.

She flashed a perfect, camera-ready smile, her every step synchronized with the background track.

Ashton was right beside her in a sleek suit. His arm was draped possessively around her waist, his eyes full of rehearsed adoration.

He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, prompting Genevieve to hide a soft giggle behind her hand.

The live chat turned a nauseating shade of pink.

[She's here! The Queen has arrived!]

[Omg, Gen-Ash is literal goals. My heart can't take this sweetness!]

Then, it was our turn.

Actually, to be more accurate, I was physically nudged out by a staff member. White T-shirt. Jeans.

Nathaniel followed beside mehis face a frozen mask of indifference, his stride mechanical. There was a half-meter gap between us.

We looked like two strangers who had accidentally ended up on the same sidewalk.

In 0.3 seconds, the tone of the chat shifted.

[Wait this is the elder Hunt brother?]

[What is the wife wearing? Did the production run out of money?]

[You've got a superstar and a billionaire playboy, and next to them is a basic T-shirt and jeans? Am I watching a reality show or security footage?]

[What's with the husband's face? If he doesn't want to be here, he should leave. Who is he trying to intimidate?]

[So the wife is that Z-list nobody? Just Googled her. Credits: None. Followers: Single digits. LMAO.]

[I'll bet a hundred bucks this couple won't last past episode three.]

Roman chuckled as he did the introductions. "And here we have the Hunt family's eldest daughter-in-law, Maeve. Currently active in the uh, acting industry."

That "uh" told me everything. Even he didn't know how to define my career.

I waved at the camera. "Hi everyone, I'm Maeve. I'm a Z-list background actor. My special talent is eating."

The chat went silent for one beat before exploding.

[Special talent is eating??? Is she for real?]

[LOL, talk about a blunt intro.]

[At least she's real though that's not exactly a compliment]

Genevieve sat at the far end of the sofa, watching me with a shimmering smile. She looked at me the way someone looks at a stray cat they just rescued.

"Maeve, you're so adorable. So authentic," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "What do you like to eat? I know a lot of Michelin-starred chefs. I could give you some recommendations sometime."

Translation: Your palate probably doesn't go beyond street food. Let me enlighten you.

I leaned back against the sofa and thought for a second. "I'll eat anything. Lately, I've been obsessed with stinky fermented mandarin fish."

"Stinky fish?"

Genevieve's lashes fluttered. Her professional smile cracked.

Beside her, Ashton couldn't help but let out a derisive snort.

Roman jumped in to save the segment, pivoting to introduce this week's competition rules. I tuned most of it out. My eyes wandered around the room.

Twenty camera lenses were trained on the four of us, like twenty unblinking eyes.

Drowsiness started to hit me. My jaw unhinged as I let out half a yawn.

Suddenly, a hand reached over.

Nathaniel's fingers pressed down on my ponytail, which had tilted sideways from the yawn. He gently smoothed the strands, tucking a stray lock of hair back into place.

I turned to look at him.

He had already pulled his hand back. He was staring straight ahead, stony-faced, as if nothing had happened.

I touched my hair. It was perfectly centered again.

Chapter 3

No one in the live chat noticed. The main cameras missed it, too.

But one camerathe one the behind-the-scenes editor would only discover later while combing through the raw footagecaught the whole thing from the side.

His fingers threading through my hair, smoother than a stylist with a year of experience.

The first challenge: The Couples' Cooking Showdown.

The rules were simple. Each pair had to cook a dish together, and the live audience would vote on the winner.

"No limits on the menu, no limits on the ingredients. The kitchen is fully stocked." Roman clapped his hands. "You have forty minutes!"

Genevieve stood up first, looping her arm through Ashton's. "Ashton, how about we make your favorite? Escargot?"

Ashton leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I love whatever you make."

The screen instantly flooded with pink heart emojis.

The two of them walked hand-in-hand into Kitchen A, looking like the opening shot of a rom-com.

I stayed glued to the sofa. Nathaniel didn't move either.

Roman looked between us. "Uh Maeve, Nathaniel? Shouldn't you guys head to the kitchen, too?"

"Oh." I stood up and stretched. "Let's go, hubby."

[The way she calls him hubby is way too casual LOL]

[She sounds like she's calling her dog for a walk.]

Nathaniel adjusted his cuffs and followed me.

Kitchen B.

I popped the fridge open and squatted there for three minutes, rummaging around. "What should we make"

Nathaniel stood behind the island, arms crossed, waiting.

I pulled out a massive slab of raw bacon and slapped it on the counter. "Let's just do burgers."

[Burgers??? They're making escargot and she's making burgers??]

[The class difference is screaming right now.]

