# MY PERFECT WIFE
### A Novel by Huddon S Lajah
---
# CHAPTER EIGHT
## Day One Ends
---
**The Contestant Mansion — 6:47 AM**
The first official day of the competition ended not with a bang, but with a series of increasingly chaotic text messages.
Jawin was still in bed—having finally fallen asleep around 4:00 AM after her garden conversation with Mario—when her phone began vibrating with the intensity of a minor earthquake.
**FAMILY GROUP CHAT: THE MENDEZ CHAOS**
*Mama (6:32 AM):* Mija, are you awake? I saw you on the internet.
*Mama (6:33 AM):* You threw champagne on that boy?
*Mama (6:33 AM):* Your father is laughing. I don't know if that's good.
*Papa (6:35 AM):* [fifteen crying-laughing emojis]
*Papa (6:36 AM):* That's my daughter. No respect for fancy suits.
*Mama (6:37 AM):* Eduardo, stop encouraging her.
*Papa (6:38 AM):* She's a Mendez. We don't bow to billionaires.
*Bella (6:40 AM):* You're trending again. #ChampagneQueen is number two.
*Bella (6:41 AM):* Also #Uncategorized is number five. People are making memes.
*Jawin:* I just woke up. Why is everyone awake at 6 AM?
*Mama (6:42 AM):* We've been watching the livestream. They show highlights at night.
*Jawin:* There's a LIVESTREAM?
*Bella (6:43 AM):* Did you not read the contract?
*Jawin:* WE'VE DISCUSSED THIS. THERE WERE MANY PAGES.
*Papa (6:44 AM):* My daughter is famous for throwing drinks on rich people. I've never been prouder.
*Mama (6:45 AM):* Eduardo.
*Papa (6:46 AM):* Rosa. Let me have this.
Jawin dropped her phone onto the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
*Trending. Livestream. Memes.*
She had somehow become internet-famous for being a disaster.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
---
**Meanwhile, in a Different Time Zone...**
Salma Al-Rashid sat in her Singapore hotel room, watching the same livestream on her laptop.
It was evening there—8:00 PM local time—and she had been glued to the competition coverage for hours. Not because she cared about the competition itself, but because every moment Jawin appeared on screen was a moment of relief.
Jawin was surviving.
Jawin was causing chaos, but she was *surviving*.
The phone call came at 8:15 PM.
"Tell me about the champagne incident," Bella's voice demanded without preamble. "I need details. The stream only showed the aftermath."
"Your sister tripped and threw a full glass of champagne directly into Mario Castellan's face. On camera. At a formal brunch."
"That tracks."
"He laughed."
"What?"
"Mario Castellan—who, according to every source I have, has not genuinely laughed in over a decade—*laughed*. At your sister. Covered in champagne." Salma ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know what to make of it."
"Maybe he's charmed by her disaster energy."
"Nobody should be charmed by disaster energy. That's not how charm works."
"Apparently it is, because your girl is trending as #ChampagneQueen." Bella's voice softened. "Are you okay? You sound stressed."
"I'm always stressed."
"More stressed than usual."
Salma was quiet for a moment.
"Victoria Sterling is investigating," she said finally. "She has people looking into Jawin. Trying to figure out why she's in the competition."
Bella went silent.
"If she digs deep enough—"
"She won't find anything," Bella interrupted. "We were careful."
"We were careful in *our* city. We don't know if—"
"Salma." Bella's voice was firm. "Even if she finds out about us, that's not Jawin's secret to expose. All Victoria can prove is that Jawin isn't who she claims to be. That's a competition scandal, not a family crisis."
"Unless she connects us. Unless she figures out why you asked Jawin specifically. Unless—"
"Unless, unless, unless." Bella sighed. "You're spiraling. I can hear it."
"I'm not spiraling."
"You're definitely spiraling."
Salma pressed her palm against her forehead. "I should be there. I should be helping. Instead I'm stuck in Singapore pretending to care about quarterly reports while my girlfriend's sister competes for a billionaire I was supposed to marry."
"That sentence is unhinged."
"This entire situation is unhinged."
