SEX ON THE BEACH
Do For Love (Day 7+8)
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [12.1k, my god] After a backyard party forces Rafe to confront his struggles, an argument between you both breaks out, and the villa faces it's first elimination
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal altercations, slight peer pressure, anticipated smut,
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
THE morning sun filters through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the villa, casting shadows across the floors. It’s quiet, unusually so. After the exhausting fallout of the first official recoupling ceremony, the house feels like one big hangover.
You stir awake, the heavy weight of a plush duvet draped over your legs. For the first time in a week, you aren’t waking up on a cramped outdoor daybed. You turn your head, your eyes adjusting to the bright light to find Rafe already awake, propped up on one elbow, his eyes fixed on you—a relaxed smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Fortunately, there’s no sign of Topper or Ruthie. Their bed is completely undisturbed, a reminder of the date that pulled them away from the main house the previous evening.
“Morning, creep,” You yawn, playfully brushing a hand against Rafe’s face.
He chuckles, catching your wrist and kissing it. “Morning to you, angel,” He mutters, eyes still fixed on you. Downstairs, the faint clatter of pots and pans breaks the moment and Rafe groans. “That’s Kie. She wanted to make everyone breakfast. I think she feels guilty.” Rafe tells you.
“Sounds like she needs help.” You laughed through a yawn as you slipped out of bed, tugging on a loose linen shirt.
“I’m sure she’s fine.” Rafe pouted, falling back onto the mattress. You shot him a look before going to pad down the staircase, Rafe trailing begrudgingly just a step behind you.
In the kitchen, Kiara is already moving—the scent of sizzling bacon, garlic, and butter fills the air, making your stomach growl. Cleo is leaning against the counter, nursing a mug of coffee, while John B and Sarah sit close together at the island, their shoulders touching as they whisper quietly.
"Morning, people!" Kiara calls out, lifting a spatula in greeting. “I figured we all needed a little something after last night."
"You are an absolute lifesaver, Kie," John B groans, rubbing his eyes, though his other hand remains firmly wrapped around Sarah’s waist.
You slide onto one of the barstools, leaning your chin in your hand as you look over at Rafe, who has taken the seat right next to you. “What's your excuse for not making me breakfast this morning, big guy?"
Rafe lets out a low chuckle, his arm sliding over the back of your stool, his fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder. The casual intimacy of the gesture sends a chill down your spine. "My excuse is that I was too busy enjoying sleeping in an actual, real bed with you for once.” He told you, nudging his nose against your temple as his voice dropped into a hushed whisper. “I wasn't exactly in a rush to leave."
Sarah lets out a dramatic fake gag across the counter, though she’s smiling as you blush, turning away to hide your face. "Ugh, please, it is way too early for you two."
Before you can fire back, the glass doors leading to the front entrance slide open and the chatter in the kitchen drops to nothing.
Ruthie and Topper walk into the villa and they don't look the least bit tired or disheveled from their night away. They carry themselves with their usual smugness—Ruthie with a smug, satisfied smirk plastered across her face, her chin tilted upward as her eyes sweep over the room. Topper follows right on her heels, his jaw clenched, his eyes locked into an icy glare directed straight at John B.
"Ugh," Cleo murmurs into her coffee mug.
But Ruthie doesn't acknowledge Cleo. Instead, she walks past the kitchen island, her gaze landing on Sarah as she stops, lets out a dramatic sigh, and rolls her eyes so hard it looks physically taxing.
Sarah’s posture stiffens and she sets her glass of orange juice down on the marble counter. "Do you have something you want to say to me, Ruthie?” Sarah snapped. “If you've got a problem, you can say it."
Ruthie pauses, flipping her hair over her shoulder, her smirk widening. "Oh, I don't have a problem at all. In fact, I had an absolutely amazing night.” She shrugs cockily. “I'm just checking out the vibe in here. It feels a little... tense."
Topper steps up beside Ruthie, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes still burning a hole into John B’s head. "Yeah, well, that’s what happens when some people don't know how to mind their own business."
John B starts to shift in his seat, his jaw tightening as he prepares to stand up, but Sarah immediately plants a hand on his forearm, holding him back. "They're just trying to get a reaction."
The air in the kitchen is vile and awkward, causing Kiara to clear her throat loudly from the stove, trying to break the gridlock. "Okay, look, breakfast is going to be another ten minutes. Maybe... it's best if everyone just goes upstairs, gets changed, and starts getting ready for the day?" Sh threw out. "Let's just breathe, please."
"Good idea," Cleo agrees, standing up and stretching.
The tension breaks into movement as everyone begins to disperse. You catch Rafe's eye, and he gives you a subtle, reassuring nod as you turn to follow the girls up to the main dressing room.
THE makeup room is a pool of LED mirrors, scattered eyeshadow palettes, curling irons, and half-empty water bottles. With Ruthie, who was with Topper still somewhere, and Kiara, who was still cooking, absent, the room belonged entirely to you, Sarah, and Cleo.
Sarah was sitting in front of the center mirror, brush-stroking bronzer onto her cheekbones, her reflection wearing a look of pure frustration.
"I am just so over it," Sarah bursts out, slamming the bronzer compact down on the vanity table. "Seriously. I came into this house wanting to just...see what happens, and Topper ruins it for me. And now Ruthie? She acts like she won some kind of prize. Like, congratulations, girl, you got a guy who spends half his time checking to see if I'm watching him flirt with you.” She rolled her eyes. “Have fun with that."
Cleo scoffs, leaning forward as she applies her lip gloss. "She's just trying to push your buttons, wants to feel like she's on top. Don't give her the satisfaction."
"I'm trying not to!" Sarah sighs, throwing her hands up. "But she keeps pushing and pushing. It’s the fake little looks, the passive-aggressive comments. Like, just let me live."
You lean against the vanity next to her, offering a supportive smile. "You and John B looked cute this morning, Sarah." You started. "She’s just upset because you got a better guy and she got your leftovers. Don't let her ruin that for you.” You shrugged. “She's just trying to get her screen time, honestly. Probably trying to get an edit or something." You joked, causing the other girls to laugh.
Before Sarah can reply, the door to the dressing room swings open.
And speak of the devil.
Ruthie walks in, her expression perfectly fixed into one of sweet innocence. She doesn't look at you or Cleo. Her eyes fix immediately on Sarah's reflection in the mirror.
"Sarah?" Ruthie says, her voice oddly pitched high. "Do you think we could have a quick chat outside? Just five minutes.” She pleads with faux desperation. “I really feel like we should clear the air..."
The room goes dead silent and you exchange a sharp, confused glance with Cleo. Sarah hesitates for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening, before she slowly sets her makeup brush down.
"Yeah," Sarah says, her voice dropping into a cool yet guarded register. "Yeah, fine. Let's talk."
Sarah stands up, pulling her denim shorts down slightly, and follows Ruthie out of the dressing room, the door clicking shut behind them.
"Oh, I need to see this," Cleo mutters, immediately moving toward the balcony window that overlooks the lower terrace where the two girls are heading. You follow right at her heels, peering through the tinted glass. “Help me crack the window,”
In a quick thought moment, your grab the edges of the window with both hands, spreading your legs wide. Cleo watches as you air-hump the window, looking at her over your shoulder.
"Like this?" You ask, trying to hold back a laugh.
Cleo bursts out laughing, doubling over before waving you down. "Girl, get your silly ass down." She breathes as you get down with a smile.
You and Cleo push the window open just enough to hear. Down on the daybeds, Ruthie settles herself onto the cushions, crossing her legs elegantly. Sarah remains standing for a moment before sitting on the opposite edge, keeping her distance. Even with the window cracked, you can’t hear everything, but their body language speaks volumes.
Ruthie is talking with her hands, a patronizing smile stuck to her face. She leans forward, tapping Sarah’s knee in a way that looks overwhelmingly condescending, and Sarah’s posture is as stiff as a board, her arms locked across her chest.