[Come on Maeve, at least pretend to try.]

The knife was dull. When I tried to slice through the thick slab of meat, I pressed down hard, and the cutting board slid dangerously across the marble counter.

A hand reached over and clamped down on the edge of the board.

Nathaniel had appeared right beside me. He held the board steady with one hand and slid the knife out of my grip with the other.

His massive frame practically caged me against the counter. I could feel the heat radiating from his solid chest and the sharp, cold scent of his cedarwood cologne.

His large, warm hand completely covered the back of mine, radiating an undeniable, aggressive protectiveness.

"I'll cut." He swapped the blade for one on the top tier of the knife blockclearly sharper.

With a flick of his wrist, the blade dropped in a clean, clinical motion.

Even thickness. Every single slice practically identical in width.

I stared at him. "Since when do you know how to prep meat?"

"I've watched you do it for two years."

[?? What does that mean? Watched her for two years?]

[So he's just been standing there watching her the whole time in the past?]

[Hold on, the lore drop is crazy right now.]

A burst of laughter drifted over from Kitchen A. I glanced through the glass partition. Genevieve was playfully smearing flour onto Ashton's cheek.

Ashton let out an exaggerated gasp, and they both dissolved into giggles.

The camera crew was swarming them. On our side, it was just one static wall camera.

The skillet got hot. I poured in the oil and tossed the meat in. The grease popped violently.

A drop of boiling oil shot straight toward my wrist

A shadow swept over.

Out of nowhere, Nathaniel had grabbed a heavy oven mitt, blocking the exact space in front of my wrist.

The boiling grease hit the fabric with a soft sizzle. I didn't feel any heat. I didn't even realize he had moved.

But the static camera caught every frame.

The live chat started buzzing with a new observation.

[Has anyone noticed the eldest Hunt brother hasn't left Maeve's side this entire time? They haven't exchanged more than a few words, but are they really a married couple?]

[The dangerous chemistry between them looks like they're going to swallow each other alive!]

Underneath that comment, someone replied with a screenshot.

Chapter 5

The image quality was garbagea grainy side angle from the static camera.

In the screenshot, Nathaniel held the heavy oven mitt perfectly stationed right in front of my wrist. A drop of boiling grease was caught mid-air, hitting the fabric.

And there I was, completely oblivious, tossing the heavy cast-iron skillet.

The top reply under it read: [Zoom in on Nathaniel's eyes. He's staring at her hands. The entire time.]

Likes: 87,000.

Day two of shooting.

The producers announced an afternoon "Chemistry Test." Each couple would be separated into different rooms to answer questions about their partner. The higher the matching score, the better.

My first thought? We were dead.

Nathaniel and I had been married for two years, but his executive assistant probably knew more about him than I did.

He left the house at six every morning and got back at ten at night, sometimes eleven. Our daily conversation quota maxed out at about ten sentences, and five of those were just him saying, "Mm."

I didn't even know his blood type.

Lunchtime. The four of us sat in the dining room.

Genevieve cradled a pour-over coffee, laughing and whispering intimately with Ashton. "Ashton, are you ready for the chemistry test this afternoon?"

She tilted her head, resting it against his shoulder. "We absolutely can't lose~"

Ashton's arm tightened possessively around her waist. "Of course I'm ready. The way I know you it goes way deeper than just two years."

He dragged out the words two years, his gaze flicking over to me.

The implication was loud and clear: his older brother's marriage was a cold corporate arrangement, but their love was the real deal.

I kept my head down and shoved another bite of food into my mouth, completely unbothered.

Right then, Genevieve stood upsupposedly to get a refill. She walked behind my chair with her mug.

A sudden stumble.

Half a cup of coffee splashed over the rim, pouring directly onto my white T-shirt. The dark brown liquid rapidly bled into the white cotton, blooming into an ugly stain.

"Oh my god!" Genevieve slapped a hand over her mouth, her face the picture of shock. "Maeve, I am so sorry! I tripped"

She grabbed a napkin and dabbed aggressively at my chest, only making the stain bigger and rubbing it in deeper. "Should I have my stylist pull an outfit for you? I have plenty of new designer pieces in my luggage"

I looked down at the massive coffee stain on my chest. Then I looked up at Genevieve.

Behind those heavy, expensive falsies, a microscopic glimmer of triumph flashed in her eyes.

The one perk of playing a Z-list extra for three years? I spent every single day on set observing actors' micro-expressions. I could spot this cheap, amateur acting class trick with my eyes closed.

"It's fine." I dragged my canvas tote bag out from under the chair, dug around for a second, and pulled out a hoodie.

It was gray, with a goofy cartoon shark printed on the hood. A ten-dollar clearance rack special.

