Chapter 3: The Rich Boy Next Door

Ten days flew by. This gig was a breeze—nothing like the beach shoot. Every day, we just went on dates, did tasks, played games, and even had time for naps. Easy money—everyone probably felt lucky to be here.

We lounged by the pool, played board games, and took long walks through the woods behind the house. It was the most relaxed I’d felt in years.

As I spent more time with Carter, we got closer. We were always first in the games, totally in sync.

We had the same sense of humor, the same taste in music. Sometimes I caught him looking at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Not that I minded.

But our conversations were limited to the show. I still didn’t know his real background, where he went to school, or what he did for work. The show had strict rules—no personal questions. The tagline was: “Pure Love—Just Feelings.”

It was both frustrating and kind of freeing. We had to actually get to know each other, not just swap LinkedIns.

You could ask about hobbies, but not college major or alma mater. You could ask where someone had traveled, but not where they lived. You could ask how long they’d worked, but not what their job was. You could ask about friends, but not siblings. It was pure romance, no strings attached.

The producers made sure we stuck to it, too. Every time someone slipped, they’d cut the cameras and remind us of the rules.

It was actually pretty refreshing.

No small talk about internships or family drama—just real conversations. It felt like summer camp for grown-ups.

On the last day, everyone had to pick again. No surprise, Carter and I picked each other and teamed up again. The other three pairs all mixed it up.

The director cheered, making a big deal out of our “unbreakable bond.” I tried not to roll my eyes.

When we said goodbye, Carter leaned down to meet my eyes, a smile on his lips.

His voice was low, just for me. “Looking forward to next time.” My cheeks burned.

Back at the agency, I ran into Madison. She stormed over.

Her heels clicked on the tile, echoing down the hall. I braced myself for another round of drama.

“You held out on that sunscreen list, didn’t you?”

She glared at me, her skin a shade darker than usual. I tried not to smirk. Karma’s a real thing, huh?

I looked at her, trying not to laugh at how much darker she was, and shook my head.

I kept my face straight, but inside, I was dying.

“Then how come you didn’t get tanned, but I did?” she gritted out.

She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. I shrugged, playing it cool.

“Natural beauty. I don’t tan,” I replied seriously.

It wasn’t a brag—I’d always had fair skin that never tanned, even after sunburns.

My grandma always said I was “born to live indoors.” Madison rolled her eyes, not buying it.

“Just you wait!” she glared.

She stormed off, muttering threats under her breath. Zoe peeked around the corner, giving me a thumbs-up.

A few steps later, she turned back, smirking. “Guess what? Ms. Park just told me about a new opportunity—Director Lee’s next film is about to cast, and Ms. Park signed me up for martial arts training to prep me for the third female lead.”

She tossed her hair, clearly expecting me to be jealous. I just nodded, uninterested.

I was starting to get why Madison never made it big, no matter how hard she tried. Her sponsor treated her well and spent a lot, but she just couldn’t break through—probably because of her personality. So arrogant and overbearing—no one likes that.

She didn’t realize the only thing standing in her way was herself. People can spot fake from a mile away.

But Director Lee’s film, with a martial arts heroine… why did that sound familiar? I snapped my fingers, trying to place it.

Then I remembered—yesterday, my editor called to say the novel I’d sold the rights to was about to be adapted, and the director wanted me as the on-set writer. I was shocked Director Lee had picked my book. And there was a martial arts saintess—third female lead.

The pieces clicked into place. I tried not to laugh.

What a coincidence.

Life had a sense of humor, apparently.

Was Madison gunning for that film?

If so, she was in for a surprise. I’d be on set, watching every move.

The beach reality show only filmed on weekends. As I was about to head out for the next dating show shoot, Madison’s episode aired.

Zoe texted me the minute it went live: “You have to see this.”

There were no previews and the switch was last-minute, so nobody knew until it aired.

Fans were confused, flooding the show’s Instagram with questions. The producers stayed silent.

After a brief silence, the comment section exploded:

“Where’s my Brooke? Who’s this chick?”

“Give me back my Brooke!”

“They just swapped her out—what’s wrong with the producers?”

“Director, come out and explain!”

“So fake—she wears a mask to hang laundry? If you’re that scared of the sun, don’t come!”

“She weighs ninety-seven pounds and says she’s fat and needs to diet—so fake!”

“I’m done watching!”

“I saw more ads in this episode. Did Madison buy her way in? Poor Brooke.”

...

The comments were brutal.

People were relentless, posting memes, even starting a hashtag: #JusticeForBrooke. I couldn’t help but laugh.

The show had always had a great reputation and rising ratings, but with the cast change, the ratings tanked. By the second half, viewers bailed en masse. It became the lowest-rated episode since launch.

