Chapter 2: Welcome to Limbo

Getting out of the van right after him, I rushed up to say hi. My stomach was doing backflips.

Carter grinned for the cameras, slinging an arm over my shoulder like we were old friends. I froze for a second, surprised at how easy he made it look.

The flashes went off nonstop. The heat from the bulbs felt like a wall. My ears rang with the pop-pop-pop.

I was definitely getting my share of the spotlight. The adrenaline hit me like a wave.

“Carter, long time no see!”

Mia Lane just marched up and hooked her arm through his, waving to the crowd like she owned the place.

Fans screamed. The sound was deafening.

The Carter-Mia ship was back in business! I almost laughed. Of course.

Now I got why Carter was willing to pay so much to break up a ship—fan slang for a couple fans want to see together—even if it meant hiring me as the showmance torpedo.

Turns out Mia Lane had chased him all the way here. No wonder the drama was already thick.

Their ship was a weird phenomenon. It all started with a fan-edited video mashing up their totally unrelated roles from different shows—think Tumblr-level obsession meets Netflix hype.

With some clever marketing, the fandom blew up, and fans begged for them to work together. It was everywhere.

Mia openly campaigned for a collab in interviews, calling Carter her idol, but Carter never gave a straight answer. Always mysterious.

With a big name like Carter, the show probably couldn’t afford to pay Mia much. Showbiz math: big star, tight budget. I shook my head. That’s how it goes.

She was willing to take a pay cut just to squeeze onto this show and cement her status by playing up the ship. Hustle recognized hustle.

Mia had climbed over me to rise up, and now she was latching onto Carter like a lifeline. The cycle never ends.

While she worked the crowd, I leaned over and whispered to Carter, “This is extra.” Translation: this is a lot, even for reality TV.

He nodded, his eyes soft and steady—calm as a lake at sunrise. It made my heart stutter. I never knew which I’d end up with—nervous or hopeful.

A real Oscar winner—his acting was flawless. I almost believed him myself.

I was just starting to plot how to handle Mia, but I didn’t expect the producers to go all out. Not even close.

They rented out an entire deserted island and brought in a hundred people. Besides celebrities, there were TikTok stars, YouTubers, and every kind of wild-card contestant you could imagine. Like Survivor meets Big Brother on steroids.

The island had weird, fairytale castles and wild activity zones, drones buzzing overhead like angry bees. No expense spared, for real.

Mia leaned over and whispered, “I heard from the crew this show is based on Squid Game. Every three days, a batch gets eliminated, and the last one standing wins a massive prize.” Her eyes were practically glowing.

“How massive?” I shot back, my curiosity piqued.

“No idea, but at least eight figures.” She grinned, winking.

Carter caught the gleam in my eye and casually shifted so I was half-hidden behind him, like he was blocking me from temptation—or maybe trouble.

Mia lowered her voice. “This is just between us, okay?”

I’d watched Squid Game—no way they’d let their star go home first, especially not Carter. That’s just not how American reality TV works.

I had to make sure I stuck around long enough to break up that ship for him. My job depended on it.

The crew brought out a bowl of rainbow candies. It felt like a weird game show prize, but I played along.

Mia grabbed a red one. Carter picked blue. I followed Mia’s lead and picked red too, not really thinking.

Just as I was about to bite into it, Carter snatched it out of my hand.

I frowned, stomped my foot, and whined, “Why’d you take mine?” It was pure theater. Dripping with fake innocence. I was laying it on thick.

From Carter’s GoPro—yeah, they had us all wearing cameras—I caught Mia rolling her eyes behind me. Classic.

Carter ruffled my hair, teasing, “I just like this one.”

He usually looked so serious, but when he got playful, he was cheesier than me. I had to bite back a smile.

Suddenly, a booming voice came over the loudspeaker:

“Everyone, bite into your candy! The slip of paper inside shows your room assignment!” The tone was pure reality-TV hype.

Mia got Area A, the Fairytale Villa. Carter got Area C, Cozy Den. Mine? Area E: Limbo.

“Limbo.”

Just the name gave me chills. Like, who names a room that? Creepy.

I glared at Carter, wishing I could burn a hole through his annoyingly handsome face. Not that it’d work.

Moving into Limbo, I felt like I had a hundred-pound weight on my shoulders. Heavier than visiting a graveyard. This was reality TV purgatory.

The walk down the hallway dragged on forever, my suitcase wheels squeaking against the grimy tile. The sound echoed, sharp and lonely. I kept glancing back, half-expecting a jump scare.

When I got to Area E, I found twenty single rooms. Aside from being tiny and painted a depressing grayish white, everything was—shockingly—normal. No hidden monsters, no traps. Yet.

My mood instantly lifted. Relief washed over me. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

A girl in her twenties peeked in through the window. “So there really are celebs living here! I thought it was all staged.”

I recognized her—Lila Lambert, a food blogger whose donut reviews I’d binge-watch at 2 a.m. when I couldn’t sleep.

We chatted for a bit and hit it off right away. She was funny, down-to-earth, and totally unfazed by the cameras.

Lila pulled me aside, whispering, “This show is totally copying Squid Game. If you secretly practice those games, you can totally win the big prize.” She gave me a conspiratorial wink.

I forced a smile and nodded, but inside, I was already overthinking. Was it really that simple?

No wonder I saw people playing Red Light, Green Light outside earlier. The clues were everywhere.

But if everyone knows the trick, is it really a trick? I wondered. The paranoia was real.

Mia came over with a storm cloud on her face. Probably clocking my GoPro, she softened fast. “Autumn, want to swap rooms?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you get the villa?”

“There’s only one villa, and it’s not split up. Twenty people sleeping on the floor together!” She shuddered, like she’d just seen a spider.

I couldn’t help laughing. For a second, I forgot the cameras. That image was too much.

Once this airs, I’ll probably get roasted again for gloating. Whatever. I needed the laugh.

“Or, I could move in with you. You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Mia rubbed her back, eyeing the bare cement like it was a bed of nails.

“I’ll sleep on the floor. I remember you’ve got old injuries from dance—your back and legs. If you sleep on the floor and it flares up, that’ll suck.” I tried to sound casual.

Mia perked up, all smiles. “Deal.”

Back on that other show, she’d given me her bed and slept on a cot herself. After it aired, people claimed her injuries flared up because of it.

She became the tough, righteous girl, and I got painted as the heartless diva. Classic edit.

Night fell, and the temperature dropped. The air felt sharp, like it was biting through my sweatshirt.

Outside, it was all fog—couldn’t see a thing. The island was damp, the kind of damp that seeps into your bones. Sleeping on the floor at night was torture.

I tossed and turned, counting cracks in the ceiling, while Mia was out like a light—snoring softly, not a care in the world.