"Welcome to the Mendez family experience." Bella's voice warmed. "Look, Jawin knows what she's doing. Sort of. She's going to be fine. Probably. And when this is over—when you come home—we'll figure out the rest together. Okay?"
"Okay."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
Salma hung up.
On her laptop, the livestream continued. Jawin was now visible in the background of a group shot, looking slightly overwhelmed but very much alive.
*Survive*, Salma thought. *Just survive.*
---
**The Contestant Mansion — 9:00 AM**
The day-one-technically-day-two chaos continued with a mandatory group breakfast.
All twenty-four contestants were required to attend, which meant twenty-four women in various states of morning presentation—some fully made up and camera-ready, others (Jawin) wearing yesterday's clothes and the haunted expression of someone running on four hours of sleep.
"You look like death," Penny observed, sliding into the seat beside her.
"You've said that before."
"It remains accurate."
"I'm choosing to interpret consistency as concern."
Victoria Sterling held court at the head of the longest table, surrounded by her alliance. They spoke in low voices, occasionally glancing at Jawin with expressions that ranged from "calculating" to "actively plotting murder."
Roxanne was delivering a breakfast monologue to anyone who would listen, describing her "journey of self-discovery" through the competition. Several contestants had developed the glazed look of people who had stopped listening twenty minutes ago.
Camille sat alone, reading the Financial Times and occasionally making notes in a leather-bound journal.
Astrid was explaining to her tablemates why the breakfast menu was cosmically aligned with Venus, which was apparently in a favorable position for "matters of the heart."
And Jawin was trying very hard not to fall asleep in her oatmeal.
"Did you sleep at all?" Penny asked.
"Four hours. Maybe."
"That's not enough."
"I had a 2 AM garden conversation with Mario about existential dread and the nature of ranking systems. Sleep wasn't really on the agenda."
Penny's spoon froze halfway to her mouth.
"You had a *what*?"
"Garden conversation. It's apparently a thing we do now. Accidentally run into each other in dark gardens and discuss feelings we're not supposed to have."
"That sounds romantic."
"It sounds like a terrible idea, which is what all my ideas are."
Before Penny could respond, a production assistant appeared at their table.
"Attention, contestants! Please gather in the main hall in fifteen minutes for a schedule briefing. Mr. Castellan will be addressing the group."
The room buzzed with activity.
Victoria smoothed her already-perfect hair.
Roxanne practiced her "attentive listening" expression in her phone's front-facing camera.
Jawin finished her oatmeal and tried to remember what a functioning human looked like.
---
**The Main Hall — Schedule Briefing**
Mario stood at the front of the room, flanked by his ever-present tablet and an expression that suggested he had slept approximately as well as Jawin.
"Good morning," he said, and even his neutral voice sounded tired. "I hope everyone rested well."
*Liar*, Jawin thought. *You were in the garden at 2 AM too.*
"Today marks the official conclusion of your orientation period. Beginning tomorrow, the competition enters its active phase." He clicked his remote, bringing up a schedule on the screen behind him.
**WEEK ONE SCHEDULE**
Monday: Individual Interviews (Complete)
Tuesday: Group Activity + Evening Social
Wednesday: First Individual Dates (4 contestants)
Thursday: First Individual Dates (4 contestants)
Friday: First Individual Dates (4 contestants)
Saturday: First Elimination Ceremony
Sunday: Rest Day
"As you can see," Mario continued, "individual dates will begin on Wednesday. Four contestants will be selected for dates each day. Selection is based on your current ranking and my personal interest in further evaluation."
*My personal interest*.
He said it like he was discussing investment opportunities, not romantic encounters.
"The elimination ceremony on Saturday will remove the bottom four contestants from the competition. Those placed in the 'Side Piece Consideration' category are at highest risk, though no placement is guaranteed safe."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"What about the 'Uncategorized' category?" Victoria asked, her voice sharp. "Is that position at risk as well?"
Mario's eyes briefly met Jawin's.
"The 'Uncategorized' position is... pending evaluation. Miss Mendez will be assessed according to the same criteria as everyone else. Her category placement will be determined based on additional data."
"Additional data," Victoria repeated. "Such as?"
"Such as private conversations and observed behavior. The same data I'm collecting on all of you."
