It's finally here! Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to vote and comment, I love to hear from you guys xx

L

***

The house is nearly empty when I wake next. As I will my eyes to open I find that my room is deserted, as it always seems to be. After closer inspection of the clock on the wall I find that it's nearly noon. It's not like I got back late last night, but I hardly have the energy to function right now- just thinking of all the events that transpired last night gives me a headache.

Eventually, I rise and slip into the shower. All I can manage to do is stand under the stream of water motionlessly, letting the hot droplets run down my face and body without so much as raising an arm. I exit after 5 minutes, still too shocked to be of any use at carrying out a task as a normal human.

I slowly slip into a fresh set of pyjamas and wander out aimlessly into the living room. I spy 3 girls chatting in the kitchen on my way, but don't stop to join them. As I sit down upon the plush brown coach within the room, I hear footsteps, then someone has joined me.

I slowly tilt my head up and find Astrid sitting in an armchair across from me on the opposite side of the room. She does not look to me and instead stares down at a large book settled in her lap. She speaks, but does not make eye contact.

"Have a good night?" She asks and I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. Astrid and I have never made conversation- not since I found out that she lied to Harry and undermined me. Even sitting inches from each other in a limo, we never so much as spare each other a glance. I know exactly what she is trying to do.

"Yeah, great." I respond, attempting to keep my tone even and miserably failing. The sarcasm in my voice is clear, but all I see is a small quirk displayed across Astrid's lips. She's definitely come to mock me- but how could she? There's no way she could have known that I was going to see Harry last night, let alone know that I'd been hidden in his closet while she confessed her love for him... or could she? I can't possibly think of a way she might have found out, but she's Astrid, after all. I can never be entirely sure of her innocence.

If she does know about me being in Harry's room last night, what else does she know? I attempt to force the unsettling thought from my mind as she begins to speak once more.

"Just stayed in?" Astrid questions again. She still does not bother to look up from her book and grant me the great privilege of eye contact.

"Yep." I retort, glancing away and pretending to look out the window- anything is better than having to see her face. I make no action to keep the conversation alive, but Astrid doesn't seem to be having it.

"I had a good night, too, by the way." She tells me against my will, a fond look crossing her expression. My hand grips the pillow to my left roughly as I try to calm myself- it's hard to resist lunging over and placing a swift slap to her smug face.

"Just stayed in?" I can't resist asking Astrid, my tone as fake as ever. She must at least know that I know she was with Harry last night- why else would she be here taunting me? Astrid does not respond. She does not lie and say she had a great time staying in last night- in fact, she makes no attempt to conceal the truth whatsoever. She only smirks, chuckles to herself, and continues to read her book. I can't take anymore of this.

I stand without another word and stalk out of the room. I don't care if she knows she's got the best of me. It's true- she has. There's no convincing myself otherwise. The hurt inflicted upon me by Harry is still so clear in my mind that I'm in no reasonable state to deal with a smug, bitchy Astrid.

I reenter my room, slam the door behind me, and fling myself onto the bed. I slowly crawl beneath the sheets, attempting to shelter myself from the cruel, cruel world I've been exposed to. All my life I've had to deal with hardship. I got used to it, I thought I learned how to deal with it. However, I've never been subjected to this form of cruelty- the form that has to do with my heart.

In my entire life, besides the days immediately following the passing of my father, I have never felt like this before. My heart seems heavy, broken, cracked and empty, as if it's two sizes two small and deflated beneath my chest. I can't possibly comprehend the reason I'm feeling this way. The fact that Harry lied to me hurt, sure, but I've been lying to him since day 1. When I first arrived on this show, I couldn't have given 2 shits whether or not he was meeting up with other girls in his hotel room, touching them and kissing them and taking them out for special dates. As long as he kept me around long enough to make some money, I could sleep soundly at night.

What has happened to me since then? Those days are far, far behind me. Upon hearing Astrid enter Harry's room last night I was sent into a pure state of shock. At first, I couldn't believe it. I physically couldn't believe that she was there with Harry, telling him that she loved him. I considered that I may have been hallucinating.

Then, the reality started to sink in. It was just as much Harry's fault as Astrid's. Harry had chosen to take Astrid out on a date. Harry had brought her back up to his room. Harry had kissed her. Harry had touched her. Harry had kept her around long enough- as if she was on the same level as myself. I guess she is on the same level as me now, or maybe even higher. She does 'love' him after all.

I know my days on the show now are numbered- they must be. There's no way in hell Harry could like me enough to keep me around after everything I've put him through; Flirting with the random man, rejecting his rescue, constantly accusing him of fraternizing with the other women. My actions must have taken a toll- there's only so much Harry can stand. Why keep me around and deal with the trouble when he can continue on with Astrid- who's been infatuated with him since the day she arrived?

She's never lied to Harry- at least not about her feelings. She's never flirted with another man to get his attention, she's never brutally shouted at him for saving her from a dangerous situation, she's never snuck into his room without permission.

