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No key for Brielle. No future for Brielle and Hayes. No happy ending.
I blink rapidly, fighting back tears that threaten to spill. I will not cry on camera. I will not give them that shot for their promos. I will not become the sobbing, eliminated contestant they replay in flashbacks for years to come.
The other women step back, keys clutched in their hands, their expressions a mix of relief and awkward sympathy. Skye materializes beside me, her hand gentle on my elbow.
“Brielle,” she says softly, “it’s time to say your goodbyes.”
I nod mechanically, my body operating on autopilot while my brain tries to process the nuclear bomb that just detonated in my chest. I turn to the other women, summoning what I hope is a dignified smile.
“Good luck, everyone,” I manage, my voice only slightly unsteady. “I’m... I’m glad to have known you all.”
Annabelle breaks rank first, rushing forward to hug me tightly. “This isn’t right,” she whispers fiercely in my ear. “Call me when you’re out.”
I hug her, grateful for this small kindness amid the devastation.
Serena approaches next, her composure intact but her eyes showing genuine regret. “I’m sorry it ended this way,” she says formally, embracing me briefly. “For what it’s worth, I understand you had to do what you did.”
Luna gives me an awkward wave, murmuring platitudes about staying strong that don’t register.
And then it’s time. Hayes steps forward, extending his hand to lead me out, as is the tradition. The final walk of shame, the last conversation before the limo of tears whisks the rejected away.
I take his hand, feeling the familiar warmth that now seems like cruel mockery. We walk in silence through the mansion’s elaborate hallways, past the rooms where I laughed and cried and hoped, past the kitchen where I bonded with Annabelle over late-night ice cream, past the bench by the pool where Hayes and I had so many meaningful conversations.
Outside, the night air is cool on my flushed skin. The limo waits, its door open like the mouth of some beast ready to swallow me whole. The cameras maintain a respectful distance for our “private” farewell, though we both know every word will be captured, edited, and broadcast to millions.
“Hayes,” I say, then falter. What can I possibly say that won’t sound pathetic or bitter?
“Brielle, I—” He stops, struggling visibly. For the first time tonight, he looks directly into my eyes, and what I see there confuses me even more. There’s pain there, real pain, and something that looks disturbingly like regret.
“What happened?” I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice cracks. “And I meant it. But sometimes... sometimes things are more complicated than they seem.”
“Then explain it to me,” I plead, forgetting the cameras, forgetting everything but the need to understand why the man who told me he was falling for me is now sending me away.
Hayes glances briefly toward a production trailer parked nearby, then back to me. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words heavy with unspoken meaning.
“Please, did something happen—”
“Brielle,” he cuts me off, a warning in his tone. “I’m so sorry. I love you, but there were just too many things working against us.”
A declaration of love—here,now, as he’s sending me home—feels like the cruelest twist of all. My eyes burn with unshed tears.
“I understand,” I say, even though my heart screams in protest. “I know why you have to do what you have to do.” I pause, summoning strength for what needs to be said. “But you have to know, this is it for us, after you made this choice.”
I mean it. Whatever game is being played here, whatever pressure Hayes is under, I can’t be part of it anymore. My career, my life, my heart—they’re all too valuable to sacrifice on the altar of reality TV manipulation.
Hayes nods, his face a mask of resignation. And then—the detail that will haunt me—a single tear escapes, tracking down his cheek before he can brush it away.
That tear undoes me. The careful composure I’ve maintained crumbles. My own tears spill over, hot and unstoppable. I turn quickly toward the limo, unable to bear another second of this exquisite torture.
“Goodbye, Hayes,” I manage, the words choked.
His hand catches mine briefly. “Brielle—”
But I pull away, and when I see Onion come rushing toward me, I bend down and give her a goodbye hug, my heart breaking all over again because I’m going to miss this dog almost as much as I’m going to miss Hayes.
He takes Onion from me as I slide into the waiting limo without looking back. The door closes with a soft, expensive thud, and the driver immediately pulls away, as instructed. No lingering, no chance for reconciliation. Clean, quick, decisive.