The late afternoon sun hung low over Santorini, casting a hazy golden light over the villa. Vivien sat on the edge of the infinity pool, her feet dipping into the cool water. She was alone, something she had fiercely sought out after the morning's tense interaction with Vanessa. The day had unraveled in ways she hadn't anticipated, and she needed a moment to sort through her thoughts.
Her phone buzzed beside her, lighting up with yet another notification. #VivienAndRen was trending again, the internet feeding voraciously on every photo and clip from their campaign. Normally, she would have found some satisfaction in the success, but today, the attention felt invasive, suffocating.
She stared at the water, the gentle ripples reflecting the colors of the setting sun. As much as she tried to focus on the horizon, her mind kept circling back to Vanessa's words.
---
"You act like you're special to him, but Ren's good at this game. He knows exactly how to make people feel that way."
The memory of Vanessa's smooth, calculating tone replayed in Vivien's mind, her words curling around her thoughts like smoke, impossible to dispel. Vivien's grip tightened on the edge of the chair she sat in, her knuckles pale against the polished wood. A fresh wave of irritation coursed through her veins, not just at Vanessa's audacity but at her own inability to shake the seeds of doubt the woman had planted.
Vivien prided herself on being grounded, on not letting people manipulate her emotions or sway her decisions. She had built her brand, her life, on a foundation of authenticity—being unshakable, resolute. Yet, in just a few cutting sentences, Vanessa had managed to make her question everything.
The nerve Vanessa had struck wasn't just a minor annoyance; it was something deeper, something Vivien wasn't ready to confront. Had I been naive to think Ren's attention was genuine? she wondered, the thought gnawing at her composure.
Vivien pressed her palms against her temples, closing her eyes as if shutting out the world would quiet the onslaught of thoughts swirling in her mind. It wasn't just about Vanessa's words. It wasn't even entirely about Vanessa. It was about Ren—his teasing comments that always seemed to carry a layer of sincerity beneath the banter, the fleeting moments of vulnerability he shared when no one else was paying attention.
Then there was the way he looked at her—not when the cameras were rolling, but when they were alone, when there was no audience to impress. His gaze wasn't performative, and it wasn't calculated, at least not in the way Vanessa seemed to suggest. Those moments didn't feel fake.
But how could she trust her own instincts? How could she trust herself not to be just another pawn in what Vanessa had so confidently labeled Ren's "game"?
Her thoughts spiraled, replaying every interaction with Ren through a filter she didn't want to admit Vanessa had given her. Every laugh, every touch, every moment suddenly felt layered with doubt. Was she reading too much into it, or not enough?
The Aegean breeze drifted in through the open windows, rustling the curtains softly. Vivien tried to let the sound ground her, but it did little to calm the storm inside. She had spent so much of her life carefully guarding her emotions, shielding herself from the vulnerability that came with trusting someone. Yet Ren, with his infuriating charm and genuine moments of kindness, had slipped through cracks she didn't even realize were there.
"Get a grip," she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible. But even as she said it, the weight in her chest didn't lift.
What frustrated her most was how much space Ren seemed to occupy in her thoughts—how easily he had disrupted the balance she worked so hard to maintain. If she let herself believe in him, if she let herself believe that what they had was more than just a manufactured romance for the cameras, what would that mean for her?
She shook her head, as though trying to physically dislodge the thoughts, but they lingered, stubborn and unrelenting. In her heart, Vivien wanted to believe Ren was different, that the connection between them was real. But her mind—so used to questioning, to protecting her from disappointment—whispered otherwise.
Vanessa's words echoed once more, soft but sharp: "He knows exactly how to make people feel special."
Vivien leaned back in her chair, letting out a slow, shaky breath. For the first time in years, she didn't feel like she could trust her own judgment. And that scared her more than anything.
---
Inside the villa, Ren paced the length of the living room, his hands jammed into his pockets. The tension from his earlier conversation with Vivien still clung to him, gnawing at the edges of his usually unshakable confidence.
He'd gone straight to her after Vanessa left, hoping to smooth things over, but instead, he'd made it worse. Vivien's guarded expression and clipped responses had made it clear she wasn't ready to hear him out.
Ren sighed, running a hand through his hair. "She's so damn stubborn," he muttered under his breath.
Kira, who had been reviewing photos nearby, glanced up. "You mean Vivien?" she asked, her tone light but knowing.
Ren stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah. She's mad at me for not telling her about Vanessa, but it's not like I invited her here."
Kira raised an eyebrow, setting her tablet aside. "Did you try explaining that to Vivien?"
Ren scoffed. "I tried. She didn't want to hear it."
"Well, you can't exactly blame her," Kira said, leaning back in her chair. "Vanessa's presence is… a lot. And if she's stirring the pot, Vivien's probably feeling like she's caught in the middle."
Ren crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "It's not like that," he said firmly. "Vivien's not just some… project. She matters."
Kira gave him a pointed look. "Then maybe you should tell her that."
---
As the evening deepened, Vivien retreated to her room, closing the door softly behind her. The villa felt too big, too quiet, with only the distant sound of waves to keep her company.
She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. A part of her wanted to call Chloe, to vent about everything—the campaign, Vanessa, Ren—but another part of her didn't know where to begin.
The knock on her door startled her.
"Vivien?" Ren's voice came from the other side, tentative but steady.
She hesitated, debating whether to ignore him, but something in his tone made her sigh. "What do you want, Ren?"
"I just…" He paused. "Can we talk? Please."
Reluctantly, she opened the door. Ren stood there, his expression uncharacteristically serious. Gone was the easy grin and playful confidence. He looked… sincere.
"I didn't know Vanessa was coming," he started, his voice quiet. "And I definitely didn't know she'd try to mess with you. She's—"
"Complicated," Vivien finished for him, crossing her arms.
Ren nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Complicated. But whatever she said to you, it's not true."
Vivien's gaze didn't waver. "Isn't it? She said you make people feel special, but it's all part of the game. How do I know I'm not just another piece on the board?"
Ren's jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Because it's not a game with you, Vivien," he said, his voice low but firm. "You think I do all this—push your buttons, tease you, stay up talking to you—just because it's part of the job? I do it because I want to. Because you matter."
Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she didn't know how to respond.
"Ren—" she started, but he shook his head.
"Look, I get it. You don't trust me, and maybe I deserve that. But I need you to know that Vanessa's wrong. About me. About us."
Vivien searched his face, her walls beginning to crack under the weight of his words. "I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ren stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. But don't let her poison what we've built."
---
After Ren left, Vivien sat alone on the edge of her bed, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. His words lingered, playing on a loop in her mind. There had been no teasing, no cocky smirk to deflect the weight of what he'd said—just honesty, raw and disarming.
She traced her fingers absentmindedly along the hem of her blanket, her thoughts spiraling. Ren had a way of peeling back her defenses without warning, leaving her exposed in a way she wasn't used to. And yet, she couldn't deny the warmth in his eyes when he said she mattered. It wasn't something she could easily dismiss or write off as part of his charm.
For so long, Vivien had relied on her walls—strong, impenetrable barriers that kept the world at arm's length. But now, for the first time in years, she felt the smallest crack in that armor. A part of her still wanted to retreat, to fortify those walls and keep herself safe from the uncertainty Ren represented. But another part, the part that had laughed at his jokes and lingered in the moments when the cameras weren't rolling, wasn't so sure.
She leaned back against the headboard, letting out a slow breath as she stared at the ceiling. Vivien didn't know if she was ready to let someone in, but the idea of keeping him out didn't feel as reassuring as it once had. And that scared her more than anything else.