My stomach tenses. I should’ve guessed that.
“There are two more boxes left. Hart, you must win the next one to have a chance of winning,” Minji says.
I nod, determined.
The man returns with a different box. His back faces us. The countdown begins, and on three, he spins, showing a clear box with vertical strips of metal. Turning it around, he tricks our eyes. I catch a hint of orange.
“Orange!” I yell.
“Yes!” Minji cheers as I gain a point with a loud ding. “We have a tie.”
The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. I shake my hands out. I got this.
The man returns with a box that resembles the original. The countdown is white noise in the background. The minute, “Go!” is called, I’m on the ground, belly first. Focused on that sliver.
“Jeju Citrus!” Samantha yells.
A ding sounds, and my eyes fill with tears. How could she know that? The door had barely lifted. A burst of applause and murmurs sweep through the audience like a wave. I stand up and force a smile, congratulating Samantha as I shake her hand.
She hugs me. “Did you really think Sang would let you ruin his client? You’ll be nothing more than a memory of America soon.”
My jaw drops, and I move back, stunned.
Screams erupt, and I glance over to see Jiwoo kissing him on the cheek. In their culture, that’s the equivalent of playing tonsil hockey. I was stupid to think a man like him would be interested in me with my messy life. Stepping back, I stumble off the stage, managing to make it into the back hallway before my tears begin to fall. Swiping at my eyes, I leave the studio and make the short walk to the hotel. I shove on glasses to hide my pain as I enter and take the stairs up to my floor to avoid people. I unlock the door with trembling hands.
The worst part about everything is the fact that I can’t say I didn’t win. Burying my face in my hands, I sob as I rock back and forth. To come so close and lose it because the game was rigged sickens me. There’s no one I could tell who would believe me. I can’t stay here, but I can’t leave yet. We have to stay the full week in case they need to do reshoots. I lost everything in less than ten minutes. Knock. Knock. I ignore it. I’m in no shape to talk to anyone.
“Hart.” Yoon’s voice makes me snarl.
“Go away. You’ve done enough,” I bark.
“It’s not what it looked like,” he pleads.
“Oh yeah? Tell it to someone else who didn’t watch it go down right in front of them. Were you laughing at me this entire week? Was it a game?” My voice cracks.
“No. I have no interest in JiWoo.”
I sneer. “That makes you even worse. Don’t make me call security.”
“Hartley, open the door right now, so we can talk.” His voice is deep and edgy. I’ve never heard him like this before.
“I don’t want to talk to you.” My voice trembles. Suddenly, it’s all too much, and I break. Sliding down onto the floor, I bow my head. “Please, if you cared anything about me at all. Just go.”
He pounds against the door one last time. “I’ll go for now.”
Tomorrow I’ll pick myself up off the ground, piece myself together, and walk with my head held high. Tonight, I need to mourn for what might’ve been.
I SLAY MY FACE TO THE gods, put on the pair of jeans that make my ass look fabulous, and wear a frilly, pink crop top. Slipping my feet into nude heels, I make my way down to breakfast with my head held high. Others who lost before me come over.
“I really hoped you would be the one to win it all.”
“Thank you. I gave it my best shot.” I smile and pretend my heart isn’t aching.
“You had a great run.” Brian, one of the only male competitors, steps up beside me. He’s gorgeous with pale green eyes that remind me of spring and russet hair, but he’s not Yoon.
“Thank you. I like to think I went down swinging.”
“You look terrific this morning.”