Chapter 4: The House Always Wins

That afternoon, Carter hauls two buckets of seafood back to our place. He’s already in a bad mood, and seeing our digs makes it worse. Nothing’s more infuriating than watching your rivals live better than you.

He glances around, jaw tight. I can see him mentally kicking himself for turning down our offer earlier.

Seeing his sour mood just makes me happier.

I lounge on my clam shell bed, humming.

Carter grumbles: “Nice place you’ve got.”

He says it like an accusation.

“Yep. We even invited you before, but you were too proud to accept.”

I remind him, just to twist the knife a little.

He’s full of regret, but it’s too late to backtrack now.

He mumbles something under his breath, but I just smile.

“Alright, go cook outside. We’ll rest in here. Call us when dinner’s ready.”

I wave him off, savoring every second.

Carter bristles: “Autumn, I’m not your servant.”

He glares, but I just shrug.

“Should’ve thought of that before you lost.”

I flash him a toothy grin.

He tries to save face: “Aren’t you worried viewers will say you’re disrespecting your senior?”

He’s fishing for sympathy, but I’m not biting.

“You probably don’t know—there’s no camera in here. I could call you an idiot and no one would care.”

I lean back, stretching luxuriously.

“You…”

He checks the cave—no cameras. Fuming, he goes to cook.

He slams the bucket down, grumbling all the way.

That night, Carter serves up a seafood feast. His cooking is top-notch, and the fresh seafood makes it even better. Riley tastes the lobster bisque and nearly faints from delight: “Carter, you’re an amazing cook.”

She licks her spoon, eyes wide with surprise.

He’s smug: “I won a celebrity cooking competition, you know.”

He puffs out his chest, finally getting some recognition.

“Impressive. If you ever quit acting, you could be a chef.”

She grins, and he rolls his eyes.

He’s speechless: “Are you jinxing me?”

He shoots her a glare, but she just laughs.

She keeps eating, unfazed: “No, just saying you cook well. Don’t be so sensitive.”

She pops a shrimp in her mouth, smiling.

He’s about to explode.

He glares at us, but hunger wins out—he starts eating too, grumbling between bites.

Soon, his attention shifts—he’s barely eaten all day and can’t help drooling over our meal. But he can’t bring himself to ask for food. Instead, he hints: “I cooked all this for you while starving. Autumn, don’t you have something to say?”

He gives me a pointed look, hoping for a thank you.

“Thanks, but that’s what you get for losing.”

I say it with a wink, and Riley snickers.

He tries again: “Anything else you want to say? Maybe about the food?”

He’s practically begging now.

“Oh, right,” I smile. “Go rest up. Don’t forget to make breakfast tomorrow.”

I stretch, feigning exhaustion.

“You…”

He snaps a stick in frustration.

The viewers weigh in:

“Isn’t Autumn being petty? Carter cooked for her, and she won’t share?”

“He lost the bet! It’s not like he volunteered.”

“Didn’t you notice how nasty Carter’s bet was? If Autumn lost, she’d be out of the industry for three years.”

“Autumn might not have the best personality, but she’s a good actress. Three years out and she’d be forgotten.”

“Yeah, don’t feel sorry for the guys—they’ll be fine.”

The chat is split, but I know who’s really winning here.

The next few days, Riley and I go into full-on slacker mode. I joined the show to see my boyfriend; Riley’s here for the paycheck. Neither of us is trying to clear our name. Viewers can hate all they want—our online reputations are already in the gutter. After all, we almost made the national sweetheart, Marissa, cry on day one. Of course, viewers hate us.

We lounge around, playing cards and telling ghost stories. Sometimes we nap in the sun, ignoring the cameras completely.

Surprisingly, my agent, Heather, tells me viewers love watching our lazy routine. “Life’s hard enough. Watching Autumn and Riley slack off is actually relaxing! They’re so real—I wish I could do the same.”

I laugh, picturing Heather with a glass of wine, rooting for us from her couch.

Marissa’s group isn’t so lucky. They’re cold, hungry, and soon catch colds. To make matters worse, a nor’easter hits. Freezing in their tents, they’re desperate. Eventually, they come begging us for shelter.

I hear them shuffling outside the cave, voices hoarse and pleading. I can’t help but feel a little smug.

I agree without hesitation.

I figure, why not? If they barge in, we can’t stop them. Might as well look generous for the cameras.

Brandon is surprised: “You’re not refusing?”

He looks at me like I’m growing a second head.

“If you want me to, I can.”

I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to backtrack.

What’s the point? If they barge in, we can’t stop them. Might as well earn some goodwill—viewers will love it.

I glance at the camera, making sure to look extra magnanimous.

“No, no, let me in, I’m freezing.”

Brandon comes in, warms up by the fire, and awkwardly thanks me. Marissa, ever the actress, forces a smile and thanks me too.

She snuggles close to the fire, shivering dramatically. The boys huddle together, grateful but embarrassed.

I grin: “No problem. Brandon owes me a lead role, Jordan has to write me a song, and Carter has to cook. Letting you stay a few nights is the least I can do.”

I say it sweetly, but I see the pain in their eyes.

Their smiles vanish.

The silence is delicious. I almost feel bad—almost.

After two days, the rain stops and their colds clear up. With food, drink, and a good night’s sleep, they don’t want to leave. But they’d said they were just borrowing the cave. Now, with the weather cleared, they feel awkward staying.

They linger, making excuses, but I see right through them.

Brandon clears his throat: “Autumn, why don’t we keep living together? You girls might need help, and we can pitch in.”

He tries to sound helpful, but I know he just wants the comfort.

Riley shoots him down: “No thanks. It’s more inconvenient with you guys around—we can’t even change clothes. Besides, you haven’t helped us at all. If anything, you’ve just used our stuff.”

She crosses her arms, glaring.

“And didn’t you say survival means earning your own food and shelter? Or did you forget?”

She says everything I’m thinking.

I add calmly: “You really should leave. We do better without you.”

I keep my tone even, but there’s no room for argument.

Brandon, pride wounded, storms off: “Fine, who cares?”

He stomps out, muttering curses.

Marissa bites her lip, eyeing the cave longingly. Carter pats her hand: “Don’t worry, I’ll convince Autumn to let us stay.”

He whispers, but I hear every word.

“You’re the best, Carter!”

She beams at him, hope in her eyes.

I overhear them, curious what Carter will try.

I wait, pretending to nap, but keeping one ear open.