Right in front of all the rolling cameras, I threw it on over my head, zipped it up, and brushed off my hands. "All good."

Genevieve's hand, still gripping the napkin, froze rigidly in mid-air.

[LMAO did Maeve really just pull a hoodie out of her bag??]

[I swear I saw that exact cartoon shark on Amazon for like $8.]

[Genevieve's face right nowshe clearly didn't expect Maeve to literally give zero fcks.]

[White tee for burgers, gray hoodie for the aftermath. Maeve, your vibe is incredibly consistent.]

Nathaniel hadn't said a single word the entire time.

But when I sat back down, a glass of warm milk appeared on the table right in front of me.

He slid it over. I hadn't even noticed him pour it.

Chapter 6

At 2:00 PM, the Chemistry Test began.

The setup was simple. One person sat up front answering questions, while their partner sat in a soundproof booth behind them, wearing noise-canceling headphones.

Both answers would flash on the massive digital screen at the exact same time.

Genevieve and Ashton went first.

"Question One: Your partner's favorite food?"

Genevieve: Black truffle pasta.

Ashton: Black truffle pasta.

Match. Polite applause rippled through the crew.

"Question One: Your partner's favorite food?"

"Question Two: Your partner's habit when they're angry?"

Genevieve: He just looks at me quietly, then takes my hand.

Ashton: I hold her hand and say nothing.

Match. The live chat flooded with pink heart emojis.

"Question Three: The one thing you want to say to your partner the most?"

Genevieve, her eyes welling with perfectly timed tears: You are the absolute best choice I've ever made.

Ashton, his voice dripping with rehearsed devotion: Meeting you was the greatest luck of my life.

But I noticed something.

Right before Roman read each question out loud, Genevieve's gaze flicked toward the teleprompter off-camera.

In theory, that prompter should only display the questions. But the moment she looked at it, the microscopic tension around her mouth vanished.

It was the exact physical tell of a student seeing a stolen answer key.

[Five for five! Gen-Ash chemistry is 100%!]

[So sweet, textbook romance!]

[Maeve and her husband are next, right? Ready for the trainwreck]

Our turn.

I slumped into the hot seat up front. My ten-dollar cartoon shark hoodie looked aggressively out of place against the velvet and gold-accented set.

In the back booth, Nathaniel wore the bulky noise-canceling headphones. He stared dead-center into the camera, his face a frozen mask.

He looked like a high-profile criminal waiting for a federal interrogationexcept most criminals didn't have a jawline sharp enough to cut glass.

I thought about it. He ate whatever the private chef served, but he never actively requested anything.

"He doesn't have a favorite," I answered. "But he hates cilantro. Whenever it's in his food, he picks out every single leaf and lines them up with perfect, mathematical precision on the edge of his plate."

The giant screen flashed Nathaniel's handwritten answer. "Spicy cup noodles. She always hoards at least six in the pantry."

Not a perfect match, but the sheer volume of hyper-specific personal detail absolutely obliterated the previous couple's generic fine-dining answers.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "So Maeve likes spicy noodles?"

I blinked. "How did he know I hoard exactly six?"

[LMAO Maeve's focus is hilarious.]

[Lining up cilantro? What kind of OCD billionaire behavior is that.]

[Six cups of spicy noodles, I can literally picture it.]

"Question Two: Your partner's habit when they're angry?"

"He doesn't really get angry," I answered truthfully. "Or if he does, you can't tell. He just goes from speaking five words to three."

The screen lit up with Nathaniel's answer. "She goes dead silent. Then she pops the batteries out of the TV remote."

The entire studio went pin-drop silent for one second.

"And the next day," Roman read off the second half of Nathaniel's board, his voice cracking slightly, "she pretends they just fell out."

A cold sweat instantly broke out across my spine. He knew I took them out???

The live chat completely lost its mind.

[TV remote batteries??? That's unhinged petty behavior LMAO!!!]

[So Nathaniel literally checks the remote every single day?]

[There's a specific type of love language here: I know what petty crime you committed, but I'm just gonna sit back and watch you lie about it.]

[I'm dying laughing, but why is this kinda hot? Like a bratty girl sulking and the ruthless Wall Street husband just quietly indulging her?]

"Question Three: The one trait you love most about your partner?"

I froze.

Our marriage was arranged by Grandmother. I had never once thought about what I "loved" about him.

"He's relatively quiet? Not noisy," I said guiltily.

Roman laughed, "That sounds like you're complimenting a refrigerator."

The giant screen lit up. Nathaniel's answer was just one sentence. "When she smiles at me. No one else."

Roman asked, "Could Mr. Hunt be more specific? What is it like when she smiles