What you can't hear through the glass is the venomous undertone of Ruthie’s words…
"I just want to make sure there are no hard feelings, Sarah. Because, you know, when Topper and I were out last night, we talked about everything. And it’s just so clear that he felt really held back before. He told me he finally feels like he’s with someone who matches his energy. I just think he picked the better option... for his life, you know? And I really think it’s time for you to just…accept that and move on."
Luckily, Sarah doesn't react how Ruthie wants her to. Instead, she lets out a soft, mocking laugh, leaning back into the cushions. She tilts her head, replicating Ruthie's exact fake-nice expression.
"Ruthie, I am so incredibly happy for you. Truly. If you think Topper changing his entire personality every three days to please a new girl is 'matching your energy,' then you two deserve each other. Look, I've moved on completely. But thank you so much for the sisterly advice. It’s adorable."
And before Ruthie can even process the insult hidden beneath her speech, Sarah stands up, flashing a dazzling smile, and walks away, leaving Ruthie sitting alone with her mouth slightly open.
When the dressing room door flies open again, and Sarah walks back in, her cheeks are flushed.
You and Cleo immediately step back from the window. "What happened?" you ask, prying. "What did she want?"
Sarah scoffs, tossing her hair back as she grabs her water bottle from the counter. She brushes past you both, waving her hand dismissively, though a smirk plays on her lips. "Oh, nothing. Just the usual." She scoffs. "She wanted to let me know that Topper apparently thinks he upgraded.” She explained casually. “I just told her they deserve each other and left it at that. I'm literally not even going to waste my breath."
Before you can press her for details, the door cracks open a few inches, and Pope’s head pops into the room. He looks slightly awkward, his eyes darting around the makeup-strewn space. "Hey, uh, sorry to interrupt.” He starts, eyes lingering on Cleo. “Uh, K-Kiara told me to tell everyone that breakfast is ready downstairs."
"Perfect," Cleo says, slapping her hands on her thighs, painfully ignoring the boy’s gaze as you all follow her out of the room.
THE kitchen is buzzing when you all walk back down. The island is piled high with platters of food and you slide into a seat, naturally finding yourself sandwiched directly between Rafe and Sarah.
As you pull a plate toward yourself, you turn to look at Rafe. The bright morning light hits his face directly, and you notice a tiny red line right along his jawline—a fresh, small nick.
"What happened here?" you ask softly, reaching up. Without thinking, your fingers gently brush against his jaw, your thumb lightly tracing the skin just below the cut.
Rafe flinches slightly at the unexpected touch, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his gaze drops to your lips before rising back to your eyes, a boyish and slightly embarrassed grin breaking across his face. "Oh. That. Yeah, I had a little fight with the razor this morning." He shrugged. "Turns out trying to shave while thinking about how much I wanted to get back into bed with you doesn't lead to a very steady hand." He flirted, pecking your cheek.
You let out a soft laugh, your fingers lingering on his warm skin for a moment before you drop your hand. "Right, blame it on me. Classic." You tease back, narrowing your eyes at him. "Just…try not to slice your face off before our next date, okay? I quite like your face." You flirted back, winking at him as you took a bite of your pancakes.
"I'll do my best," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a deep register that made your heart skip a few beats. He leans in closer, his shoulder pressed firmly against yours as he loads up his plate with eggs.
As your own banter dies down, the noise of the kitchen shifts, and both you and Rafe naturally tune into the conversation happening directly to your right.
John B and Sarah are practically in their own world—hunched over their plates, talking with entirely too much enthusiasm.
"Wait, so you're telling me the entire wing was built during the late 1800s?" John B asks, his eyes wide, a piece of bacon suspended halfway to his mouth.
"Yes!" Sarah says, laughing at his nerdiness. "My great-grandfather bought the land back when it was mostly just coastal wilderness. The main house has all this original woodwork, and there's this massive old library that used to scare me. It’s got a full historical landmark status in California."
"That is insane," John B says, shaking his head in absolute awe. "Sarah, you don't understand. When I was doing research on historic coastal estates last year, that exact property came up like three different times. I spent hours reading about the foundation layout. I can't believe you actually live there."
"Well, next time you're in California, I guess I'll have to give you the grand tour," Sarah teases, bumping her shoulder against his.
Confessional : You "Seeing Sarah and John B together at breakfast was honestly just so refreshing. After all the negativity Topper was throwing her way, seeing her actually smile and connect with someone over something as random as her family's house history? It’s too cute. I’m really, really glad they hit it off."
Confessional : Rafe "Look, I know I lost my temper a bit the other night with the whole Topper situation. I don't usually like seeing people get pushed around. People I care about, anyway." He corrected. "But honestly? Seeing John B and Sarah completely ignoring him today and just clicking... I'd like to think my temper actually did some good.” He shrugged, leaning back.
Confessional : Sarah "Everything with John B just feels so... natural. I don't feel like I have to put on a show or say the perfect thing.” She smiled, her cheeks taking on an adorable shade of pink. “With Topper, I always felt like I was walking on eggshells, constantly staying on top of myself just to keep his head from turning. With John B, we're literally geeking out over how old my house is over scrambled eggs, and…I don’t think I've ever felt happier."
Across the kitchen, however, the vibe is entirely different.
JJ and Cleo have finished eating and cleared a small space on the counter to play a game of cards. Cleo is throwing her cards down with dramatic flair—her loud laughter echoing throughout the room every time she wins a round. She looked genuinely happy, completely unbothered by the drama of the last few days.
But as you look past them, your eyes land on the other end of the kitchen.
Kiara and Pope are sitting next to each other, eating in near-total silence. Pope is picking at his food with his fork, his expression heavy and solemn. Every few seconds, his eyes drift away from his plate, sliding across the kitchen to lock onto Cleo. He watches her laugh with JJ, his gaze lingering with a profound, quiet sadness that is truly painful to witness.
It doesn't take long for you to notice that Kiara is also watching him.
Her eyes dart from Pope’s face to Cleo, and then back to Pope. You watch as her face completely falls, the color draining from her expression as a look of pain takes over. She doesn't say a word. She doesn't call him out. Instead, she sets her fork down, the clatter loud enough to draw Pope’s attention back to her.
"Think I'm done eating," Kiara says, her voice completely flat. "I'm gonna go take a shower."
Pope blinks, looking startled. "Oh. Already? Do you want me to—"
"No, stay here. Finish your food," she interrupts quickly, not looking him in the eye as she slides off her barstool and walks out of the kitchen, her head down.
Pope watches her go, letting out a long, heavy sigh that sags his entire posture as he slumps in his chair.
Confessional : Pope He’s rubbing his forehead, a look of guilt on his face. "I feel... I feel terrible. I chose Kiara because I wanted to see if there was something real there, and I do care about her. I really do. But...seeing Cleo over there, laughing with JJ... it hurts.” He admitted. “It shouldn't, but it does. And the worst part is knowing that Kiara can see it all over my face." He cursed himself. "I'm still hurting two people at once right now, and it sucks."
Confessional : Kiara "...Pope chose me. He picked me at the recoupling. That means he wants to be with me, right? I just... I think he’s just feeling awkward because Cleo is right there in the same room hitting it off with JJ...” She shook off her own emotions, though the way her face fell was evident. “It’s a small house. It’s a weird situation for everyone. He doesn't still have feelings for her. He can't." She laughed nervously, straightening her posture. "He made his choice, and we're moving forward. I'm just overthinking it.”
But what Kiara was unwilling to admit…was that she was looking at JJ.
BY midday, the entire mood of the villa shifted when the show decided to throw a massive yard party in celebration of the first recoupling.
They had outdoor speakers that were booming with house music, and a fully stocked bar had been set up near the edge of the infinity pool, complete with a snow cone machine. Brightly colored pool floaties drifted across the water, and neon containers of silly string are stacked on the tables with glow sticks and neon sunglasses.