The crease in my brow grows thicker as I consider all the wrong doings on my part. Sure, I don't feel bad about my misdemeanours anymore- I apologized and that's all I can do. However, I sure as hell still feel like shit after discovering Harry and Astrid together last night.

Harry has promised me time and time again that he thinks I'm special. I'm 'not like the other girls', I'm the only one who he's invited out, who he's snuck around behind producer's backs to be with. Of course he was only saying those things to get into my pants. I'm genuinely surprised that I didn't recognize his sentiments for what they really were the second I heard them- lies. All lies. Every single one of them. I'm not his and he doesn't want me to be. Not now and not ever.

I just... I can't believe he would do something like this. The Harry that I've come to know seems so sweet, so genuine, so caring. Of course other sides of him make appearances from time to time- dominant Harry, angry Harry, frustrated Harry, shy Harry- but I never thought that cruel Harry could exist. He just doesn't seem to have it in him. However, I was obviously mistaken in my assumption- maybe him and I are more similar than I thought.

What am I to do? If by some unlikely miracle Harry keeps me on the show I will have to live every day knowing that other women are up in his hotel room, knowing he's gifting his off-camera affections to every single one of us, disguising them as sweet secrets. I'll have to be around Astrid 24 hours of the day, 7 days a week and I will have to live with the constant reminder of Harry's rejection. Harry- the first man I've ever come to... care about. If that's what I was feeling. I can't fucking tell.

However, if I don't stay, I'll be forced back to my old life in New York. With no prospects, I'll probably have to take up my old job again, something that I came here to escape.

I sigh and roll over in bed, mirroring my tossing and turning from last night. I have nothing to do but sit here and stew in a mixture of my own awful emotions, each tugging at my heart so roughly I'm afraid they'll rip it to shreds. I was angry when I left Harry's apartment last night- or at least that's what I thought I was feeling- but now I know I was mistaken. I'm not angry now. I'm absolutely, unequivocally sad.

I fall back asleep, unable to do much else. I'm not in the mood to read, solve sudoku puzzles, or talk with the other women. I'm barely in the mood to sit up. I'm left with no other option but to drift off and relish the small period of time the ache in my chest relents and I'm granted something which somewhat resembles peace.

***

The next time I wake there's a large commotion coming from another part of the apartment. Seemingly all of the girls are home now and are very excited. There was a group date today- the reason for the nearly empty apartment earlier- but it must be over now. I glance out the window and find it's dark outside. A quick glance to the clock tells me it's nearly 9. I've never slept for so long in my life.

Groggily, I rub my eyes and roll out of bed. I stand once again, my actions from this morning seeming to repeat, and survey myself in the mirror. The skin around my eyes is dark, making them appear sunken and lifeless. My face is paler than usual and my hair sticks out haphazardly in hundreds of different places. I look terrible.

To make matters worse, I haven't eaten all day- A sharp rumbling in my stomach reminds me of this fact. Although I'd rather not do anything right now, I know I must feed myself. I don't alter my awful appearance besides wrapping a hair tie hurriedly around the mess of strands adorning my head.

I venture out into the hallway, creeping along like a creature that doesn't belong. I feel out of place and absolutely destitute.

I stumble forwards and the volume of sound picks up as I near the group of girls. I realize most of them have assembled in the living room and figure I should be safe darting into and out of the kitchen. I scurry to the fridge and survey my options. The producers have stocked up food for us and I locate a couple pieces of fruit I may be able to cut up and take with me back to my room.

I'm alone in the kitchen, thankfully. I try not to think about what would happen if Astrid, or any of the women, saw me in this state. I can guess they might pity me, but none of them know what's happened. They'll just assume I've fallen off my hinges. They might not be completely crazy in thinking that.

I pull out a cutting board and large knife from a drawer once I've grabbed a couple apples and an orange. After retrieving a bowl, I begin to slice. I'm nearly finished- only half an apple left to go- when I hear something faintly from the living room.

"Come in here for a second." Amber calls, then a pair of footsteps begin to near my own position. I inwardly sigh at the fact that I will have to converse with Amber and allow her to see me in such a state, but I have no choice.

I keep my head down, staring at the apple clutched between my fingers instead of Amber, who I should be greeting with a smile.

"This is the kitchen." She says, seemingly giving someone a tour of the house- who could she be talking to? All of the women, producers, and camera men have certainly been inside the kitchen before.

"It's lovely." I hear a deep, accented voice respond. I freeze and go absolutely rigid. Fuck.

I can't help but whip around to confirm my suspicions and, sure enough, Harry stands before me, a pair of black jeans and a white button up adorning his body. I stand stock still, staring at him. He doesn't seem to notice me, but as he surveys the kitchen he catches sight of my absolutely mortified being.

