"It's wrong, what they're making you do."

I glanced forward, startled. In the reflection of the mirror, Lucinda's concerned eyes met mine.

 Since the moment I had met her in the O'Dell mansion, Lucinda had held a subtle motherly concern for me. It lingered behind every glance she gave me, every hesitation before her smile. But in that moment, it burned bright and seared unignorably. 

She had been the maid assigned to get me ready for the interview at the late-night show. She was curling my hair, making the reflection that stared back at me unrecognizable. I hated looking this flawless. I knew under a layer of makeup I sat bare and broken, with eyebags that hung deep and sad features. Makeup masked the traumas I had endured under the O'Dell roof. Makeup was another stark reminder that I was only a puppet in their game.

"They shouldn't be putting the weight of everything onto your shoulders," Lucinda's voice lowered, glancing up from my hair to meet my gaze in the mirror. "This script that they've given you, it's too complex for you to memorize in a matter of hours."

The script hung limp in my hands. It was too complex. Far too complex. Every answer for every possible question written on a stack of paper. A life written for me that wasn't my own.

"What should I do then?" Unease twisted in my stomach.

Lucinda took a deep breath. Her eyes had gone distant, perhaps fixed on something far in the past. My heart stammered in my chest at the thought that crossed my mind. Eden. Had she known Eden? Had she prepared Eden for interviews like she was preparing me now? The idea wasn't that farfetched. Lucinda had been working with the O'Dell family for years. She would know everyone that belonged to this mansion. She would know everyone that once belonged to this mansion too.

Because wasn't that what this was? Belonging. Owning. Your body and mind becoming a vessel that was not your own, but instead the publics? Isn't that what Margot had spoken of only the day before? Feeling as though she was nothing but what people wanted her to be. Desirable, compliant. My heart ached for her. Never did I think that my heart would ache for Margot O'Dell.

But here I was.

"I think you should speak your truth." Lucinda's voice trailed off softly as she placed her hand on my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You are your truth. It's who you are. Why pretend to be a group of silly lies that are written on paper?"

I sighed defeatedly. My truth was the one thing that would get me axed. 

The silence hung deafeningly, it whispered through the quiet. I changed the subject swiftly.

"Did you know Eden?"

Eden seemed to be all I asked of, but it became apparent that there was always more to know. Different parallels of stories waiting to be heard.

Lucinda's smile faltered. "Just a little bit, but it was a privilege to know her that way. To know her only a little bit."

Even more questions roiled in my stomach, along with a stark unknowing and unease. It was hard to make sense of what she had just said, and what it could possibly mean.

Lucinda patted my back and turned my chair away from the mirror. She looked at my face with a sense of pride. Her wrinkled cheeks flushed with warmth, from the task of preparing me for hours on end, doing my makeup, hair. Choosing my outfit.