The production crew had supplied an endless flow of alcohol, and within an hour, the lighthearted atmosphere you came here for takes over.
JJ had completely overtaken the snow cone machine, wearing a backwards cap and a tipsy grin. "Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! JJ's World-Famous Spiked Shaved Ice!” He joked. “We got rum, we got vodka, we got tequila—pick your poison!"
Cleo is already in the middle of the grass, her hips moving perfectly to the heavy bass of the music, a drink raised high in her hand as she laughs, completely giving herself over to the music.
Near the sun loungers, a full-blown silly string war has broken out. Sarah and John B are sprinting around the pool, screaming with laughter as they blast each other with neon pink and green silly string. John B takes a direct hit to the face, his hair completely covered as he ducks his head, making Sarah double over in hysterical giggles as she continues spraying him.
Topper and Ruthie as secluded to themselves, whispering. Kiara's floating mindlessly in the pool with a pair of neon yellow sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose, and you watch from near the bar as Pope slowly approaches Cleo on the grass. He looks nervous, his hands shoved into his pockets, but he stops right in front of her. The music is loud, but you can see them talking.
Cleo stops dancing to look at him. She has a relaxed, slightly tipsy smile on her face as she takes a sip of her drink, nods, and pats his shoulder. Her body language is open, completely forgiving and you can catch fragments of her voice over the music—"Pope, it's fine... I was hurt, yeah, but I get it... all we can do is move on."
Because Cleo is a bit drunk, her inhibitions are lowered, and she misses the devastating flash of hurt that crosses Pope’s face at her words. She thinks she’s giving him closure. But he feels the finality of it like a punch to the gut.
Pope forces a polite, tight smile onto his face, nods slowly, and walks away. As soon as his back is turned to her, his smile vanishes. He walks straight to the bar, grabs a full cup of whatever liquor is closest, and downs the entire thing in one long gulp.
The drinks are flowing, the sun is hot, and the energy is contagious.
Everyone in the villa is at least tipsy. Everyone... except Rafe.
As the minutes tick by, the party changes from a fun distraction into a minefield. The smell of cheap rum, the loud, slurred laughter, the constant pushing of cups into people's hands. He’s standing near the edge of the yard, his back against a pillar, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles are pulsing, and his eyes are darting around the yard, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his swim shorts.
You, completely oblivious to the deep look on his face, saddle up next to him. You’ve had three of JJ’s ‘special snow cones’, and the alcohol has clearly hit you. You feel loose, happy, and incredibly clingy.
You slide your arms around Rafe’s waist, leaning your entire body weight against his side, looking up at him with a wide, bright smile. "Rafe! Why are you just standing here like a statue?” You poked. “Everyone is having fun. Come dance with me!"
Rafe doesn't look down at you. His eyes are still fixed on the pool, his body is completely rigid under your arms. "I'm fine right here, angel," he says, his voice clipped and gruff.
"Oh, come on, don't be that guy," you whine playfully, tugging on his arm. You lean in, your breath smelling of sweet cherry syrup and alcohol. "Do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. Or I can ask JJ to make you one of those snow cones? They are so good, seriously, I don’t know what ratio he’s using—"
"Didn’t I just say I'm fine?" Rafe suddenly snaps, his voice cutting through your brain fog. “What, you don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer?”
He aggressively pulls his arm away from your grip, turning his head to glare down at you. His eyes are wild, a vein throbbing in his forehead. "Stop pressing me about it."
The sudden aggression of his tone shocks you into absolute silence and the smile vanishes from your face.
A no one nearby catches the sudden outburst except for JJ, who was in the middle of laughing at the snow cone machine. He freezes, his eyes instantly darting over to where you and Rafe are standing.
Your vision blurs slightly with a stinging rush of embarrassed tears. You step back from him, your hands dropping to your sides. Without saying another word, you turn on your heel and walk quickly away from him, heading straight into the house.
Rafe lets out a long, ragged sigh, dragging his hands down his face. He looks down at the ground, his chest heaving as the guilt of his reaction immediately mixes with his own anxiety.
JJ watches you disappear inside, his expression shifting from shocked to serious. He sets his ice scoop down, walks out from behind the cart, and marches straight up to Rafe.
"Hey," JJ says, his voice unusually grounded, devoid of his usual playful banter. He catches Rafe’s eye and jerks his chin toward the side path of the villa, away from the loud music and the cameras near the pool. "Wanna walk with me for a second?"
Rafe looks like he wants to hit something, but the exhaustion wins out. He follows JJ down the narrow, shaded stone walkway along the side of the house, away from the main party.
JJ stops, turning around to face him, crossing his arms. "What the hell was that, man? She was just trying to get you to have a good time." JJ presses. You and JJ weren't the closest in the villa, but you came in together and that fact alone made him feel like he had an obligation to at least to stand up for you.
Rafe scoffs, looking away, his hands back in his pockets.
"C’mon, man, for real." JJ presses, stepping closer. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're either losing interest in her, or you're just being a massive dick because her being a little tipsy is annoying you. Which one is it? Because she’s inside right now crying, and—"
"It’s not any of that." Rafe cuts him off mid-sentence, his voice cracking with a raw vulnerability that makes JJ pause.
Rafe looks around the side path, checking to make sure no other islanders are within earshot. When he looks back at JJ, the anger is entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, deadly serious intensity.
"Look at me," Rafe whispers, his voice shaking slightly. "You cannot tell anyone this. I am dead serious, JJ. Do not say a word to a single person in this house."
“Okay…” JJ blinks, his defensive posture dropping slightly. "Okay. What is it?"
Rafe swallows hard, his jaw working as he forces the words out of his throat. "I... I struggled with alcohol for a really long time, man. Like, really bad.” He admitted, the weight semi-lifting. “...I'm recovering. I’ve been sober for a long while now. But it's still..."
JJ’s eyes widen in immediate understanding as Rafe's words trail off, the pieces of the puzzle instantly clicking into place in his mind—why Rafe never had a drink at the villa, why he always stuck to water or soda, and why he looked so tense all afternoon.
"I just planned to hang around today, chill out, and just get through the party," Rafe continues, his hands shaking slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. "But everyone is fuckin’ drunk. The smell is everywhere. And she just... she kept pressing me about it. Over and over. 'Take a drink, let me get you a drink.' I just... I panicked, man. I lost it. I snapped at her, but I didn’t mean to."
JJ lets out a low whistle, rubbing his lower lip as he processes the information. "Shit, Rafe. I didn't know, man. I'm sorry—"
"Don't be sorry, just…don’t say anything, alright?" Rafe mutters, looking down at his feet.
"Hey, look," JJ says, stepping in closer, his voice soft. "I think you should just tell her, man. Go inside right now and tell her why you reacted like that."
Rafe is quick to shake his head, a look of pure terror crossing his face. "No. No way. I'm not telling her that shit—"
"Why not?"
"Because—" Rafe bursts out, his voice a harsh, desperate whisper. "Because, right now, she looks at me and thinks I’m this normal, put-together guy. If I tell her I’m some fucked up guy who can’t even handle a party without losing his mind, she’s gonna look at me differently."
JJ stares at him for a long beat, a sad, knowing smile touching his lips. "You're overthinking it, man. Let me ask you somethin',” he started, stepping closer. “Has she told you anything personal since you guys got paired up? Like, anything she might've been embarrassed about or scared to tell you but she told you anyway?"
Rafe pauses. His mind immediately flashes back to your beach date—the quiet sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean and your perfume, and the way you had opened up about your past, your complicated work history, and the things you were deeply insecure about. You had been completely raw and honest with him, even though you didn't have to. Even though, most people wouldn't have been.
"...Yeah," Rafe says quietly. "Yeah, she did."
