Sophia's POV.
The next morning, sunlight pours into my bedroom like an unwelcome intruder. I groan, pulling the blanket over my head, trying to shield myself from the day I'm not ready to face. My body feels heavy, as if the weight of yesterday's breakdown has seeped into my bones.
I hear the faint buzz of my phone on the nightstand and consider ignoring it. But the thought that it might be Rachel pulls me from my cocoon of self-pity. I grope around blindly until my fingers close around the device.
One new message from Rachel.
Rachel: Check your email. Just trust me on this one.
I frown, sitting up against the headboard and letting the blanket fall to my lap. The email app is already open, and there it is, bolded and waiting for me: The Bachelor and You: Application Confirmation.
My heart sinks. She actually did it.
I click the email, half-hoping it's some sort of prank. But no, it's all there: an official logo, glittering gold letters, and a cheery message congratulating me on my submission.
"Congratulations, Sophia Lee! Your application has been pre-selected for the new season of The Bachelor and You! Our team will review your profile, and if chosen, you'll receive an official invitation to participate in this life-changing experience. Stay tuned!"
A frustrated groan escapes my lips, and I immediately dial Rachel.
She picks up on the second ring, her tone entirely too chipper for someone who's just sabotaged my life. "Good morning, sunshine!"
"Rachel." My voice is sharp. "What the hell is this?"
She doesn't even pretend to be confused. "Oh, good, you got the email! Isn't it exciting?"
"Exciting? You signed me up for a reality dating show without asking me!"
"I did you a favor." She sounds annoyingly calm, like she's explaining why broccoli is good for you. "You said you'd think about it, and I figured this would help you decide."
"I wasn't planning to decide this fast!" I snap. "And what if I don't even want to go?"
"You don't have to go," she says smoothly. "But, come on, Sophia. This is the universe giving you a chance to move forward. You can't ignore that."
"I can absolutely ignore it," I grumble, but there's no real conviction in my voice.
"Just think about it," she presses, her tone softening. "That's all I'm asking."
Before I can argue further, she hangs up, leaving me stewing in a mix of irritation and uncertainty.
I toss the phone onto the bed and swing my legs over the side, heading toward the kitchen. Coffee. I need coffee before I can process any of this.
An hour later, I'm sitting at the small dining table with my laptop open. The email still glares at me from the screen, mocking me with its glittery promise of adventure. I click on the application link out of morbid curiosity, scrolling through the questions I never answered—my favorite hobbies, dream date ideas, what I look for in a partner.
My stomach twists when I see the profile photo Rachel must have uploaded. It's from a beach trip last summer, taken long before Alexander shattered my world. I look carefree, sun-kissed, and smiling—a version of myself I barely recognize anymore.
I slam the laptop shut, shoving it aside. This isn't me. Not anymore.
The knock on my front door startles me. I glance at the clock—too early for deliveries, and Rachel has a key. Cautiously, I make my way to the door, peeking through the peephole.
A courier stands on the other side, holding a sleek black envelope.
I open the door hesitantly, and he hands me the envelope with a professional smile. "Miss Sophia Lee?"
"Yes," I say slowly.
"Congratulations," he says. "You've been formally invited to participate in The Bachelor and You."
My jaw drops, but before I can say anything, he's gone. I stand there, staring at the envelope like it's a ticking time bomb.
Back inside, I sit at the table and place the envelope in front of me. The thick, glossy material feels expensive under my fingers. My name is embossed in elegant gold script on the front.
For a long moment, I just stare at it, my heart pounding in my ears. Opening it feels like crossing a line I'm not sure I'm ready for.
But curiosity wins.
Inside is a formal invitation, complete with instructions, a detailed schedule, and a signed letter from Julian Styles, the enigmatic host of the show. There's also a golden ticket—a literal golden ticket—granting me access to the first phase of filming.
The letter reads:
Dear Sophia Lee,
We are thrilled to invite you to join the upcoming season of The Bachelor and You. As one of our selected participants, you will have the opportunity to embark on a once-in-a-lifetime journey to find love, friendship, and self-discovery.
The experience begins with an all-expenses-paid stay at the Bachelor Mansion, where you will compete in fun challenges, form meaningful connections, and explore the possibility of true love. Filming Ibegins in two weeks, and we look forward to welcoming you to this exciting new chapter of your life.
Warm regards,
Julian Styles
Host of The Bachelor and You
I set the letter down, my hands trembling. Two weeks. Two weeks to decide if I'm going to turn my life upside down and throw myself into the chaos of reality television.
I sit there, staring at the golden ticket, feeling its weight even though it's just a slip of cardstock. My thoughts churn in endless circles. What would this even look like? Cameras following me everywhere, capturing every awkward moment, every vulnerable glance. The idea makes me cringe, but there's a flicker of something else, too. A small, stubborn ember of curiosity.
I get up and pace the room, the letter still clutched in my hand. My feet tread the same well-worn path between the couch and the window, my mind replaying Rachel's words over and over. You need this. It's a chance to shake things up, to forget about him.
Forget about him. Alexander. His face flashes in my mind—those dark eyes I used to find so comforting, now a source of endless questions. Why did he leave? Was it me? Did I do something wrong? The same thoughts have been haunting me for weeks, looping in my head until they're all I can hear.
I stop pacing and lean against the windowsill, staring out at the world beyond. A group of kids plays basketball on the street corner, their laughter drifting up to my apartment. They look so carefree, so alive.
When was the last time I felt like that?
I glance at the envelope on the table, then at my phone. My thumb hovers over Rachel's number before I press it.
She picks up immediately, her voice bright. "Sophia! Don't tell me you've already made up your mind."
I don't even bother with a greeting. "What exactly did you write in that application?"
Rachel laughs, a little too mischievously for my liking. "Oh, you know, the basics. That you're adventurous, passionate, and ready for love. The usual."
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Adventurous? Rachel, I haven't even been to the grocery store in three days."
"Details," she says dismissively. "Look, I might've embellished a little, but the important thing is that they picked you. Doesn't that tell you something?"
"It tells me you're really good at lying."
"You're welcome," she quips. "Now, are you going to go, or do I have to show up at your door and drag you to the mansion myself?"
I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. "I don't know," I admit finally. "This feels… crazy. What if I humiliate myself? What if—"
"What if you don't?" she interrupts. Her tone softens, turning serious. "What if this is exactly what you need to start over? You've been stuck, Sophia. You deserve a chance to move forward, to find something—or someone—that makes you happy again."
Her words hit me harder than I expect. I stare at the golden ticket, turning it over in my hands. There's no harm in considering it, right? No harm in taking one step toward something new.
"Okay," I say slowly. "I'll think about it."
Rachel lets out a whoop of triumph that makes me wince. "That's all I ask! Just think about it, and let me know if you need help packing. You're going to crush it, Sophia."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," I warn, but there's a tiny smile tugging at the corner of my mouth as I hang up.
I sink back into my chair, staring at the invitation. The mansion, the cameras, the challenges—it all feels so surreal, so far removed from my quiet, broken little life. And yet, the idea sparks something I haven't felt in a long time. Hope.
For the first time in weeks, I allow myself to imagine a future beyond the pain. A future where I might laugh again, trust again, maybe even love again. It's terrifying, but it's also... tempting.
I carefully place the ticket back in the envelope and set it on the table. Two weeks. I have two weeks to decide if I'm brave enough to take the leap.
As I head to bed that night, I feel a tiny shift inside
me. It's not much—just the faintest crack in the wall I've built around myself—but it's something. And for now, that's enough.