His eyes go wide and he's speechless. I pity Amber, who stands next to Harry confused, but I can't bother putting on an act right now. Harry has clearly seen me in my terrible state and yet I find he bears no resemblance to myself. In fact, he looks as gorgeous as ever- nothing appears to be out of the ordinary besides prominent bags under his eyes.

I turn back around, hurriedly throw my half chopped apple into my bowl, and don't bother to clean up my utensils before I exit. I swiftly push past Amber and Harry and hurriedly walk down the hall of the apartment back to my room. I don't care if Amber thinks I'm weird, I don't care if Harry thinks I'm weird. There's no way I'm going to force awkward, uncomfortable conversation with him, not after what happened last night.

How can I possibly continue on this show if I can't even look at Harry without feeling nauseous and running away? My prospects seem worse than I previously thought. How can I pretend to have a real, engagement-worthy relationship with Harry if I'm unable to even make eye contact without feeling like throwing up?

I feel as though I've been in this situation before. Back in LA, when Astrid lied to Harry about me and he embarrassed me, I was mad. I couldn't look at him and I hated to think about him. But that was different. So much different. I hated him then because I was angry with his actions- I had no reason to be mad at myself and back then I hardly knew him- there was barely a foundation between him and I for me to miss.

Now the same symptoms from before are present, but the disease is entirely different. I've been absolutely shattered, not just pissed off. Sure, it's not like I love Harry or ever did love him, but I was closer to him than I have ever been to a man in my life. I liked Harry. I liked spending time with him, I liked joking around with him, I liked kissing him and hugging him and feeling special- at least I used to. Now I feel like a fool, an idiot who has nobody to blame but herself.

Why did I ever believe Harry in the first place? My blind trust and naivety have landed me in a state I always knew they would- complete and utter despair.

I slam the door behind myself and rush into my bathroom. I can't stop the emotion from washing over me like a tsunami, invading every fibre of my being with sorrow and a deep, deep regret. I place both hands on either side of the porcelain sink before me to maintain my balance and eventually bring myself to look into the mirror.

I thought it was impossible, but I somehow look worse than I did when I first emerged from this god forsaken room- the most notable difference are the tears in my eyes. I so badly want to subdue them- subdue the terrible feelings picking apart my soul and destroying my heart, but I can't. For the first time in years, I truly cry.

I let the tears fall freely from my eyes and roll down my cheeks. The warmth presented from them seems artificial and I know there is nothing now that could calm me. I allow sobs to rack my body and grip the sink before me tightly, afraid that if I let go my grip on reality will also slip.

This is absolutely ridiculous. I've known Harry for a month. How in the hell is it possible to be this upset? I've got no explanation aside from the fact that I have an addictive personality and Harry is like a drug. When I'm with him I feel the highest of highs, when I'm without him, the lowest of lows. It's inevitable.

I know it's absolutely preposterous for me to be reacting this way, but I still let the tears flow and my body shake painfully for another 5 minutes. When it seems that my tear ducts have dried up and there is nothing left to fall, I leave the bathroom. I sit once more on my bed, back leaning against the headboard, and stare straight ahead of myself numbly.

There is no way I'm going back into the living room- a producer will have to drag me down the hall- but I can't get back to sleep, at least not yet. So, I elect to just sit and stare into space, too emotionally exhausted to continue contemplating my horrible situation.

After half an hour of this my empty mind is roused by a sharp knocking at the door. I silently pray that it's not a producer. Thankfully, I'm only greeted by Kiana and Tanya, both walking in hurriedly.

"Hey Charlotte." Kiana greets me, although she sounds a little unsure. I'm looking at them both now with a kind expression, but they must be able to tell I'm upset.

"Hi guys." I address them both, forcing a small smile and resolutely attempting to appear normal.

"All the girls are going out for dinner down the road from the hotel, do you want to come?" Kiana asks as her and Tanya seem to gather things from their respective suitcases.

"With Harry?" I question, confused at why Harry would want to remain on camera for longer than needed. There's no way that the producers are letting the girls and him interact without cameras again.

"No, he went back to his place. It's just a girl's night." Tanya informs me cheerily. Although both Kiana and Tanya both seem quite excited by this prospect, I find no pleasure in the idea.

"I'm not really feeling well, I think I've got a cold. I'm just going to stay in I think." I inform both of them, halfheartedly forcing out a lie to make up for my strange appearance and behaviour. They both nod in understanding and depart from the room after 2 minutes. I wait another 10 and finally hear all 13 other girls exit the apartment, leaving me here completely alone.

Although I feel like absolute shit, I perk up a little at the thought of having this place entirely to myself. After all, I am in Paris and this is a nice apartment. I attempt to keep myself busy, but after rereading the same page of my book 8 times, I figure that Harry Potter is not going to entertain me suitably.

As I go to lazily deposit the book back within my suitcase, I catch sight of something that I packed for myself a long, long time ago before departing from New York- before me lies a pack of Marlboro Reds, seemingly taunting me as a sudden need fills my being and a familiar urge takes over.