"And did you judge her for it?" JJ asks.
"No," Rafe says instantly. "Of course not."
"Then why do you think she’d do that to you?" JJ challenges.
Rafe closes his eyes, shaking his head as the defensive walls pull right back up. "It’s different, man. I’m just... I’m not ready. I can't do it, alright?"
JJ looks at him for another moment, realizing he can't force the guy to break his own boundaries. He lets out a slow breath, accepting it for now, but he steps up and places a supportive hand on Rafe’s shoulder.
"Alright. Alright, I won't push you," JJ says softly. "But listen to me, and I need you to actually hear me on this.” JJ got serious, more serious than any of you had ever seen him. “My dad... he was a…mean drunk. A really, really mean drunk. I grew up around it every single day of my life. And looking back at him now... I think sometimes, all guys like that need is just for someone to actually be there. Someone to be on their side, to understand what’s going on inside their head without them having to constantly scream about it."
Rafe stays silent, his eyes fixed on JJ.
"My old man was too far gone to be helped," JJ says, his voice dropping into a more solemn register. "We don't talk anymore. Haven't in years. But I think... I think if he had found someone sooner, someone who actually cared enough to understand him, he wouldn't have needed the alcohol to fill that void inside him. He had nothing to live for, Rafe. Not even me."
JJ fixes Rafe with a piercing, steady look. "But you? I don't think you're that guy. I think you actually have something to live for here. And I, for one, am highly against you throwing it away because you're scared."
JJ pats his shoulder one last time, moving to leave Rafe standing alone in the shade, completely stunned.
"I'm gonna, uh, rejoin the party," JJ says, turning around. "Give yourself a minute. Just chill, alright?"
JJ walks back up the path, but he doesn't head toward the music. Instead, his jaw sets with a certain determination as he slips through the back glass doors and heads straight into the house, completely disregarding Rafe’s wishes because, in his heart, he truly believes he’s helping you both out.
THE main living room of the villa is quiet, the heavy bass of the outdoor music muffled by the thick glass doors.
You're sitting on the edge of the sofa, using the back of your hand to quickly wipe away a stray tear from your eye. One minute you were laughing, and the next, you were being yelled at by the person you were closest to. You'd been trying to stop crying for the past ten minutes when the sound of footsteps makes you look up.
JJ walks into the room. He doesn't have his usual playful energy—he looks grounded, his expression incredibly soft as he walks over and slides onto the sofa right next to you.
"Hey," he says gently, leaning his elbows on his knees. "...You okay?"
You sniffle, looking away as you wipe your cheek again, trying to play it cool. "Yeah. Fine. Just... had too much to drink, I guess." You tried to play off, shooting him a quick smile that didn't reach your eyes. “I’m a sad drunk.”
"I'm sure getting yelled at doesn’t help." JJ says bluntly.
You let out a shaky breath, looking down at your hands. "You saw that?” You asked softly, JJ nodding silently as you took a deep breath. “I just don't get it, JJ. I just wanted him to have a drink with me and have fun. I didn't mean to annoy him. He just…went off on me." You sniffed. "It's whatever. It's probably a sign that we were just in some stupid honeymoon phase. He's probably getting bored..."
JJ looks back toward the glass doors, making sure Rafe isn't coming in, before he turns back to you, his face dead serious. "Listen,” He starts, nervous. “I'm gonna tell you something, and I'm completely going against his wishes right now, so you can't let him know I told you because I have a bad feeling that he will kill me. But I'm doing it because I think he's sabotaging himself, and you deserve to know the truth."
You blink, turning fully toward him. "What are you talking about?"
JJ leans in closer, his voice a low whisper. "Rafe didn't snap at you because of…you, alright? He snapped because…he's a recovering alcoholic.” He told you. “He's been sober for a long time, but being out there today with everyone completely wasted and pushing drinks in his face... he was panicking. He was overwhelmed, and when you kept pressing him to take a drink, he just lost control of his temper."
Your heart drops into your stomach. “Did…did he tell you that? Because that’s a big thing to assume, JJ—”
“He told me.” JJ interrupted. “I swear.”
The confusion vanishes, replaced by an overwhelming wave of guilt and realization. Oh my god, you think to yourself. I was literally forcing alcohol on a recovering addict.
"He's terrified of anyone knowing," JJ continues, watching your face. "And he thinks if people find out, if you find out, you’re gonna judge him or look at him like he's broken.”
"I would never," you whisper, your voice cracking as fresh tears prick your eyes. "I would never judge him for that."
"I know," JJ smiles softly, reaching over and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a brief, tight, comforting hug. "That's exactly what I told him. He's just stubborn.” He assured. “Go find him, alright? He’s out there. Just…go talk to him."
"Thank you, JJ," you say genuinely, squeezing his hand as he releases the hug.
"Anytime," JJ says, flashing you a brief, reassuring version of his signature grin before heading back out to the yard.
YOU walk out of the house, your footsteps heavy but purposeful as you navigate the side terrace. The party is still in full swing down by the pool—you can hear Cleo laughing and the sound of a beach ball splashing into the water—but the upper terrace is completely deserted.
Except for Rafe.
He’s leaning against the railing, his back to you, staring out at the horizon. His shoulders are tense, his head hung low.
You walk up slowly, the sound of your sandals on the stone alerting him. He turns his head sharply, and when he sees it’s you, his expression softens into a look of regret.
"Hey," Rafe says quietly, turning his full body to face you. He rubs his palms against his shorts, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "Look... I’m sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that out there. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to you. I just... I had a lot on my mind, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."
You walk closer, stopping just a couple of feet away from him. "I appreciate your apology, Rafe," you say softly, your voice filled with a gentle, non-judgmental warmth. "And honestly... you don't have to carry all that pressure by yourself."
Rafe blinks, looking confused. "What?"
"Don't be mad, but...JJ told me," you say gently, taking a step closer and reaching out to touch his arm. "About the alcohol." you dropped, and Rafe froze. "And I just want you to know that I am so sorry for pressing you out there. I didn't know. Not that that makes it's okay but...Just, you know I'm here if you ever need a shoulder to lean on, you can tell me. I would never, ever judge you for—"
The moment the words leave your mouth, the vulnerability on Rafe’s face completely vanishes.
His eyes widen in a terrifying flash of fury and his jaw sets so hard you can hear his teeth grind. He sharply yanks his arm away from your hand, stepping back as his chest begins to heave with a dangerous, yet familiar, kind of rage.
"He did what?" Rafe roars, his voice trembling. "That son of a—” He catches himself. “I told him to keep his fucking mouth shut—"
"Rafe, calm down," you plead, your hands raised in a calming gesture, your heart racing steadily. "I’m sure he was just trying to help. He saw that I was upset, and he knew that you were struggling, and he just wanted to fix it—"
"I don't need his fucking help!" Rafe shouts, stepping right into your space, his face dark with anger as he glares down at you. "And I don't need your help either!"
"Why are you being like this? I'm not pitying you!" you argue back, your own anger flaring up through the fear.
"That's exactly what you're doing!"
"I'm trying to be your—" you stop yourself, not wanting to overplay your role. "I'm trying to be here for you!"
"Well, I don't want you here!" Rafe snaps.
His words feels like a slap to the face, and you just stare at him, your chest tight, realizing there is absolutely no reasoning with him right now. Without another word, you nod and turn around to walk away with your jaw clenched, leaving him to fume alone on the terrace.
FOR the rest of the afternoon, Rafe is on an absolute rampage. He’s like a dark cloud moving through the villa, his face twisted into a permanent, terrifying scowl. He doesn't talk to a single person. If someone walks into a room he’s in, he immediately storms out, slamming doors behind him. And the energy of the party completely dies down, replaced by an awkward tension whenever he’s nearby.
You rejoin the party after a while, but your mood is completely dampened as you sit on the edge of the sun loungers with Sarah, Cleo, and Kiara, holding a drink as you stare blankly at the pool.