The network scrambled, but it was too late. Once fans turn, there’s no going back.

I watched the whole episode—Madison really did deserve the criticism. She barely did any chores, argued with other guests about helping on the farm, and whenever she went outside, she covered up completely, terrified of the sun. But with her face covered, she refused to go out, so she just stayed inside.

The editing didn’t do her any favors, either. She came off as spoiled and entitled. Even her fans jumped ship.

Seeing her get dragged online, I felt relieved. She couldn’t even make use of the opportunities she stole—no point worrying about her. People like that never last in this business.

I poured myself a glass of wine and toasted to karma. For once, things worked out the way they should.

I decided not to waste any more energy being upset about the past.

I closed the laptop, took a deep breath, and let it go. The future was waiting.

The new season of the dating show started quickly.

I packed my bags, double-checked my favorite hoodie, and headed out. Zoe texted me good luck gifs all morning.

As soon as I entered the small town and saw Carter, I couldn’t help but smile. For some reason, he always lifted my mood. He still didn’t have a suitcase—just a backpack—and was wearing the clothes I’d bought him.

He waved, looking genuinely happy to see me. I felt my cheeks warm.

I didn’t know much about Carter’s background, but I figured he must have gotten into college on his own, even if his family was poor. He knew a lot—about programming, current events, finance, basketball, even played guitar and sang well. He was also a gamer, promising to carry me in the next big tournament. He was fun to talk to, considerate, and really listened. Polite, humble, upbeat—a ray of sunshine.

He was the kind of guy you could talk to for hours without running out of things to say. It was easy, natural.

Ten days passed quickly, and I actually felt a little sad to leave.

I lingered by the van, wishing the show could go on just a little longer. Carter gave me a sad smile, as if he felt the same.

“Big news, everyone! The first episode from our last ten-day shoot aired last night. The results—” the director paused dramatically, “are fantastic!”

He held up his phone, grinning. The whole cast erupted in cheers.

“Awesome!” The other guests cheered.

We hugged, high-fived, and snapped selfies. Even the crew looked relieved.

I was happy, too. This was my last show before leaving the industry—I wanted to end on a high note.

I texted Zoe, “We did it!” She replied with a string of confetti emojis.

As I waved goodbye to Carter, he seemed distracted.

He kept glancing at me, then at the ground. I wondered if something was wrong.

“What’s up? You’ve been zoning out since the director spoke.”

I nudged him gently. He looked like he was working up the nerve to say something big.

Carter bit his lip, eyes darting everywhere but at me. He coughed. “If you found out a friend lied to you a little, would you forgive them?”

He looked nervous, almost shy. I tilted my head, curious.

I stared at him. He turned away. I followed his gaze; he kept looking away.

He wouldn’t meet my eyes, which only made me more suspicious.

“Spill it. What did you lie about?” I glared at him.

I crossed my arms, channeling my best “big sister” energy. He looked guilty as hell.

Carter looked guilty. “You’ll see when you watch the show.”

He shuffled his feet, hands in his pockets. I rolled my eyes, but promised to check it out.

I grabbed my phone and watched the episode on the way home.

I settled into my Uber, earbuds in, ready for the big reveal.

Now I understood what Carter had lied about—and why he’d been so sheepish.

The footage didn’t lie. I had to pause to keep from laughing out loud.

Ha! What a big liar!

He wasn’t some poor small-town kid—he was a rich young heir!

Of course. It was always the quiet ones.

Unlike the female guests, the men’s filming started at their homes. When the camera crew showed up outside Carter’s apartment complex, viewers were stunned.

The building was all glass and marble, with a doorman in a suit. I recognized the skyline immediately.

Carter lived in the legendary Willow Heights, in the heart of Manhattan, surrounded by top schools, hospitals, and luxury shops. The average condo price there was over $20 million—a true luxury estate.

I’d only ever seen the lobby in passing, but it was the kind of place you read about in magazines.

As the camera panned through the building, I thought I recognized my own place. Yes, my family had a condo there, too—my parents bought it so I could be close to school. We lived there during my middle and high school years. After I started college and moved to the dorms, and later signed with the agency, they moved back to our old house.

Small world. I wondered if we’d ever crossed paths in the elevator.

Turns out, Carter and I were neighbors.

The universe has a sense of humor, I guess.

Carter’s place was a sprawling penthouse, decorated in understated, elegant wood. The camera flashed past a display shelf in the living room. Sharp-eyed viewers noticed it was filled with real antiques, some of which had fetched sky-high prices at auction.

I paused the video, zooming in. My mom would have a field day with that collection.

“This isn’t just a display shelf—it’s a collection of mansions!” someone commented.

The comment section was on fire—people couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Even more shocking: Carter lived there alone.

He looked sheepish, explaining, “It was a coming-of-age gift from my parents.”