Back in New York, cigarettes are an indulgence I allow myself from time to time. I promised myself before coming here I wouldn't have any while on the show and, honestly, haven't thought about lighting up once since arriving in LA. However, faced with the taxing events of last night and this evening, there seems to be a gap in my chest that can only be filled by a smoke.

Slowly, cautiously, as though I might be shocked at the contact, I reach for the pack with shaking fingers and lift it up to eye level. I examine the box carefully before bringing it close to my face and inhaling deeply. I sigh in relief at the familiar scent and know that the promise I made to myself is about to be broken. I'm too stressed out to refrain right now.

I stuff the pack into my pocket and carefully push open my bedroom door. I still feel weak walking, but am propelled at the prospect of a smoke for the first time in a month. I hear no noise to indicate another presence in the apartment, so I continue warily forward. All the lights are off and I sigh in relief when the living room and kitchen are both empty. I'm truly alone.

I search the kitchen quickly for a lighter and, once I've found one, I retreat to the living room and open double doors leading to a small, but comfortable, balcony. I find the view is absolutely stunning as I sit at a small table accompanied by two wooden chairs.

I extract a cigarette from my pack, place it to my lips, and light it. The first puff is a like a breath of fresh air and I luxuriously let the smoke pour back out of my mouth.

I know cigarettes are terrible for me, I know they'll kill me someday, and I know I should quit. I just can't. Not right now. I always have one or two at a particularly stressful time- when I'm short on rent, when my job gets more depressing than usual- I used to go through an entire pack a day before I quit my last... job.

I know I must be really fucked if I'm smoking now. Barely anything has prompted me to have one for my entire time on the show, but now I have failed. I want to feel guilty, but as I suck in another breath I feel absolutely no remorse.

I planned to have just 1 and then retreat back to my room, but I find as I finish I only feel half as terrible as I did before the cigarette. The improvement in my mood prompts me to finish another, then another, then another, then another- until I've consumed 5 within the space of an hour.

When I've finally had enough I stand, taking one last glance at the beautiful view before me, and retreat back to my room. I don't want the other women to catch me when they come back and I know they will if I remain in the living room or the kitchen.

I stalk back down the hall miserably and find that a light shines out from beneath my bedroom door. It's closed, as I left it, but I thought I remembered turning the light off. To be fair, it's possible I'm in too terrible of a state to recall leaving the lights on by mistake. However, it's not likely. A habit by now, I always turn the lights off to save on the electricity bill.

Nonetheless, I continue on and reach my door. With the pack of cigarettes still in hand I push open the entrance and find that my room is not unoccupied. On my bed, sitting with his elbows resting behind him propping him up, is Harry.

I audibly gasp, almost scream, and do the first thing I can think of- shut the door. I step back hurriedly and slam it, attempting to rid the terrible scene from my vision. What the fuck is going on? Am I hallucinating? I stand for a couple more seconds, shocked, and pray to god that I hear nothing more. I must have imagined it. It can't be real. Harry isn't here.

"Charlotte?" I hear someone call from within my room, their voice as clear as day and as deep as always, and I know that my hopes of being clinically insane have been dashed. This is no hallucination.

I place my shaking hand to the doorknob and push open the entrance once more. Harry still remains before me, still sitting on my bed, although his back has straightened now.

"Charlotte, I need to talk to you." Harry starts, but I can only stand and take in his features. His hair looks messier than it was only an hour and a half ago and I know he's been running his hands through it a lot- a nervous habit he seems to have.

I examine his clothing and find he has changed out of his jeans and nice expensive button up, and now only wears sweat pants and a simple white t shirt. He looks... like me, although not quite as terrible.

I remain silent for a few more moments, only staring at him and trying to figure out what the fuck I'm supposed to do right now. I feel sad. In fact, I feel absolutely despondent, but now seeing Harry before me again has ignited a little bit of the anger I felt last night.

"Get off my bed." Is all I respond. Harry is instantly up, standing and walking around to the other side of the room, complying with my demand instantly. I stand completely still, unable to do much of anything except watch him.

"Charlotte-"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I seem to find my voice as he speaks my name. How dare he come here...

"I know you're mad, but please let me explain." Harry begs and I hear a catch in his voice. He's desperate. Why is he so desperate? He could just go fuck Astrid right now and forget all about me...

"No, get out." I respond, looking down to the floor instead of at him. Harry's enticing good looks and entrancing charm have forced forgiveness from me before- I won't let it happen again.

"I'm not leaving until you hear me out." Harry responds resolutely, crossing his arms firmly. My teeth grind together in frustration and my hands ball into fists.

"I'm not hearing you out." I state.

"Then I'm not leaving." Harry informs me. He takes a seat on Kiana's bed now and clasps his hands together in his lap. He may be adamant on staying, but he's nervous- I can tell by the way his eyes dart from place to place, never seeming to land on anything in particular, and the way he rubs his hands together anxiously.