Victoria's smile was thin. "Of course."
The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches.
Jawin tried to look invisible, which was difficult given that everyone was now staring at her.
"Any other questions?" Mario asked.
Silence.
"Then you're dismissed. Enjoy your final day of orientation. Tomorrow, the competition begins in earnest."
He left the room without looking back.
---
**The Gardens — Midday**
Jawin escaped to the gardens after the briefing, desperately needing air and space and approximately five minutes of not being stared at.
She found a bench—not *the* bench, a different bench, because the original bench now felt loaded with significance she wasn't ready to examine—and sat down heavily.
Her phone buzzed.
**Salma:** How are you holding up?
**Jawin:** I'm "uncategorized." Which means either I'm fascinating or I've broken his brain. Unclear which.
**Salma:** I saw the rankings. Interesting strategy.
**Jawin:** There's no strategy. I just exist and things happen.
**Salma:** That's a kind of strategy.
**Jawin:** Is it?
**Salma:** A chaotic one. But yes.
Jawin smiled despite herself.
**Jawin:** How are things on your end? Any progress with the family situation?
**Salma:** Slow. My father keeps asking about the competition. He wants updates. I keep telling him my "proxy" is handling things.
**Jawin:** Proxy makes me sound like a robot.
**Salma:** Would you prefer "designated chaos agent"?
**Jawin:** That's more accurate.
**Salma:** Victoria is digging. I'm trying to monitor it, but she has resources I can't match.
**Jawin:** I know. She threatened me yesterday. Said she was going to "find out" what I'm hiding.
**Salma:** And what did you say?
**Jawin:** I told her I was just being myself.
**Salma:** That's either very smart or very stupid.
**Jawin:** Story of my life.
A pause. Then:
**Salma:** Thank you. For doing this. I know it's insane and terrifying and nothing like what you signed up for.
**Jawin:** I signed up for fifty thousand dollars and my sister's happiness. Everything else is just... context.
**Salma:** Still. Thank you.
**Jawin:** Don't thank me yet. I might accidentally fall in love with the billionaire and ruin everything.
She meant it as a joke.
It didn't feel like a joke.
**Salma:** Would that be so bad?
**Jawin:** ???
**Salma:** If you actually fell for him. Would that be the worst outcome?
Jawin stared at the message.
**Jawin:** I'm not falling for anyone. I'm surviving.
**Salma:** Sometimes surviving turns into something else.
Before Jawin could respond, footsteps approached.
She looked up.
Victoria Sterling stood at the edge of the path, watching her with predatory interest.
"Miss Mendez. Enjoying the gardens?"
"Just getting some air."
"Mmm." Victoria moved closer, her heels clicking against the stone path. "I couldn't help but notice you on your phone. Texting someone important?"
"My family."
"Your family. Of course." Victoria's smile didn't reach her eyes. "It must be strange for them. Having their daughter suddenly thrust into this world of wealth and privilege."
"They're adjusting."
"I'm sure they are. Your father especially—the one who lost his restaurant? Such a tragic story. Starting over at his age must be humiliating."
Jawin's blood ran cold.
"How do you know about my father?"
"I told you, I've been doing research." Victoria examined her nails casually. "Eduardo Mendez. Owner of Mendez Family Kitchen, closed three years ago due to financial difficulties. Your mother, Rosa, worked as a seamstress until her health issues forced early retirement. Your sister, Isabella, is currently in university—funded, I assume, by your multiple jobs and family sacrifice."
Each word was a precision strike.
"Stop."
"And then there's Salma Al-Rashid." Victoria's voice dropped lower. "Your mysterious sponsor. Daughter of a family that does extensive business with the Castellans. Originally supposed to be in this competition herself, until she suddenly... couldn't. Curious, isn't it? That she would send *you* as her replacement?"
Jawin stood.
Her heart was pounding, but she kept her voice steady.
"Whatever you think you've found—whatever conspiracy you're imagining—you're wrong."
"Am I?"
"I'm here because Salma asked me. Because she couldn't do it herself. The reasons are personal and *not yours to know*."
