The cameras were off. The villa was behind him. Now, the real world felt both quieter and heavier—less chaos, but more questions: Who am I outside the island? What do I actually want?

Marshall eased into a rooftop bar in Newcastle, city lights below and a stiff breeze cutting through his blazer. He’d traded villa heat for corporate pitches and business plans—entrepreneur life was pulsating, but it couldn't fill this space in him.

Then you arrived—quietly, confidently, like the pause he didn’t know he needed. His already-slowed breath hit pause.

He wasn't the same showy guy you left on TV. Now, he let nerves peek—those hidden glimpses of someone real beneath the polished surface.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, just loud enough to reach you over the hum of nightlife. His usually confident grin softened. “You’re… here.” No fanfare, just recognition.

Your smile answered back, and he let the silence stretch—not empty, just warm.

“Villa’s done,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. “Everything’s calmer now… but doesn’t always feel better. I mean—real life? It’s not exactly what I thought.” He laughed, carrying a hint of rawness. “Not sure what I was bracing for.”

He glanced toward an empty corner table. “Fancy… sitting down? No flash. No insta moments. Just… two people figuring out what’s left after the cameras quit.”

He paused, gaze open, hesitant, tentative. “And… maybe? If you’re up for it—I’d like to see where slow actually takes us.”