"Harry, get the fuck out of-"

"Just let me explain, please. Just let me talk for 5 minutes." Harry pleads, but I'm having none of it. I don't want to hear his bullshit, made up excuses anymore. They're all lies and I'm absolutely fucking sick of them. If I ever let him back into my heart again I'll just be setting myself up for more pain.

"No, the other girls will be back soon. You have to leave." I state. I make no move to sit on my bed- I don't want to get any closer.

Harry rises from Kiana's bed now and walks towards me. I have no idea what he's going to do as he nears me. I step away and hold out my hands to stop him from trying anything, to stop him from touching me. That's how he convinced me to forgive him the first time around.

Instead of approaching me, he instead shuts the door behind me and locks it. I'm uncomfortable with this but know that I must ensure the other women do not stumble upon us in here mistakenly.

"It's fine. I've taken care of it." Harry tells me and I feel distressed once again. What the hell does that mean? He always says he's 'taken care of it' when he meets me behind the scenes, away from the prying eyes of the producers and the rest of the women. What the hell has he been doing to ensure our security?

"What does that mean!?" I exclaim, my confusion getting the best of me. How on Earth has he managed to secure our secret relationship remain private for all this time? How can he be so sure that no other women will find out about us, or even a producer?

"Don't worry about it. I've taken care of it, that's all you need to know." Harry tells me and I can't help but scoff in disbelief.

"Harry, tell me what the fuck you do to keep everything a secret." I demand, my voice picking up in volume. Now that the initial shock of the situation has worn off, I'm beginning to see clearly and form questions that I haven't thought to ask before.

"Charlotte, I can't... I don't want to upset you." Harry replies, confusing me even more instead of eradicating my disorientation.

"Harry, tell me what you do or I'm going to leave." I threaten. Harry does not seem to understand.

"Leave where? Your room? I'll follow you." He informs me and my brows crease in bewilderment.

"I'll leave the room, I'll leave the apartment, I'll leave Paris. I don't care. Tell me." I push, astounded at the fact Harry won't share the information with me. He already knows he's skating on thin ice- in fact, he's already broken the ice and begun to drown- and still he won't provide me with answers.

Harry sighs and looks down to the ground, moving back to Kiana's bed and taking a seat once more.

"Alright..." He exhales, sounding almost... ashamed. "I've been... I've been working with one of the producers. He arranges everything. He makes sure that I'm not caught doing anything I shouldn't be." Harry confesses and my shock is palpable.

Is Harry a dumbass? He's chosen to entrust his place on the show, my place on the show, and his public image, to a producer? The producers are the very people we are attempting to hide everything from. They manipulate, they lie, and they'll do anything to create drama- they don't care if they have to spare a contestant or two to make a good episode. How can Harry not understand the danger he's put us in by consulting a fucking producer?

"Harry you can't be serious." I proclaim, absolutely dumbfounded. How could he be so stupid... so reckless?

"I just- I need to see you off camera and he's the only producer who can make it happen." Harry attempts to explain himself, but the holes in his reasoning are visible from a mile away

"Harry, how the fuck can you trust him? Aren't you afraid that he'll tell the other producers just to make some good content?" I question, astonished at Harry's absurdity.

"No... I know that he won't tell." Harry tells me, clarifying absolutely nothing.

"How do you know that he won't tell? Did you shake on it? Made a pinky promise, did you?" I continue to interrogate Harry, anger once again attempting to mask the true sadness I feel. I can't let Harry know just how upset I am. I can't appear vulnerable.

"No, I... I know about something he did he wasn't supposed to. If the executives found out about it, he would get fired. I told him to do these favours for me. If he doesn't, or he tells, I'll get him fired." Harry attempts to assure me.

Harry... blackmailing someone? I can't believe it, but he's just admitted to it. Blackmailing a producer who could change their mind at any moment is smart, but so incredibly dumb at the same time. I begin to consider Harry's reasoning. What has this producer done that threatens the security of his job? And how does Harry know about it?

As I begin to think, a spark of familiarity alights within me. I have wondered these things before... but back then the people were not Harry and the producer, but instead two unknown voices I could just hear through a wall. Oh god.

"You... you convinced the producer to let you into my room, that night you came in while I was asleep in LA." I start to piece the puzzle together. I remember being utterly confused as to what the two voices could want from each other, but now I know.

"How do you know that?" Harry asks suspiciously.

"I heard you. I heard you two arguing after the group date. I couldn't tell who either of you were, but you were arguing about it." I say, staring into space as I try to recall the events of that night. Of course Harry has needed help to pull all of this off. How could he have snuck into the mansion completely unnoticed? How come he just happened to come the night that Kiana decided to sleep in Tanya's room instead of our shared one?

How could Harry manage to take me out for a date in Paris without anyone noticing my absence? He couldn't... he had help for that, too. He'd had help executing everything.