"Everything becomes my business when it affects this competition." Victoria stepped closer. "I'm going to win, Jawin. That's not arrogance—it's inevitability. Mario needs someone who can match his intelligence, his ambition, his status. You're a charming distraction, nothing more. But distractions can be dangerous, and I prefer to eliminate dangers early."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a prediction." Victoria's smile was ice. "Enjoy your remaining time in the garden. Enjoy your remaining time in the competition. Both are limited."
She walked away, leaving Jawin standing among the roses with her heart in her throat.
---
**Flashback: Three Years Ago**
*The day Mendez Family Kitchen closed for good.*
Jawin remembered every detail.
The way her father's shoulders had slumped as he turned the sign from OPEN to CLOSED for the last time. The way her mother had quietly cried in the kitchen, surrounded by pots and pans that would be sold to pay debts. The way Bella had squeezed Jawin's hand, both of them understanding that everything was about to change.
"We'll be okay," Eduardo had said, his voice hoarse. "Mendez family doesn't break. We bend, we adapt, but we don't break."
"What are we going to do?" Jawin had asked.
"You're going to finish school. Bella's going to go to university. Your mother and I will figure out the rest."
"I can help—"
"You're already helping. Just by being here. Just by being who you are."
Jawin had looked around the restaurant—the tables where she'd learned to serve, the kitchen where she'd learned to cook, the corner booth where she'd done her homework for eighteen years. All of it gone.
"I'll come back," she'd promised. "When I'm a real chef. I'll open something new. Something better."
"I know you will, *mija*." Eduardo had pulled her into a hug, his big arms wrapping around her like a promise. "I know you will."
Three years later, Jawin was still waiting for the chance to keep that promise.
Three years later, she was still working three jobs, still sacrificing, still putting herself last.
But maybe—*maybe*—this insane competition could change that.
Fifty thousand dollars.
Culinary school.
A chance to rebuild what had been lost.
All she had to do was survive.
---
**The Contestant Mansion — Afternoon**
Jawin found Penny in the library, hiding behind a large book about Japanese architecture.
"Are you okay?" Penny asked, lowering the book. "You look worse than this morning. I didn't think that was possible."
"Victoria confronted me in the garden. She knows things about my family. About Salma."
Penny's eyes widened. "What kind of things?"
"Personal things. Investigative things." Jawin collapsed into a nearby chair. "She's trying to intimidate me. Or expose me. Or both."
"Expose you for what?"
Jawin hesitated.
She trusted Penny—genuinely trusted her, in a way she hadn't expected to trust anyone in this competition. But Salma's secret wasn't hers to share.
"For being... not what I seem," she said carefully. "For being here for reasons that aren't about winning Mario's heart."
Penny was quiet for a moment.
"I'm here for reasons that aren't about winning his heart either," she said softly.
"What?"
"I entered this competition because my family thought it would be good for my career. Concert pianist, meets billionaire heir, gains media exposure. It was supposed to be networking, not romance." Penny's laugh was bitter. "I never expected to actually connect with anyone."
"But you're a fiancée candidate. Mario ranked you third."
"I know. That's the terrifying part." Penny hugged herself. "What if he actually likes me? What if this becomes real? I don't know how to handle real."
Jawin reached over and squeezed her hand.
"Then we figure it out together. Like we've been doing."
"What if Victoria destroys both of us first?"
"Then we go down swinging." Jawin managed a smile. "Mendez family doesn't break. We bend, we adapt, but we don't break."
Penny nodded slowly.
"I like that. Can I borrow it?"
"Consider it yours."
---
**The Castellan Estate — Mario's Private Office**
While the contestants strategized and socialized, Mario sat alone in his home office, reviewing data that had nothing to do with business.
On his screen: Jawin Mendez's file.
The official version was sparse—the same sparse file he'd seen before the competition began. "Service industry." "Middle class." "Sponsored by Al-Rashid."
But there was more now.
Mario had done his own research.
Three jobs: café barista, catering prep cook, diner server. Total weekly hours: approximately sixty. Annual income: barely above poverty line. Ninety percent of earnings sent to support family.
No degree. No assets. No connections.
By every metric his father valued, Jawin Mendez was unsuitable.
