Chapter 1 — The Blind Road The limousine moved like a secret. No music. Just the muffled hum of the engine, the friction of tires on asphalt, and, occasionally, the sharp crack of a pebble kicked up against the bodywork. Outside, the night had swallowed the countryside. Inside, it swallowed something else: landmarks. Lina Armand checked the time on her watch. 10:47 PM. She didn’t need to look at the driver; she knew the choreography by heart. The cars departed from a neutral point. They plunged into a succession of secondary roads, turns, and false detours. Then came the final gesture—the signature of Castel Pink: the blindfolds. A blindfold wasn’t a protection. It was a promise. On the back seat, the two guests hardly spoke. The couple had accepted the rules from the start—and yet, the moment their eyes were covered, they had tensed up as if, suddenly, everything was becoming real. Lina wasn't sitting with them. Tonight, she was riding in the first limousine, the staff car, the one leading the way. She needed this time. To set herself in place. To become the version of herself that the Castel demanded: calm, precise, irreproachable. She pressed her palm against the cold glass. The night reflected her image back: a face without excessive makeup, hair pulled back tight, attentive eyes—eyes that were learning never to reveal too much. Her phone vibrated, then died the second the network, as always here, became temperamental. An irony that no one really noticed: in a house built to broadcast to the world, the world itself didn't get through. She took a breath. Two rules. She repeated them like a vow. Desire. Truth. Truth, at Castel Pink, was always a matter of framing. The road narrowed. The driver slowed down. One last turn, almost brutal—the one where, the first time, Lina had realized she wasn’t working in a villa, but in a machine. A pink halo appeared in the distance, like a hallucination. A light too soft for a fortress, too insolent for a dark countryside. Then the mass of the building took shape: an old inn, expanded, redesigned, sculpted into a luxury estate. A facade that kept the soul of old stones but now bore immense bay windows, terraces, and contemporary lines. The color itself had become a signature: that pale pink—not childish, not ridiculous—a muffled neon pink, of skin after champagne, of a sunset that lingered too long. The gate opened noiselessly. Castel Pink welcomed the limousine like a polite monster. Lina stepped out before it had even come to a full stop. The air outside was dry, heavy with the scent of pine and cold earth. You could hear… nothing. No dogs. No neighbors. No traffic. Just the wind circulating between the trees like an ancient breath. She looked up at the upper floor. The terraces traced dark rectangles. Up there, the night seemed closer. A silhouette appeared in the shadows of the entrance: Joan Rosell, the concierge. Fifty-five years old, square shoulders, silent step. A face sculpted by the sun and secrets, the thin mustache of a man who didn't need to smile to command respect. "Everything is ready," he said simply. Lina nodded. She knew everything was ready. He said it the way one says "the stage is set." Sacha Vanel, however, was not yet there. And that was intentional. Sacha loved the grand entrance. He loved being desired before being seen. Lina crossed the hall. Inside, the heat hit her with a calibrated sweetness. Castel Pink smelled of leather, wax, a hint of dry vanilla, and that neutral scent of luxury hotels that seek not to impose an emotion—while manufacturing one. On the right, the eighty-square-meter bar was already glowing: backlit shelves, bottles lined up like trophies, low chairs in dark velvet, smoked glass tables. Further on, one could glimpse the great room: the two-hundred-square-meter lounge. A modern cathedral, designed for the party, for bodies, for the crowd—even when the crowd wasn't physically there. On the lounge's main wall, a mosaic of screens was still black. A silent surface waiting to be turned on, like a closed gaze. Lina walked through to the control room. Behind a discreet door, the technical heart was already beating. The room wasn't huge, but it contained the essentials: racks, control monitors, power inverters, and above all, a constellation of small monitors that, once active, would display every angle of the house, every corridor, every terrace, every reflection. Nassim, the head of production, looked up. Thirty-five years old, efficiency on the tip of his lips, a fatigue he wore like a second skin. "We’re good, Lina. The streams are ready. The six suites are assigned. The night cameras are calibrated." Élodie, the stream engineer, didn't even look up. She was typing on a keyboard with the gentleness of a surgeon. Tom, her assistant, was there, as always: discreet, in the back, half-erased by the screens. Lina took a second to look at them. She had learned to read people at Castel Pink. Not like a psychologist, but like a manager of chaos. Nassim was a wall. Élodie was a blade. Tom… was a blind spot. "I want a check on the power supply," Lina said. "We had a micro-outage last week." Élodie gave a heatless smile. "The house is not the grid. It does what it wants. But we’ve reinforced it." "Reinforced," Lina repeated. "Reinforced," Nassim confirmed. "And just in case, we have buffers." Lina didn't push. She had learned another rule of the Castel: never fight on technical ground. Here, the image always won. She left the control room and went up one floor. The corridors were a strange mix of luxury and security: thick carpet, elegant frames, indirect lighting, and, from time to time, a reinforced door that recalled the truth of the place. She stopped in front of Suite 5. Blush Royal. The suite for the favorites, even when the favorites weren't yet known. Sacha had that kind of