In LA on the date during which I wandered off to the beach, he somehow located me and spent half an hour completely alone with me. That's not possible for him to achieve of his own accord. Of course he's been working with someone else, no less a producer. How could I be so blind not to see it? But what dirt could Harry possibly have on this producer that would threaten the security of his job to the extent that he would risk helping Harry with these preposterous secret meetings?

"What the hell did the producer do that you know about?" I question. Harry looks hesitant, as if he's going to make another excuse not to respond, but instead decides against it. He takes a deep breath.

"On the very first group date... do you remember how Astrid and your letters were switched around?" Harry asks me and I think back to the date. I remember, quite vividly, the events of that day, but what the hell could Astrid's conniving little stunt have to do with any of this?

"Yes..." I respond uncertainly.

"Well... Astrid bribed the producer to switch the letters. He changed the names... The producers aren't supposed to show favouritism and Astrid promised him a favour that's not entirely, um, appropriate." Harry tells me and it feels as though everything I knew, everything I was certain of, is all one big illusion.

Harry has clued a producer into our interactions behind the scenes, the same producer that Astrid has offered inappropriate favours to... This is not good. I don't respond as I comprehend all this new information, so Harry begins to speak again.

"Before I chose Astrid's letter I saw them both in the hall with the papers, but I only heard part of what they were saying. After I chose Astrid, I knew something was off, then I ran into them making out... I pieced it together pretty quickly." Harry informs me. I can't believe it.

"So you confronted the producer and blackmailed him into setting up all these meetings for you?" I question incredulously.

"Well... yes." Harry replies shyly. I can tell he already knows I'm not okay with his actions.

"Harry how could you be so stupid! You put your place on the show in jeopardy! You put my place in jeopardy!" I exclaim in disbelief.

"I know, ok? But it's worth it if I get to see you." Harry replies and I scoff once more at his preposterous sentiments.

"Harry, did you ever stop to think that if we got caught you wouldn't ever see me again?" I question, letting the judgemental tone clearly bleed through. I'm in no mood to be appeasing Harry right now and, honestly, it feels good to let my anger out.

"I would have seen you again. Even if you were sent home." Harry admits and my face twists into a sneer of disgust. Liar.

"Stop lying. I'm done with bullshit. Harry, I won't be upset if you tell me the truth, alright? I don't care." I tell a fabrication of my own. Of course I'll be upset when I discover all the other little secrets Harry's been hiding from me this entire time. I can't let him know that, though.

"Charlotte, Jesus Christ, I'm not lying!" Harry exclaims and I know he's getting frustrated again. I have no response to offer and I absolutely refuse to accept his apologies, so I just remain silent. We stare at each other wordlessly for a couple seconds before another thought comes to mind.

"Who's the producer?" I question softly, my voice coming out hoarse and whisper-like. I'm over this entire argument, I'm over Harry, and I'm over this show. I can't stand to think that I must remain here for another 2 months.

"I don't think I should tell you..." Harry trails off and I watch him preemptively cringe, anticipating my vicious response. He's right to be afraid.

"So help me, Harry, I will fucking leave, I don't care. Tell me." I demand, my voice no longer soft but now loud and full of fury. I can't handle anymore of this back and forth. I see conflict visible beneath his expression, but eventually Harry gives in.

"His name is Luke, he's around set sometimes." Harry admits, looking down to the ground in shame. I know Luke- he announced the private night we had with Harry at the nightclub just a few days ago- of course! Harry told me before I departed our secret date that he would work out another way to see me... I guess that's what Luke came up with.

"Harry, you shouldn't have told the producer anything." I inform him once more, as if he doesn't already know. Judging by the expression on his face, Harry regrets cluing the producer into our affair, but he doesn't seem to want to stop- he's entrusted the producer with our security again even tonight.

"I know I shouldn't have... but I just couldn't wait all that time in-between bullshit dates to see you." Harry confesses and I roll my eyes.

"Couldn't wait to see Astrid either, right?" I can't help but retort. I still feel the deep hole in my chest caused by my discovery of Astrid in Harry's room last night.

"Charlotte, I didn't take her out anywhere! A producer showed up at my hotel room at 10 in the fucking evening and pulled me downstairs. When I stepped out of the elevator Astrid was waiting with 3 cameras! I had no choice but to do what she said and go along with everything. If I didn't, the show would have been over." Harry attempts to convince me once more of his story.

"Harry, why the fuck would I believe you in the first place?" I question, seriously astounded at the notion he seems to hold: that I'll accept his story and continue on with him as if nothing bad has happened.

"Because I'm telling the truth." Harry states and I want to laugh.

"Prove it." I dare him incredulously. His eyes close in frustration and he runs his hand swiftly through his hair once more. The action used to make a much larger difference before he cut his hair, but I still notice how the strands atop his head are sent flying in random directions.

"Fine. I was hoping you would just forgive me but... obviously not." Harry sighs from his spot on Kiana's bed. He leans down to pick something up off the floor and when he rises once again I find he holds a silver laptop between his fingers.