From there, the comments went wild:

“Young master, your loyal servant has finally found you!”

“Good sir, can I see the maid’s quarters? I want to know my future workplace.”

“Need a housekeeper? I’m a college grad with top English skills!”

...

I couldn’t stop laughing at the comments.

I screenshotted my favorites and texted them to Zoe. She replied with a dozen crying-laughing emojis.

When Carter left for the show, he went to the garage—full of luxury cars—and chose a G-Wagon. But why did he show up on a tractor?

The show revealed the answer. Near the destination, he stopped in a small town to use the restroom. When he came back, he found a scratch on his car. Maybe he was a perfectionist—he refused to drive it any further, called a friend to pick it up, and continued with his suitcase by taxi.

I could picture him, pacing the sidewalk, refusing to let a single scratch slide. Classic rich kid move.

But halfway there, his phone lost signal and the GPS died. The driver, lost, eventually dropped him by the road and left. The crew, aiming for drama, just watched.

The producers must have been cackling behind the scenes. Carter looked so lost, it was almost adorable.

Carter tried to flag down cars, but no one stopped. Finally, a farmer pulled over on a tractor. Carter asked if he could pay him to take him to the town. The old man agreed, saying he knew a shortcut.

The whole thing felt like a scene from a comedy. Only Carter could make a tractor ride look cool.

But the shortcut got narrower and overgrown.

Branches scraped the sides, and Carter ducked to avoid getting whacked in the face. The old man just kept chatting away.

“Last time I came through here, it was a good road!” the old man muttered.

Carter looked skeptical, but didn’t argue.

“When was that?” Carter asked.

“Five, maybe six years ago?”

Carter sighed.

He glanced at the camera, resigned. I couldn’t help but laugh.

Suddenly, the tractor jolted—Carter fell off and landed in a puddle. The old man, too busy chatting, hadn’t seen it. Now the tractor was stuck. Carter, soaked, had to help push it out.

He looked miserable, but kept his cool. The crew caught every second.

Feeling guilty, the old man offered him a clean set of clothes from a bag under the seat. Carter changed into the tank top and shorts. His shoes were soaked, so he took the old man’s flip-flops, while the old man put on Carter’s wet sneakers.

The image of Carter in those clothes made me laugh all over again. He actually pulled it off.

When they finally reached the town, there was a garbage dump by the road. Carter, seeing his suitcase soaked, tossed it in. The old man fished it out, asking if he could keep it.

Carter shrugged, waving goodbye. The whole thing was absurd, but it explained everything.

That’s how Carter ended up arriving as he did. Everyone thought he was just a poor kid who couldn’t afford a spare outfit. What a misunderstanding.

The crew, for the sake of drama, didn’t explain.

I had to give them credit—it made for great TV.

When I first met Carter, I’d tried to spare his feelings by saying, “I’m a sucker for good looks.” The comments section exploded with laughter:

“Same here—who isn’t a sucker for looks?”

“Carter is a total heartthrob!”

“Brooke is hilarious—she really tried to hide her sympathy!”

I blushed, reading the comments. It was embarrassing, but kind of sweet.

When I asked Carter how his family cooked, he started to say “Our housekeeper,” but I cut him off. Of course, a rich kid had never cooked before.

I cringed, realizing how wrong I’d been. Carter played along, never letting on.

So, it wasn’t really his fault. I’d jumped to conclusions.

He’d just wanted to fit in, and I’d made it easier for him. I felt a weird sense of pride.

When Carter asked me to show him the juicer, the comments lost it:

“Wow, young master is such a schemer!”

“He just wanted an excuse to get close to Brooke. Look at that sneaky smile!”

“Didn’t expect you to be like this, Carter!”

“Such a flirt!”

“Ahhh—I ship it!”

The comments were all about our chemistry, and I found myself blushing.

I hid my face in my hands, laughing. Zoe texted me: “You two are trending!”

Only one episode had aired, but it was a hit. There was so much to enjoy: the clueless director who thought all small towns were full of mansions, the bizarre show name, the genuine relationships, Carter pretending to be poor, and me tiptoeing around his feelings.

The memes were everywhere. Even my brothers sent me screenshots, teasing me about my “taste in men.” My brothers wouldn’t let me hear the end of it.

By the end, the comments were all begging for more.

The show blew up. With popularity came scrutiny. Soon, all four male guests’ backgrounds were dug up. Carter’s was the most jaw-dropping—he was the only son and heir to the Reed Group. His father was one of the top three richest people in the country. Of course he was.

The tabloids went wild. I couldn’t open Instagram without seeing a new headline.

“Turns out the rich kid is one of us,” people joked online.

Someone even started a fan page for “Brooke & Carter: America’s Sweethearts.”