And yet.
Mario pulled up the footage from yesterday's evaluation session.
*"Someone who sees me. Not what I can do for them, not what I represent, not what category I fit into. Just... me."*
He'd watched this clip approximately seventeen times.
He wasn't proud of that.
But he couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd looked at him. Not calculating, not strategic, not performing. Just... honest.
No one had ever looked at him like that.
A knock at his door.
"Come in."
Beatrice entered, tablet in hand. "Your mother wants to see you. She's in the sunroom."
"Now?"
"Now."
Mario closed the file and stood.
Whatever his mother wanted, it couldn't be more confusing than what he was already feeling.
---
**The Sunroom**
Donna Lucia Castellan was drinking tea when Mario entered.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
Mario sat.
"I've been watching the footage," Lucia said without preamble. "All of it. The gala, the brunch, the rankings presentation."
"And?"
"And I'm fascinated."
"By what?"
"By the fact that you created a new category for a woman you've known for less than a week." Lucia's eyes sparkled with something like amusement. "Uncategorized. That's not in your father's system."
"The system required adaptation."
"The system has never required adaptation before. Twenty-three women fit neatly into your categories. One didn't." Lucia set down her teacup. "What makes her different?"
Mario didn't answer immediately.
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "That's the problem."
"Is it a problem? Or is it the point?"
"I don't understand."
"Mario." Lucia's voice softened. "When I told you to pay attention to entry twenty-four, I wasn't telling you to evaluate her. I was telling you to *see* her. Really see her, not as a contestant, but as a person."
"I see all the contestants as people."
"You see all the contestants as data points. Variables to be analyzed. Problems to be solved." Lucia stood, moving to look out the window. "Jawin Mendez is not a problem to be solved. She's a person to be known. And something about knowing her scares you."
"Nothing scares me."
"Everything scares you. You've just built walls high enough that you don't have to notice."
Silence.
"What do you want me to do?" Mario asked.
"I want you to consider the possibility that your father's system—the categories, the rankings, the metrics—might not be the right framework for finding love." Lucia turned back to face him. "I want you to consider the possibility that love isn't something you evaluate. It's something you experience."
"That's what Jawin said."
"Then perhaps you should listen to her."
Mario stood abruptly.
"I need to think."
"That's exactly what you don't need to do." Lucia smiled gently. "But I suspect you'll do it anyway. You are your father's son, after all."
She returned to her tea, leaving Mario to wrestle with questions he didn't know how to answer.
---
**The Contestant Mansion — Evening**
The final night of orientation featured a "casual social gathering" that was neither casual nor particularly social.
The contestants had been instructed to mingle in the mansion's great room, where drinks were served and cameras captured every interaction. Mario was expected to circulate, making conversation and "collecting observational data."
It felt like a performance disguised as a party.
Jawin positioned herself near the refreshment table—partially because she was hungry, mostly because it gave her an excuse to avoid direct conversation with anyone trying to strategize.
"You're hiding again," Penny observed, joining her.
"I'm strategically positioning myself near the shrimp."
"That's hiding with shrimp."
"Elevated hiding."
Victoria swept past, surrounded by her alliance, casting a pointed look at Jawin that promised future confrontation.
Roxanne was monopolizing Mario in the corner, delivering what appeared to be an impassioned monologue about her "artistic journey."
Camille was debating economic policy with two other contestants who had clearly not expected their evening to involve GDP analysis.
Astrid was reading someone's palm.
"This is surreal," Penny murmured.
"This is reality TV."
"Same thing?"
"Increasingly, yes."
Mario extracted himself from Roxanne—no small feat—and began making his way through the room. Each contestant got approximately three minutes of attention: small talk, a question, a thoughtful nod.
When he reached Jawin, something shifted.
"Miss Mendez."
"Mr. Castellan."
"How are you finding the evening?"
"The shrimp is excellent. Better than the crab cakes, which is saying something."
His lips twitched. "You have strong opinions about seafood."
"I have strong opinions about everything. It's a character flaw."
"It's honesty."
"Sometimes those are the same thing."
They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by cameras and contestants and the weight of everything unsaid.
