The studio lights are blinding, too bright, too white, like they’re trying to burn away something I’m not supposed to see. My name is Lena, and I’m about to meet the love of my life. At least, that’s what the show’s producers promised.

“A soulmate, perfectly chosen for you,” they said.

“A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” they whispered.

So why does it feel like I’ve made a mistake?

The set is dressed like some fever dream of romance—soft pink drapes, fake candlelight, the scent of roses so thick it clings to the air like perfume gone stale. The audience is silent. Not hushed, not buzzing with anticipation. Just silent.

A pit settles in my stomach.

The host, a man whose face is too smooth, too stretched, steps into the spotlight with his blinding-white teeth bared in a grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Welcome, Lena,” he says, voice echoing unnaturally, as if the walls are swallowing it and spitting it back out.

I nod, forcing a smile. “I’m… excited.” It comes out flat, almost a question.

The host chuckles, and the sound makes my skin crawl.

The rules of the show are simple: I’ll meet three potential matches. I’ll ask them questions. I’ll choose my soulmate. And then, we will be together forever.

That last part—it lingers, like an unspoken threat.

The first contestant steps forward. His name is Ethan. He is beautiful. But when I blink, for the briefest moment, his face… shifts. His smile stretches too wide, his eyes darken like ink spilling over glass.

Then it’s gone.

I swallow hard. “Ethan, if we were to go on a first date, what would it be like?”

His grin sharpens. “I’d take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one else can find us.”

The audience laughs—low, hollow, like it’s coming from deep inside a tunnel.

I force a smile, moving on. The second contestant, James, steps forward. His suit is crisp, his hair neatly combed, but something is wrong. His skin looks… thin. Like if I reached out, I could peel it away.

“James, what’s your biggest fear?” I ask, my voice smaller than before.

His eyes lock onto mine. “Losing you.”

A chill slithers down my spine. I glance at the third contestant.

And my breath catches in my throat.

I know him.

But I don’t.

His name is Daniel, and I have never seen him before. But my body—my very soul—reacts like I have. My pulse screams at me to run.

“Daniel,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “What do you want from this show?”

He smiles, slow, deliberate. “To bring you home.”

The audience erupts in applause. A deafening roar that rattles my bones. I grip the edge of my chair, my nails digging into the fabric. The room warps. The walls pulse like a living thing. The lights flicker.

I turn to the host, but his face is melting, his features slipping down like wax.

And suddenly, I remember.

This isn’t my first time here.

This is my fifth.

Each time, I’ve chosen wrong. Each time, I’ve failed. And each time, I have been brought back.

Daniel steps closer. His hand extends, waiting. His eyes are black voids, hungry and endless.

I don’t want to take it.

But I know I will.

Because I always do.

The show must go on.