Chapter 4: The Rich Boy Next Door

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 turning.

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! Busted.

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, trust-fund prince 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.”

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 Reed Holdings. His father was one of the top three richest people in the country.

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

"Turns out, the ‘rich boy’ is one of us," people joked online.

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

Meanwhile, the ratings and reputation of Madison’s beach show crashed. After two episodes of backlash, she refused to go back, and her sponsor paid the penalty. The director called me, hoping I’d return. I refused. Once he’d dropped me for someone else, our partnership was over.

He begged, but I stood firm. I’d learned my lesson—never be anyone’s second choice.

He found a replacement, but the show never recovered and was quickly canceled.

The network quietly pulled the plug, pretending it was always meant to be a “limited series.”