"Okay," Sarah says softly, nudging your shoulder. "What's going on? You and Rafe have been acting weird for hours. Did you guys get into it?"
You let out a long, heavy sigh, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. We kinda got into an argument..."
"About what?" Cleo asks, leaning forward, her brow furrowed.
You pause, remembering Rafe’s absolute terror of his secret being exposed. Despite how incredibly angry and hurt you are, you choose to respect his privacy. "I don't really want to say. It’s…complicated. But he just... he completely shut down and pushed me away. He doesn’t wanna talk to me, so…"
The girls all look at each other, genuinely shocked.
"Wow," Kiara murmurs, shaking her head. "You guys have been going so steady. I didn't think he’d turn on you like that."
"Yeah, I don't approve of that at all," Cleo says, her voice firm. "He has no right to be walking around this house, making everyone walk on eggshells because he’s mad."
Sarah wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "Look, don't let him ruin your day.” She comforted. “Don't look at him, don't think about him." She kisses your cheek. "He’ll probably cool down by tonight."
"Yeah," you mutter, trying to force a smile. "Hopefully."
Suddenly, a loud shout echoes from the far side of the pool.
"You had no fucking right!"
You and the girls exchanged looks, immediately bolting upright. Across the lawn, Rafe is standing directly in JJ’s face, towering over him, his chest pressed right against his and his face red as he screams at him.
JJ doesn't even have his hands up to fight. He has both of his palms raised in a gesture of total surrender, stepping back slowly as Rafe continues to advance on him. "Whoa, bro, calm down! I was just trying to help you out, man! Seriously!"
"I told you to keep your mouth shut!" Rafe yells, his voice cracking with rage as he shoves JJ sharply in the chest.
"Hey! Chill!" John B shouts, sprinting across the lawn from the other side of the yard, with Pope and Topper running right behind him.
Everyone rushes over, creating a barrier of bodies between the two guys. John B and Pope grab Rafe by the shoulders, physically pulling him back, while Topper steps in front of JJ.
"Get off me!" Rafe snarls, ripping his shoulders away from John B’s grip. He fixes JJ with one last, murderous glare before turning around, his eyes catching your sad ones before storming into the house, slamming the glass door so hard the frame rattles.
The entire backyard goes dead silent, everyone—except you—looks completely and utterly confused.
"What the hell was that about?" John B asks, breathing heavily as he looks at JJ. "JJ, what did you do?"
JJ just shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, looking incredibly guilty but exhausted. He doesn't say a word.
Kiara looks over at you, her eyes wide. "Is that what your argument was about? Did JJ get involved?"
"Maybe you should go talk to him," Pope suggests, looking at you. "He looks like he’s about to blow a fuse."
You let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "No. Trust me, that is the absolute last thing he wants right now."
You walk past the group, stopping right in front of JJ. "Are you alright?" you ask softly.
JJ looks down at you, a heavy, apologetic look in his eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine.” He dismissed your worries. “And I'm sorry, I thought..."
"I know what you thought," you interrupt gently. "Thank you for trying."
With your mood entirely ruined, you turn away from the group and head inside to retire to the dressing room, needing to be alone.
Down by the pool, the remaining islanders try to piece the puzzle together. John B and Pope turn to JJ, pressing him for answers. "Dude, seriously, what did you say to Rafe to make him that mad?"
JJ just shakes his head, refusing to break his word any further. "Don't worry about it. It’s between them. It's my fault for gettin' involved." And with that, he turns and walks off, leaving them hanging.
Sarah and Cleo walk over to the rest of the guys—John B, Pope, and Topper. "Look," Sarah says, sighing. "They just had a disagreement, alright? They’re going to be fine.”
Topper lets out a loud, scoffing laugh, crossing his arms with a look of petty satisfaction. "Well, I gotta say, I am incredibly grateful that someone besides me has some drama in this house for once."
Ruthie steps up beside him, rolling her eyes as she chips in with a venomous smirk. "Honestly? She had it coming. She thought she was all that. Now she has to deal with his psycho issues. Good luck with that."
Cleo steps forward, her eyes flashing with a dangerous heat as she points a finger at both of them. "You two need to shut your mouths. Seriously. Or did you forget that none of us here really like you?"
Topper scoffs but backs off, walking away with Ruthie trailing behind him.
BY the time night falls, the villa has settled into an uncomfortable quiet. The party has long since ended, and everyone has showered and changed into their evening clothes.
When walk into the bathroom to wash your face before bed, the door is cracked, and when you step inside, you find Rafe standing over the sink. He’s staring at his reflection, his hands gripping the edges of the basin so tightly his knuckles are white.
You freeze in the doorway as he catches your eye in the mirror, his expression immediately hardening into that same scowl you've grown so accustomed to within the last few hours.
He sighs, dropping his gaze.
You close the bathroom door behind you, locking it so you can finally have some privacy and maybe get through to him. "...Rafe, we need to talk." You tried. "You've been on some kind of rampage all day, yelling at JJ, ignoring me—"
"I don't want to talk to you," Rafe snaps, turning around to face you fully, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"You don't wanna talk to me?" You reiterate, eyebrows shooting up into your hairline.
"Not right now, I don't." Shrugging like a kid with a bad attitude.
You scoff. "That is so unfair," you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising in frustration. "You're seriously mad because JJ told me a secret? Rafe, I told you things about my life on our date that I have never told anyone, and on television for that matter. I shared my own shit with you purely because I wanted to be open and honest with you and you can’t even do the same."
Rafe just stares at you, his eyes completely unreceptive to your perspective. "I never wanted you to know," he says, his voice dropping into a flat, harsh whisper.
"Why?" You breathed, pleading, voice soft.
"Because it's my business. Not yours. And not JJ’s. Mine."
"...We're supposed to be partners," you whisper, your voice cracking.
It hurt him more than he’d care to show or admit in the moment, like being stabbed from all angles. Rafe wasn't giving you the cold shoulder to be mean, not necessarily. He just couldn't phathom the thought of someone knowing who he really was and still being able to see any good inside of him. To be able to still love him.
"Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake," Rafe mutters, the words creating a lump in his throat as he turned back to the sink, the words forcing themselves out—anything to make you leave.
And they cut deep. Deep enough.
"Yeah," you nod, trying hold back your own emotions. "Maybe it was." you hiss.
You turn around, unlock the door, and walk out.
AN hour later, you were both lying in your shared bed. There was no resolution and the silence in the room was suffocating, thick enough to cut with a knife.
Rafe is lying on the absolute edge of his side of the bed, his back completely turned to you with his body as stiff as a board. You lie on your back, staring up at the dark ceiling, tears you'd been holding in since the party silently leaking from the corners of your eyes and soaking into your pillow.
You feel completely alone in a room with the guy you thought you were falling for.
Until you can't take it anymore. The air in the room feels unbreathable, and if you sit in it any longer, you’ll surely die.
So, quietly, you slide out from under the duvet, grabbing a small throw blanket from nearby. You don't make a sound as you slip out of the bedroom, walking down the quiet hallway and heading out to the dark backyard.
You walk over to one of the large outdoor daybeds near the pool, curling up into a tight ball on the cushions, pulling the thin blanket up to your chin as you stare out at the darkness, finding it to be more comforting than Rafe’s cold presence at the moment.
But inside the bedroom, twenty minutes pass and Rafe shifts in bed, stirring awake and mindlessly reaching his hand out across the mattress to find nothing but cold linen. He blinks his eyes open, turning around.
The bed is empty.
He frowns, sitting up and looking at the bathroom door thinking maybe you went to pee, but it’s wide open with the light off.
He checks the clock by the bed. It’s 2:00 AM.
A sudden knot of anxiety twists in his stomach, and slides out of bed, tossing the covers aside before walking out into the hallway. He checks the kitchen—empty. The dressing rooms—empty.