"Why do you have that?" I question warily, not risking taking the few steps forward to close the distance between us.

"Proof." Harry states simply. He opens the laptop and begins to enter a password. My curiosity peaks and I can't help but pad over and tentatively take a seat next to him on the bed, watching the screen intently. What proof could he possibly have on the laptop that could make me change my mind and forgive him?

I watch as he opens up an unnamed folder and clicks on a video file. As it begins to play, I find that a time signature in the bottom left corner reads "9:45, August 2nd 2017". Yesterday's date.

I bring my gaze up from the time signature and watch the video. I see elevator doors of some sort, then the camera turns. Astrid is standing next to a producer, Luke, and looks to be flirting with him as I see her hand reach out and playfully nudge his shoulder. A smile spreads across Luke's face, but soon I hear a loud bell ring out and the camera is turned back to the elevator.

Harry appears, escorted by a producer I can't name, and takes in the scene before him. The shock is palpable on his face, clear as day, and it's obvious that he was not expecting to find Astrid and the camera men waiting outside of the elevator for him.

His expression only holds this look for a split second before he displays a wide, albeit uncomfortable looking, grin.

"Astrid!?" He exclaims, attempting to sound pleasantly surprised but forgetting the pleasantness.

"Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you!" Astrid croons, abandoning Luke completely and soaring into Harry's arms. I see his eyes bulge as she looks away and realize that I was... wrong. I was completely wrong. Harry was telling the truth.

"What- what are you doing here? This is unexpected?" Harry tries to unveil the truth casually. I don't miss the annoyance that flashes briefly in his eyes.

He didn't want Astrid to come up to his room after all. Not one bit. It's evident by the shock on his face and how he's clearly been brought down to meet her against his will. He did nothing wrong last night... he really was telling me the truth.

I don't have to watch anymore of the video as I see Astrid and Harry board the elevator together after she invites herself up to Harry's room.

I stand absentmindedly and begin to pace my bedroom, trying to sort through my thoughts. Technically, Harry did nothing wrong with Astrid. Supposedly I should continue to believe everything he has told me so far- that he has not interacted with the other women as he has with me. I want to believe this now- I really do- and I guess I have to. There's no reason for me to be mad with Harry anymore. He's provided evidence, as requested, and I can no longer contradict him. Now it remains up to me to decide whether or not I want to believe him or whether I should continue to be mad. He didn't do anything last night, but I still have no idea if he's seen Astrid, or any of the other women, off camera before that. He easily could have...

What do I do? I guess for now I have no choice but to forgive him. I thought I would be happy at seeing my terrible conclusions contradicted, but I find I barely feel better. Now I have something else to worry about- the producer, Luke.

"So..." Harry trails off, snapping me back to reality.

"I'm... I'm sorry I got so mad at you. Obviously you didn't take Astrid out." I force myself to apologize. A look of triumph washes over Harry's features. A sigh of relief escapes him and a large grin spreads across his face. He makes a move to stand and takes two large strides towards me.

I watch as he begins to outstretch his hands to pull me in for a kiss? A hug? I can't tell, but I don't feel right about touching him. Before he can make contact I side step his movement and pace to the other side of the room. Harry's smile falters.

"What's- what's wrong now?" He questions, his voice weak. He sounds exhausted.

"I'm assuming that video is another 'favour' from your buddy Luke?" I can't help but question.

"I had to get proof for you somehow." Harry reasons with me. I can only shake my head in disapproval and ponder the repercussions Harry's actions might have. If Luke decides he's fed up with listening to Harry or, by some miracle, his previous fault is denounced, he could expose Harry and I on the drop of a dime. I would be sent back to New York without a penny to my name... but Harry... what would happen to Harry?

I can't imagine that he'd be kicked off the show- he's the central part of it. They can't switch the bachelor halfway through filming and they definitely can't cancel the programme- they need to air. Harry would be... safe. He'd be safe and I'd be booted off, maybe un-included from the series entirely, as if I never existed. Harry will be fine, because the producer can't get rid of him. I'll be gone, though.

I don't make these thoughts known to Harry. I know he'll just come up with more excuses to calm me down and I don't want that right now. This is an issue I should be legitimately worried about and I don't want to be persuaded by Harry to drop it.

I'm still angry, although I don't feel as terrible anymore. Harry didn't lie to me. At least he didn't last night, and that counts for something. Still, finding out about the producer he's chosen to confide in has me on edge.

I stand opposite Harry silently, a couple feet away as he watches me expectantly.

"Thank you for showing me the video." I force myself to thank Harry. All I want is for him to leave so I can be alone with my thoughts once more. Harry's expression falls even lower.

"I don't... I don't know what else to do. You don't seem better." Harry notices, his brows creasing as he begins to become frantic. I've not seen this Harry for a long time- pleading and desperate.