"I've been thinking," Mario said quietly, "about what you said. About love not being a spreadsheet."
"And?"
"And I think you might be right. Which is terrifying."
"Why terrifying?"
"Because if you're right, then everything I've built—every system, every strategy, every wall—is wrong. And I don't know who I am without those walls."
Jawin looked at him.
Really looked.
"Maybe that's the point," she said. "Maybe you find out who you are by taking them down."
"Is that what you're doing? Taking down walls?"
"I never built any in the first place. Couldn't afford the materials." She smiled. "Walls are expensive. I just learned to stand in the open and hope for the best."
Mario was quiet.
"You're remarkable," he said finally.
"I'm a disaster."
"Maybe those are the same thing too."
Before Jawin could respond, a production assistant appeared.
"Mr. Castellan? Your father would like a word."
Mario's expression shuttered.
"Of course he would." He turned back to Jawin. "I'll see you tomorrow. For the official start of the competition."
"I'll be the one standing near the food."
"Consistent."
"That's my brand."
He walked away, leaving Jawin with a plate of shrimp and the unsettling feeling that something important had just happened.
---
**The Castellan Estate — Don Castellan's Office**
"You're spending too much time with the Mendez girl."
Don Castellan didn't waste words. The observation landed like an accusation.
"I'm spending time with all the contestants," Mario replied evenly.
"Not equally. The footage shows clear favoritism. Extended conversations. Private meetings. Garden encounters at two in the morning."
*Of course he knew about the garden.*
"I'm evaluating her. Like everyone else."
"You're not evaluating her. You're *interested* in her." Don Castellan's voice sharpened. "That's different."
"Is interest not the point of this competition?"
"The point of this competition is to find a *suitable* wife. Someone who can enhance our family's position. Someone with connections, resources, strategic value." Don Castellan leaned forward. "Jawin Mendez has none of those things. She's a distraction. A charming novelty. Nothing more."
"You don't know her."
"I don't need to know her. I know her *file*. Three jobs. Broke family. No education. No future." Don Castellan's eyes were hard. "She doesn't belong in this competition. She certainly doesn't belong with you."
"Then why did you include her? The Al-Rashid family sponsored her entry."
"As a courtesy. A formality. No one expected her to become..." Don Castellan searched for the word. "Relevant."
Mario's jaw tightened.
"What are you asking me to do?"
"I'm asking you to refocus. Remember why you're here. Remember what's at stake." Don Castellan stood, signaling the conversation was over. "Victoria Sterling is an excellent candidate. Strong family, strong business acumen, strong compatibility indicators. Consider investing more time in her."
"And less time in Jawin."
"Ideally, no time at all." Don Castellan's voice softened slightly—as close to paternal concern as he ever got. "I want what's best for you, Mario. I always have. Sometimes that means protecting you from your own distractions."
Mario said nothing.
He left the office without another word.
But something inside him had hardened.
His father wanted him to forget Jawin Mendez.
That wasn't going to happen.
---
**The Contestant Mansion — Late Night**
Jawin couldn't sleep.
Again.
She found herself in the kitchen—the mansion had an absurdly large kitchen that no one seemed to actually use—at 1:00 AM, stress-cooking.
The ingredients were limited—what she could find in the industrial refrigerators—but Jawin had made do with less. Within an hour, she had produced two loaves of bread, a pot of soup, and approximately three dozen cookies.
"You're baking at 1 AM."
She didn't jump this time.
"Garden bench wasn't working for me tonight."
Mario moved further into the kitchen, surveying her chaos with something like wonder.
"You made all this?"
"Stress response. Some people exercise. I create carbohydrates."
"That's... unique."
"That's me." Jawin gestured at the cookies. "Want one? They're chocolate chip. My father's recipe."
Mario took a cookie. Bit into it. His expression shifted.
"This is excellent."
"I know. I told you—transcendent crab cakes aren't my only skill."
He took another cookie.
Then another.
"You might actually be the most talented person in this competition," he said through a mouthful of chocolate chips.
"I'm also the poorest, the least educated, and the most likely to embarrass you publicly."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive with talent."
They stood in the kitchen, eating cookies in comfortable silence.