But when he walks to the glass back doors and looks out into the yard, through the darkness, he spots the small, curled-up shape of your body on the outdoor daybed.
A mix of irritation and guilt hits him. He opens the glass door and pads out into the cool night air, his bare feet thudding softly against the concrete.
He stops right in front of the daybed, looking down at you, his arms crossed as he sighs. "What are you doing out here?" He asks, voice raspy. "Come back to the room."
You don't move. You don't even look up at him. You just keep your eyes fixed on the night sky. "No," you say, your voice completely flat and exhausted as you shift under the blanket. "I'm staying out here."
"It’s two in the morning, and it’s freezing," Rafe presses, his tone sharp. "Get up. Come inside."
"Why?" you ask, finally turning your head to glare up at him, your eyes red-rimmed and angry. "So I can lie in bed next to a guy who suddenly despises me?” You spat, though your voice shook. “I’m not going back to that room if you're just going to keep giving me the cold shoulder for literally just trying to be there for you. I'd rather sleep out here."
Rafe stares at you for a long beat as the anger in his face slowly begins to fracture, the rigid posture dropping as he lets out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. He rubs his hand over his face, looking incredibly tired.
He slowly sits down on the edge of the daybed, his shoulders sagging.
"Look..." Rafe says softly, his voice completely devoid of the anger that had consumed him all day. "I'm sorry. I really am."
You sit up slowly, wrapping the blanket tightly around your shoulders, watching him warily.
"I'm still... I’m still recovering from a lot of things," Rafe whispers, his eyes fixed on his hands. "And it’s not just the alcohol. It’s... accepting my own flaws. It’s accepting...help from other people." He admits. "I’ve spent my entire life feeling like I had to be perfect, or else people would just throw me away." He shrugged. "I’m not good at being vulnerable. I hate it."
He turns his head to look at you, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that broke your heart.
"I just... I didn't want you to know because I didn't want you to see me the same way everyone else does," he confesses, his voice cracking slightly. "Everyone who really knows me looks at me and thinks I'm a mess, or that I'm dangerous, or just fucked up altogether.” He admitted. “I liked the way you looked at me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I was terrified that if you knew the truth, that look would disappear."
Your chest fills with a wave of empathy, the anger almost completely melting away. You reach out from under the blanket, wrapping your hand around his warm palm, squeezing it tightly.
"Rafe," you say softly, ensuring he looks you in the eye. "That look is never going to disappear. Knowing that you fought through something that hard and came out the other side sober? That doesn't make you look broken to me." You told him honestly. "I don't want you to be perfect.” You whispered, brushing your thumb over his hand. “I just want you."
Rafe stares at you, a soft, incredibly relieved look washing over his face. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, letting out a long breath he feels like he’s been holding all day. "Thank you—"
“But don’t ever talk to me like that." You ordered, pinching his side.
“Ah—okay, alright,”
“And apologize to JJ."
Rafe’s face scrunches up. “Hell no—”
“He was trying to help.”
“I don’t give two shits—”
“Rafe.” You deadpanned.
"If I promise to apologize, will you come back to the bed?"
"Depends," you hummed. "Only if you promise and actually do it."
Rafe grumbled under his breath, groaning. His eyes locked with yours, squeezing your hand. “Fine.”
"Say it."
"I promise. " He caved. “...Will you come back to the bed now?”
"Yeah," you smile softly, bumping your nose against his.
"Okay," Rafe says, standing up and pulling you to your feet, wrapping his arm securely around your waist. "Go ahead back up to the room. I'll meet you up there in a second. I'm gonna make us some tea to get warm."
"Okay," you smile, kissing his cheek before turning and walking back into the warm house.
The moment you disappear through the glass doors and slide them shut, the soft expression vanishes from Rafe’s face.
He stands alone in the dark, his hands dropping to his sides. Suddenly, he lets out a quiet curse, pacing back and forth as he violently rubs the back of his neck.
A heavy wave of guilt hits him as looks back toward the bedroom window, his chest tightening with guilt.
The truth, the full truth, was that alcohol wasn't the only addiction Rafe was recovering from. The truth was far darker involving things that he felt that could completely ruin his chances on this show—meaning also his chances with you. He had given you just enough truth to pacify you, and the weight of that lie felt like a ticking time bomb in his chest.
THE next morning, the villa is bright and buzzing. In the makeup room, the girls are gathered around the mirrors again, the atmosphere a mix of curiosity and residual tension from the party.
Sarah turns from her mirror, looking over at you as you walk in, yawning. "Morning, girlie,” She greets, hesitating with her next words. “Did...you and Rafe make up last night? Because the house wasn't on fire this morning."
You feel a sheepish smile grow on your face as you take a seat at the vanity. "Yeah. Yeah, we made up. We had a talk late last night, and we’re…better now."
"What was the fight even about?" Ruthie chimes in from the corner, her voice dripping with artificial curiosity. "Because he looked like he was about to murder JJ yesterday."
You catch her eye in the mirror, your expression hardening. You keep Rafe's business completely secret, refusing to give her an inch of ammunition. "It was just a misunderstanding, Ruthie. Nothing major. We sorted it out."
Sarah lets out a relieved sigh, smiling warmly at you. "Well, I’m genuinely happy for you guys. You look a lot better today."
Cleo, however, looks a bit on the fence. She leans against the counter, crossing her arms as she watches you. "I'm glad you're happy, girl. Truly. But honestly, that outburst against JJ yesterday? That was a lot." she throws out. "I just hope he knows how to keep that temper in check moving forward. A man with anger issues is good for no one."
“I agree, Cleo,” You added. “I told him he needs to apologize.”
"Atta girl," Cleo smiles. "You train them well."
However, as you and Sarah sit laughing at Cleo's words, Kiara sits in the corner, her expression openly skeptical, her arms locked tightly across her chest.
She doesn't say a word, but as your eyes catch hers, her face speaks volumes.
Confessional : Kiara "Honestly? I hate to say this, but,” She starts, a disapproving look on her face. “I think she has very little self-respect for letting a guy yell at her and make a huge, public scene like that in front of the entire house, and then just...forgiving him the next morning. Like, he was screaming in JJ’s face over nothing. If a guy treated me like that, he’d be out the door in a second."
Confessional : Cleo "Rafe is a wild card. He’s got that loverboy energy that every girl wants when things are good, but when things go bad? He’s kind of scary. I’m glad they made up, but I’m keeping my eyes on him.'"
Confessional : Ruthie "Oh, I am absolutely loving this. You can totally tell she’s hiding something. And he probably gaslighted the hell out of her.” She laughed. “They are cracking, and I am here for it."
Suddenly, a loud, synchronized ping echoes through the dressing room as every single girl's phone lights up at the exact same moment.
Sarah grabs her phone, her eyes widening as she gasps and reads the screen aloud.
"Islanders! Please gather immediately outside by the pool area. It’s time for a little surprise. #PublicExecution #NoFiltersAllowed."
"Oh shit," Cleo mutters, standing up. "That hashtag does not sound good."
THE entire group of islanders stands in a semi-circle near the edge of the infinity pool. The sun is hot, but the mood is enough to provide a chill.
Standing at the head of the pool is Ariana. She's wearing a stunning, sharp designer dress, holding a sleek tablet in her hands—a bright, unreadable smile on her face.
"Hello, islanders!" Ariana greets, her voice echoing across the terrace. "I hope you’ve all enjoyed your first week in the villa. But as you know, in this game, paradise comes with a price."
You all exchange nervous, shifty glances. Rafe stands right next to you, his hand securely wrapped around yours, his grip tight.
"Over the last twenty-four hours, the public has been voting in a series of internet polls," Ariana explains, tapping her tablet. "They have watched your every move, your fights, your romances, and your mistakes. And today, we are hosting a surprise Public Execution Vote."