"Two hours until the interview, it's time to head on down there."

~~~~~

Margot held a cigarette to her mouth, full lips closing over it as we waited outside a large building, standing in the center of a garden. The sky was dusky tonight, and the coldness of winter pulsed through the air.

"I didn't know that you were a smoker."

Even from outside you could hear the buzz of the crowd, the hum of excitement. My heart slammed against my ribcage and my nails pierced into my palms. The crisp cold stung the tip of my nose, and the smell of smoke filled the air.

"I'm not, I only smoke when I need to be heavily sedated." She took the cigarette away from her mouth to sigh.

I raised my brow at her, and her eyes met mine. They were rich and dark, every shade of green the most saturated version of itself. Her eyes were always beautiful. Their power always took me by surprise, stole my breath. But tonight, under every shade of green that they held, they also held fear. 

She scoffed at my perplexed expression. "It's not something that I would make a habit of. I just need some silence in my mind when my thoughts are going a million miles an hour."

"That sounds unhealthy as hell." I paused. "Let me try."

Margot's lips parted in shock, before shutting again and curving in amusement. She took a breath and hesitated, before holding out the cigarette.

My hands stilled when I took it from her fingers. My heart bet faster, trying not to think about my own lips closing over Margot's damp lipstick prints. I tried to summon the same indifference that Margot held when she smoked, but as I took a shuddering breath I spluttered and coughed.

"Good God," I gasped.

A surprised laugh burst out of Margot, and she reached a hand out. Her fingers wrapped around my upper arm and steadied me, shooting warmth through my body. The smoke tasted bitter, like saltwater burning the back of your throat. The tobacco tasted like a dizzying chaos. I expected my thoughts to drain away like bath water. Instead, they shot through my head like water exploding from a geyser.

"Not your thing?"

I sighed, handing the cigarette back.

"Well, it definitely distracted me. I'm sure if I took a second inhale it would have sedated me too."

Margot laughed again, releasing my arm from her hand when I gained my composure. I felt the warmth that radiated from her body melt away to ice. Behind us, the weak winter sun dropped behind the horizon.  Sunset gilded the petals of the flowers throughout the garden. The sky blazed crimson and gold. The cold deepened as the last of the dying light leeched out of the day.

The sun was like a ticking clock, counting away the moments until we were on live television. By the looks of it, time was almost up.

"I'm really shitting it." My voice was a whisper as I looked off through the open door, where inside Beckett watched on carefully.

I glanced at Margot, and her gaze locked with mine, eyes glinting like moonlight on seawater. The breeze danced through her curls, and the cold painted her cheeks a faint pink. Her dark brows knitted in concern.

Before she could answer, Beckett was calling our name, and wordlessly we walked inside. Backstage was dark and humid, the light from the stage cascading inwards. I could feel the distant spotlight cast slanting light across my face. I didn't look over at Margot, just focused on Beckett's eyes. He gave my hand a tight squeeze, before leaning inwards. His breath was hot on my ear.

"Big crowd tonight. Don't panic. Keep smiling." He leaned back. "Most importantly, don't forget to breathe."

I scoffed, a barge of emotions climbing up my throat. From the stage, I could see the host sitting on a couch, bringing the crowd to a silence. Florian DeMarco. A lock of liquorice hair fell into eyes the grey of the winter ocean. His skin was white as snow. His mouth was a dark curve. He was shockingly beautiful. 

I had done research on him last night. His father had been the previous host of the show, but after passing away unexpectedly, he had taken over. The DeMarco show wasn't what Audrey had said it was. It wasn't just a local late-night show. It was the late-night show.

Tonight, the whole country would be tuning in.

It would be the most anticipated night of the year.

And as Florian DeMarco announced our names, as Margot's hand enveloped mine once again, as the lights blared into focus, we both stepped forward.

Stepping onto the stage made my breathing rapid and shallow. I felt my pulse pounding in my temples. It was like my senses were plunged underwater. The thundering of the crowd sounded distant. The world twisted sickeningly.

As I reached my seat and sat down, everything came back into focus. The room changed, sharpened from a blur to a level of full saturation. Edges cut like knives, lights caught like shimmers off of a blade. I could see the crowd clearly now, hear them scream out Margot and I's names.

The room was full that night, each elevated level filled with prestigious guests, the television crew claiming all of the other seating units from above.

Living in the mansion had sheltered me from the fact that I was no longer ordinary. My name was known. My supposed engagement was the question on the tip of everybody's tongues. The fact that somebody had attempted to murder me.

Margot took a seat beside me. I could feel the subtle tremor of her leg, the slight nervous shake of it bouncing up and down. From this close up, you could see anyone's flaws. Society could detach Margot O'Dell from the public, call her flawless, but being beside her, I knew she was anything but. My nerves calmed ever so slightly. 

Florian cleared his throat, his smile brilliant and bone-white.

"Margot O'Dell and Aspen Monroe." The crowd roared when he spoke our names. "Welcome to the DeMarco show!"

Our names rolled off his tongue like honey. He licked his teeth as the spotlight hit us with a new intensity.

Was Florian DeMarco our savior or the danger itself? 

Was he a honeybee, or would he turn out to be the wasp?