"My father wants me to stop spending time with you," Mario said eventually.
Jawin's stomach dropped.
"Oh."
"He thinks you're a distraction. That I should focus on 'suitable' candidates."
"Victoria."
"Among others."
"Are you going to listen to him?"
Mario was quiet for a long moment.
"No," he said finally. "I'm not."
"Why not?"
"Because for the first time in years, I feel like I'm talking to an actual person. Not a strategy, not a performance, not a carefully crafted presentation. Just... someone real." He looked at her. "I'm not ready to give that up."
Jawin didn't know what to say.
So she offered him another cookie.
"These are really good," he said.
"I know."
"Teach me how to make them?"
"What?"
"Teach me. How to bake." Mario's expression was earnest. "I've never learned. Cooking was something servants did. But I want to know. I want to understand why you love it."
Jawin stared at him.
The billionaire heir.
In her kitchen.
At 1 AM.
Asking her to teach him to bake.
"Okay," she heard herself say. "But you have to wear an apron. Those are the rules."
"I don't own an apron."
"There are some in the pantry. I found them earlier."
"Of course you did."
Twenty minutes later, Mario Castellan—heir to a billion-dollar empire—was covered in flour, failing spectacularly at creaming butter, and laughing.
Actually *laughing*.
For the second time in a week.
And Jawin, despite every warning in her head, felt something dangerous bloom in her chest.
Something that felt like hope.
Something that felt like home.
---
**2:47 AM**
They sat on the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, surrounded by the evidence of their baking disaster.
The cookies Mario had made were... edible. Barely. But he was proud of them in a way that seemed entirely foreign to his usual demeanor.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"Which part?"
"All of it. Sitting on a kitchen floor at 3 AM eating burnt cookies with a woman who throws champagne at me."
"I only threw champagne *once*."
"So far."
"Fair point."
Silence.
"What happens tomorrow?" Jawin asked.
"The competition officially begins. Individual dates. Group challenges. Eliminations."
"And us?"
Mario looked at her.
"What do you want 'us' to be?"
"I don't know. I didn't expect there to be an 'us.' I expected to survive long enough to get my money and go home."
"And now?"
"Now I'm sitting on a kitchen floor with a billionaire who can't cream butter properly, and I'm feeling things I'm not supposed to feel."
"What kind of things?"
Jawin hesitated.
"The kind that make this complicated."
Mario was quiet.
Then he reached over and took her hand.
Just held it.
Not romantic, exactly. Not strategic. Just... human.
"Whatever this is," he said quietly, "I don't want to rank it. I don't want to categorize it. I just want to see where it goes."
"Your father will hate that."
"My father hates everything I do. At least this time, I'll have earned it."
Jawin laughed—a genuine laugh, the kind she hadn't allowed herself in years.
"You're going to get me eliminated."
"I'm going to try very hard not to."
"That's not reassuring."
"It's the best I can offer."
She squeezed his hand.
"Then I'll take it."
They sat there until sunrise, talking about nothing and everything, two people from different worlds finding something unexpected in a kitchen full of flour and hope.
---
**The Next Morning — Day Two Officially Begins**
Jawin walked into the main hall for the first official day of competition with flour still in her hair and a secret smile on her face.
Penny spotted her immediately.
"You look... different."
"Do I?"
"You look like someone who had a good night."
"I learned to bake."
"At 3 AM?"
"Best time for baking."
Penny's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"With who?"
"Nobody."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm aware."
Victoria swept past, casting a poisonous look at Jawin that suggested she suspected something was wrong.
Roxanne was rehearsing dramatic gasps for whatever challenge awaited.
Camille was calculating optimal strategies on her tablet.
And somewhere in the mansion, Mario Castellan was probably washing flour off his expensive suit.
Day two had begun.
The competition was officially underway.
And Jawin Mendez—the girl with three jobs, the uncategorized disaster, the champagne queen—was starting to think she might belong here after all.
Not in the competition.
Not in the rankings.
But here. In this strange, impossible story that was somehow becoming hers.
*Day one ends*, she thought. *Day two begins.*
*Whatever comes next—bring it on.*
---
**END OF CHAPTER EIGHT**