A collective gasp ripples through the group.
"The public has ranked you all from favorite to least favorite islander," Ariana says, her voice dropping into a serious, dramatic register. "The islander who has been voted the absolute least favorite by the viewers will be dumped from the villa."
Topper’s jaw drops. Ruthie’s smile completely vanishes.
"And don’t worry about the ‘why’s’," Ariana smiles mischievously, "the public wants to make sure you know exactly what they think of you. As I call your name, you will step forward and stand next to me, and I will read aloud the most popular public opinion about you from the viewers."
Ariana taps the screen. "First up, the viewer's favorite islander... John B."
John B steps forward, looking nervous but holding his head up.
“The public says: 'John B is completely unproblematic. He’s a breath of fresh air compared to the other guys in the house, and he is 100% the better option for Sarah.' Congratulations, John B, you are safe."
Confessional : John B "Well, that was unexpected." He laughs, palming the back of his neck. "Thank you guys, though!" He points two fingers at the camera before turning them into two middle fingers. "And fuck you, Topper."
John B lets out a massive breath of relief, smirking slightly as he steps back to the line.
"Next... Cleo." Ariana smiles, motioning for the girl to step up.
Cleo steps forward, her chin tilted high, though you can tell she's shy.
"The public says: 'Cleo handled the messy Pope situation with absolute grace and maturity. She’s a queen, and we definitely want to see her stay in the house.' You are safe, Cleo."
Cleo nods proudly, returning to the line.
Confessional : Cleo "Perks of never cryin' on national TV." She winks. "I'm a gangsta."
"Next..." Ariana announces your name with a smile.
Your heart hammers inside of your chest as you step forward to stand next to Ariana, your hand slipping from Rafe’s, the cameras tracking your every movement.
“The public says: 'Some people are too judgmental about her complicated past. But overall, we’ve absolutely loved her high energy from the moment she walked into the villa.' You are safe."
You let out a shaky breath, nodding as you step back next to Rafe, who immediately regrabs your hand, squeezing it supportively.
Confessional : You "I mean, it's to be expected." You shrugged. "I got judged for it while I was doing it, so. It's whatever to me." You brushed off. "Maybe I should ask the producers to bring in a pole-dancing challenge just to make them even more mad." You laughed at yourself. "Still top three, though!" you teased, sticking your tongue out.
"Next... Rafe."
Rafe’s grip releases from your hand as he steps forward, his face completely blank, his jaw clenched.
"The public says: 'Rafe is a certified loverboy when he’s with Y/N, but it definitely feels like he’s hiding something. We're captivated, but we're watching him.' You are safe, Rafe."
Rafe gives a tight nod, his eyes darting to you for a fraction of a second before he steps back.
Confessional : Rafe "Oh, you guys suck."
"Next... JJ."
JJ steps forward, rubbing the back of his neck with a bittersweet smile.
“The public says: 'JJ clearly has a massive, good heart, but he really needs to prove to us that he’s capable of changing for real. No one like a playboy.' You are safe, JJ."
JJ steps back with a sheepish, yet solemn, expression, his eyes darting to Kiara for a second.
"Next... Sarah."
Sarah steps forward, looking vulnerable.
“The public says: 'Sarah is a sweet girl, but she’s incredibly naive. We're lowkey scared she’s going to fall for Topper’s manipulation and go back to him. And if not Topper, them someone else.' You are safe, Sarah."
Sarah rolls her eyes slightly but looks relieved as she steps back next to John B.
Confessional : Sarah "Okay, seriously, I've learned my lesson, you guys," She falls back against the sofa. "Jeez."
"Next... Kiara."
Kiara steps forward, crossing her arms defensively.
"The public says: 'Kiara is one-hundred percent pretending to feel bad about the Cleo situation. It's obvious she's playing the victim card when she got exactly what she wanted.' You are safe, Kiara."
Kiara’s face turns bright red, annoyance crossing her features as she steps back.
Confessional : Kie "I do feel bad!" She shouted, hands in the air. "How does someone even pretend to feel bad? I apologized like ten-thousand times and I made an entire breakfast spread!"
"Next... Pope."
Pope steps forward, his eyes fixed on his feet.
"The public says: 'Pope is also pretending to feel bad. He was so eager to kiss Kiara the first chance he got, and now he’s realizing exactly what he lost out on with Cleo. Now, he has to take that L.' You are safe, Pope."
Pope swallows hard, looking thoroughly exposed.
Confessional : Pope He sighs, head dropping. "I can't say that I disagree." He immediately winces and drags two hands down his face, groaning. "I shouldn't have said that."
Ariana looks up from her tablet, her eyes landing on the final two islanders remaining: Topper and Ruthie, and the air is thick with anticipation.
"We are down to our final two," Ariana says, eyes locked on the pair. "Topper and Ruthie. One of you is safe. And the other will be going home."
She looks down at her screen.
"Between the two of you, the islander who was voted least favorite..." Ariana pauses, and the rest of you hold your breath. You didn't know who you wanted to leave more—Topper or Ruthie. But truthfully, either would suffice.
"...is Ruthie." Ariana says, turning her gaze to the girl. "Please, step forward."
Ruthie steps forward, her face pale with her lips parted in shock.
"The public says: 'Both Topper and Ruthie are liars, but Ruthie is by far the worse of the two. Several of her old peers from high school came out on Twitter this week, proving she still has the same mean-girl mentality and doesn't deserve to have a platform.'” Ariana read solemnly. "Topper, as the runner-up, please step forward."
Topper steps forward, his face completely flushed with embarrassment and anger.
"The public says: 'Topper is clearly a serial cheater. A statement from his ex-girlfriend actually got really popular online this week, where she explicitly said he hasn't changed one single bit since high school.' Topper... you are safe."
But Topper scoffs loudly, throwing his hands up in defense. "That is completely fake! That's a lie!"
Ariana shot the blonde a look that shut him up, lowering the tablet as everyone turned to Ruthie. “Ruthie... you have been voted the public's least favorite islander. As a result, your time in the villa is over, and it’s time to pack your bags."
Everyone is silent as Ruthie stands frozen, absolute shock twisting her features. Then, her jaw sets, and she lets out a bitter laugh. She doesn't look at any of the girls. She doesn't look at you, or even Sarah.
She walks straight over to Topper, gives him a quick, dramatic hug, and whispers, "Keep your head up."
Without saying a single word to anyone else, she turns on her heel and marches into the house to pack her bags.
Goodbye Confessional : Ruthie "It’s just... it’s so unfair, you know?” She whines, wiping away fake, theatrical tears with a tissue. “I came into this house completely genuine, just following my heart. And people just wanted to ruin this opportunity for me because they’re jealous. I wish Topper the best. He’s the only real person in that house." She sniffed. "I wish you guys could've seen through my tough exterior to see that I am such a good person at heart, but, I understand..." She nodded, patting under her eyes before completely gathering herself. "Follow me on Insta at ruthieluvsyou, get me to 11K, mwah, bye!"
Moments later, you all watch as Ruthie loads herself and her six suitcases in the sleek, back SUV, not sparing a glance as she shuts the door and the car leaves.
THE moment Ariana leaves, the tension reaches a head.
Topper stands in the middle of the yard, his face bright red, his chest heaving as he glares at the remainder of you. He looks like a spoiled child who just had his favorite toy taken away.
"This is complete bullshit!" Topper shouts, pacing back and forth. "This is all your fault! Every single one of you!"
John B scoffs, crossing his arms. "Dude, how is it our fault? It was a public vote—"
"Because you all targeted her from day one!" Topper yells, pointing a finger aggressively at Rafe and then at the group of girls. "You made her out to be the villain! You made the public hate her! And now she’s gone, and I’m sitting here completely single because of you!"
Rafe steps forward, his jaw clenched, but you quickly plant a hand on his chest, holding him back. "He’s just embarrassed. Let him be."