"I'm fine... I just think... I think you should leave." I tell him, gazing down to the ground rather than looking into his sorrowful eyes. I know I shouldn't still be angry and I am, admittedly, less so than just an hour ago, but I still feel... off.

"I'm not leaving. Not until you forgive me." Harry announces, placing himself back down firmly on Kiana's bed.

"Harry, I already said I forgive you." I sigh, frustrated now at his stubborn behaviour.

"You clearly haven't." Harry says, noting my appearance. I definitely don't look pleased and I can't help but notice pity clouding Harry's eyes. Does he seriously feel bad for me right now? He should be pitying himself.

"Whatever, you should go." I state once more. Harry doesn't budge and only shakes his head no, like a child.

"I'm not going to talk with you anymore about it." I inform him, sitting on my own bed and averting my eyes from his. I definitely feel angry, but I don't miss the leap in my stomach as I near him. Now having found out that Harry didn't lie to me last night, I can look at him once again without wanting to pass out. I remember why I came to like Harry so much in the first place.

-No! I try to force the thought out of my mind. Harry has risked my place on the show selfishly and there's at least a 50% chance that he's been lying to me for the better part of a month. This is no time to remember the qualities that I once found so endearing.

"I'm not going to leave until you talk." Harry whines like a child, pouting his lips and crossing his arms in defiance. For god's sakes.

"I'm not talking." I declare definitively. It's out of the question. I need to sleep on all the information I've been given and at least take some time to process it all.

"Well then I'm not leaving." Harry insists. I shrug and roll over, depositing the cigarette pack still in my hand back into my suitcase. I see Harry's eyebrow raise, but he does not comment on the habit. He better not, he'll be in for a world of hurt.

Once my bed is clear I pull the covers over myself, switch the light off, and turn over away from Harry. I'm in no position to be seeing him as I try to fall asleep. I want to tell him that he'll have to leave because Kiana and Tanya will be back soon, but with all my new knowledge I know he must have worked something out with Luke to keep them away from the room.

We sit in silence for a few moments before I hear Harry huff with boredom.

"Charlotte, let's just talk about it." Harry urges and I just know he's watching me. I don't move and don't respond. I refuse to talk with him right now. The hurt is still fresh in my mind and the shock at his stupidity is still prevalent.

After another minute with no response from myself, Harry speaks again.

"Charlotte, you're acting like a child." He sighs and I can hear him shifting restlessly in his bed.

"I'm trying to sleep." I dismiss his request for a conversation and he only sighs even louder. If anyone's acting like a child, it's him. I'm hoping that he'll get bored if I ignore him for long enough and eventually decide to leave. 10 minutes pass and neither of us say a word to each other. Harry huffs again, but does not appear to be leaving anytime soon. After another 5 minutes, I hear Harry begin to kick off his shoes, pull the covers over himself, and lie down completely.

I'm surprised that he really does intend to stay over and sleep here. I have no idea how that will work- the other women will definitely discover him at some point, but I don't care enough to worry about that now. Harry and I are already in danger of being discovered at any moment thanks to the blind faith he put in Luke.

As I attempt to fall asleep I find the room is pitch dark and completely quiet. I can't help but notice the soft breaths Harry takes and pretend not to notice how they soothe me. Just a little.

We lie like this for a while and I realize that I've never slept while Harry was with me, let alone spent the entire night with him. This is entirely uncharted territory and I curse the fact that I'm still hesitant to forgive him. I know he wasn't lying about Astrid now, but the sour feelings are still prominent, left over from the confusion of last night. Although I know my distaste was founded on something untrue, I can't help but associate Harry with hurt now. I've been torn apart twice by him and I just can't see how getting closer for a third time will benefit me. Even if I do like him. Did like him.

Nonetheless, against my will, I begin to feel as though my bed is too big- empty without someone else filling it. I try to force the thought from my mind but it's difficult. As I begin to reconsider Harry and I's relationship, I hear the man next to me shifting in bed.

He seems to be pushing the covers off himself and I realize he's standing. He must be leaving now. I want to feel happy- I should feel happy- it's what I wanted, but for some reason I feel disappointment. I'm upset with Harry, yes, but I don't want him to leave. I know now that the special moments we've previously shared together are more or less true.

I don't make any action to prevent Harry from leaving as I hear him stand. However, instead of pulling on his shoes and exiting the room as I expect, he only takes one long stride forward, then I feel a pressure on the edge of my bed.

He's sitting next to me, then he's pulling his legs up and slipping under the covers. His front presses to my back and I feel his arm come tentatively to rest around my hip. I don't make any indication that I'm awake and have to withhold the soft sigh of relief that's dying to escape me. I refuse to admit to myself that I'm enjoying Harry's touch. I shouldn't be, I don't want to be, but I can't help it. It's out of my control.

Slowly and gently Harry's legs intertwine with mine and his chin comes to rest atop my head. Now his even breaths are even closer, soothing me until I eventually drift off into unconsciousness.

***

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