BUT with Ruthie officially gone, Topper kicked into an desperate overdrive. Within twenty minutes of her departure, he completely drops the grieving routine and targets the only safety option he knows—Sarah.
Later that afternoon, after the dust had settled, you were walking down the hallway toward the indoor lounge. As you approached the doorway, you stopped in your tracks, hearing hushed voices coming from inside.
You peer around the corner to see where Topper has Sarah cornered near the sofa, he’s leaning in close, his face twisted into a pleading expression with his hands raised.
"Sarah, please, just hear me out," He begs, his voice thick with superficial desperation. "They were wrong. M-my ex was lying. Please, you know who I really am.” He whined. “Look, Ruthie’s gone. Isn’t that what you wanted? I mean, c’mon, me and you are supposed to be together. I made a mistake, but I'm back now. I want you back—"
"Topper, shut up," Sarah says, her voice cold, steady. "Seriously, shut the hell up. You can’t beg your way back with me.” She explained. “I mean, the literal second your girl gets dumped, you come crawling back to me. I know you’re just playing the game, and I am not letting you manipulate me again.” Sarah scoffed, looking Topper up and down. “What your ex wrote about you? It’s 100% true. You haven't changed one bit. And you clearly never will."
Topper stares at her, his face falling into an angry scowl as he realizes that his leverage with Sarah is completely gone. He huffs, turning around and storming out the door.
Sarah lets out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders dropping as you step into the lounge, a wide smile on your face.
"Hey," you say softly.
Sarah looks up, startled, but relaxes when she sees it’s you. "Hey. Did you hear that?"
"Every word," you say, walking over and wrapping her in a tight hug. "I am so proud of you. You handled his ass right back to him."
Sarah hugs you back, a genuine, radiant smile breaking across her face. "Thank you. I'm actually really proud of myself too." She told you. “...I think what the viewers said kind of opened my eyes.”
You offered a soft smile, squeezing her shoulder when suddenly, your phone goes off with a loud ping.
You pull it out, and Sarah leans over your shoulder to read the screen, the message starting with you and Rafe’s names.
"...Earlier today, there was one more vote we kept under wraps. In a poll for The Villa's Cutest Couple, the viewers have selected you both. As a reward, you two will be spending the night tonight in The Hideaway!"
"Aww," Sarah coos, jumping up and down, grabbing your hands. "I love this for you!"
You feel a shy grin break across your face as you hug yourself. "Wow…” You start. “I can't believe the public actually voted for us after everything that happened yesterday."
"They see the good," Sarah smiles warmly, but she notices the ghost of anxiety crossing your face. "What's wrong?"
You let out a soft sigh, looking down at the phone. "I'm just... I'm glad to know someone is happy for me,” you threw out. “...I could tell in the dressing room this morning that Kiara had a lot more to say about me and Rafe's argument than she let on. She’s been shooting me looks ever since, like I'm stupid for forgiving him."
Sarah grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at her. "Listen to me. Do not worry about her. Besides, this date is the perfect way for you and Rafe to get away—from everything.” She comforted. “And as long as you feel that you are with the right guy, and you know you're doing the right thing for yourself, then screw everyone else. Seriously.” She told you firmly. “Plus, Kie doesn't really have a place to judge anyway, considering the absolute train wreck of a situation she’s running with Pope and JJ right now.” Sarah dismissed, pushing you away from her softly, you nodding and walking away. “Now, go get ready. And have fun!"
THE Hideaway is bathed in a soft glow, the king-sized bed piled high with satin sheets and plush pillows. A private hot tub sits on the attached balcony, and a massive platter of chocolate-covered strawberries, your favorite snack, sits on the side table.
You walk into the room, wearing a stunning dress that shapes you perfectly.
And Rafe is already there, waiting for you. He’s changed into comfortable polo shirt and slacks. The moment he registers you walking in, his eyes darken with admiration—a soft, relaxed smile breaking out across his face.
You walk over to the table, your eyes lighting up when you spot the strawberries. "...Did you get these?” You ask, Rafe nods. “These are literally my favorite—wait, how?"
Rafe walks up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist, pulling your back firmly against his chest. He leans down, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver. "I have connections everywhere, angel."
You let out a soft chuckle, leaning back into his warmth.
And for the first few hours, the world outside completely ceases to exist—you play card games on the bed, toss berries across the room and into each other's mouthes, laughing and teasing each other, cuddling close under the sheets while you talk about everything and nothing at the same time.
Eventually, the energy settles into something more quiet, more intimate. You’re lying with your head on Rafe’s bare chest, the calming thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear as your fingers casually trace the lines of the tattoo on his hip that's revealed by the way his shirt has ridden up.
"Y’know," you say softly, breaking the silence.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, his hand gently stroking your head.
"I was talking to Sarah right before this, about... getting heat from Kie this morning," you admit quietly, looking up at him. "She's not fond of me forgiving you so fast after what happened yesterday."
Rafe’s hand pauses in your hair. A look of quiet sadness crossing his face, his eyes clouding over. He lets out a slow breath, shifting slightly so he can look down into your eyes.
"That—I’m sorry," Rafe whispers, his voice thick with emotion, but he swallows it down. "I hate the thought of the girls or anyone else thinking that you're being naive or...stupid when it comes to me.” He admitted. “I don't ever want to be the guy who makes you look bad."
He reaches up, his large, warm hand cupping your cheek as his thumb gently traces your cheekbone tenderly.
"And I’m still so sorry for how I reacted yesterday," he says, his eyes locked onto yours with a serious expression. "I never, ever meant to talk to you like that. I panicked, I was being stupid, and I took my own issues out on the one person who didn't deserve it. But I promise you, right now... I will never talk to you like that ever again.” He sat up, looking down at you. “You are the best thing that has happened to me in a very long time."
At his apology, your heart swells, almost to the point of aching. You look up at him, seeing the honesty behind his blue eyes, and you feel a wave of that one thing, for him.
Rafe stares down at you, and for a split second, something heavier crosses his eyes. The weight of his other confession pressing down on his tongue. He opens his mouth, the words almost forming. He wants to tell you. He does.
But the words get physically stuck in his throat, the terror of losing the way you look at him still holding him hostage.
So, instead of speaking, Rafe lets out a shaky breath and leans down, burying his conflict in the only way he knows how.
He kisses you.
It's soft and tender, a silent reassurance of his words, but as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the energy in the room flips. The heat of the day, the apologies, and the chemistry between you flips itself into a burning passion.
Rafe shifts his weight, sliding over you, his heavy body pressing you down into the mattress. The kiss deepens, becoming hot, heavy, and breathless as his hands move with a urgency, sliding down the length of your body as his warm palms grip your waist, molding your body against his. You feel his bulge against the base of your stomach, your arms wounding around his neck to pull him down into you further as his tongue slips between your wet lips.
You let out a soft gasp into his mouth as his lips leave yours, trailing a path of burning kisses down your jawline, throat, and resting at your collarbone, where he sucks on the skin there, drawing a soft moan out of you.
His touch lights you on fire, his fingers tracing up your thigh, sending a wave of desire down your spine. Hands slide over bare skin, soft groans echo off of the walls, and for a long, passionate time—you're completely consumed by each other.
But despite the suffocating heat of the moment, Rafe keeps his promise to himself—about wanting to do everything right with you. So, he keeps it respectful, the touching slowing down, stopping just short of where it was clearly headed.
You both settle back into a warm, comforting silence as Rafe pulls away, tucking you under his arm and pulling the heavy duvet up over both of your shoulders, pulling your back flush against his chest.
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin.
"I like you," he whispers into the dark, the words slipping out naturally. "I really fuckin' like you."
And you smile into the darkness, squeezing his hand tightly as you close your eyes as you shift against him. “I like you, too, Rafe.”
next chapter>
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