instinct: he assigned rooms the way a director assigns roles. Lina placed her hand on the wall, for no reason. The plaster was warm. The house was already alive. "Lina." She turned around. Véra Sloane was moving down the hallway like armed elegance. Thirty-eight years old, a long black dress, fabric that caught the light, hair swept up, a voice soft and firm. Mistress of ceremonies, guardian of the framework, and, when necessary, the woman who reminded everyone that at Castel Pink, freedom was a construct. "The performers have arrived," Véra said. "Mila is in the sauna, Noa is checking the Hall of Mirrors. Jade is putting on makeup as if she’s about to be filmed by the entire world." "She is," Lina replied. Véra smiled. "You know… we should put a sign at the entrance: 'You are already being watched.'" "We already wrote it," Lina said, mentally pointing to the hidden cameras, the invisible sensors, the eyes tucked into the corners. Véra looked at her a moment longer, as if trying to measure her fatigue. "Are you ready?" Lina didn't answer right away. She thought of the road. Of the blindfolds. Of that precise moment when rich, beautiful, daring people accepted losing control—because they were promised something else in exchange. "I’m always ready," she finally said. Véra nodded. "Then let's light up the world." Downstairs, the limousines were arriving. The first couple stepped out into the courtyard as if in a dream: he, tall, light suit, shirt open at the collar, practiced confidence; she, a slender silhouette, a dress that seemed designed for movement, red lips, dark eyes. The blindfold was still over their eyes. It made them vulnerable—and, in a strange way, more powerful. Because when you accept being blind, you force others to guide you. Lina approached, professional smile, soft voice. "Welcome. Don't remove the blindfold just yet. We will accompany you." The woman gave a nervous laugh. "It’s… exciting," she whispered. "That’s the goal," Lina replied. She signaled to Joan, who guided the couple toward the entrance. Other limousines were already pulling up, one by one, like waves. Six couples. Eight performers. One owner. An isolated house five kilometers from any other soul. And, somewhere behind it all, hundreds of thousands of gazes that hadn't been invited yet—but were already there, waiting, like wolves at a door. Couple B arrived next—Mika and Soraya Benali, if Lina recalled the file correctly. They stepped out with the energy of a stage performance. Soraya, even blindfolded, had the posture of a queen. Mika was already joking, the easy laugh of a man who understood that attention was a currency. "Where are we?" he called out. "You are in the right place," Lina answered. "Now that’s a movie line," Soraya said. "This is a movie location," said Lina, and she felt something tighten inside her: anticipation, a sharp awareness of the moment when the house was about to open up. Couple C arrived next: Ariane and Thomas Lemaître. They carried with them that calm elegance that never makes a spectacle of itself. Ariane had a cold, precise beauty. Thomas, a nervous kindness, a gaze that was already searching for the exits—the reflex of an ER doctor or a man who doesn't like being locked in. Couple D: Nina and Léo Vasseur, young, radiant, easy chemistry. Nina laughed as she touched Léo's arm, as if to say "we're doing this," and Léo laughed too, but his laugh had a tension at the edge—a note higher than the others. Couple E: Maël and Kiara Santini. Youth like a flame. They talked loudly, they cut each other off, they were already standing too close. Kiara, under the blindfold, had that smile that promised trouble. Couple F: Hélène and Gabriel Morel. They were different. Not because they were older—but because they had codes. They stepped out like people who knew exactly why they were there. Hélène had a soft, sovereign presence. Gabriel, a gaze that observed without judging. Lina welcomed them all with the same neutrality. She knew neutrality was a luxury. And that tonight, everyone was going to abandon it. Once everyone was in the hall, Lina took her place. The scene was always the same, yet never identical: six couples lined up without seeing each other, blindfolds on, breath held. Around them, the performers, already magnificent, already prepared. The staff in the background, like technicians before the curtain rises. Lina felt the exact weight of this moment. She hated this weight sometimes. She loved it, too. She raised her hand. "You may remove the blindfolds. Now." The blindfolds fell. And Castel Pink appeared. There was a silence of a second—the kind where rich people stop talking because they have just realized they are facing something larger than themselves. Gazes rose toward the height of the lounge. Toward the modern chandeliers, the immense sofas, the secret corners. Toward the terraces visible in the distance, and the promise of the pools. Toward the materials: leather, velvet, glass, stone. Soraya gave a slow smile. "Oh… fuck," she whispered, without aggression. Just the way one says "I have entered a fantasy." Kiara was already turning toward the other couples. "So it’s you," she said, with a small laugh. "The competition." Gabriel Morel observed the corners. As if he were looking for something. Lina saw him do it and a soft alarm went off in her chest: people like him spotted structures, habits, flaws. Véra stepped forward. "Welcome to Castel Pink." Her voice filled the hall without effort. "Here, there are no obligations. You are free. But you have come for a unique experience. And that experience has a framework." She left a silence, calculated. "Two rules." She held up two fingers. "First rule: respect. Consent is absolute. At every moment. In every game. In every gesture. You can say no. You can stop. And if you say no, everything stops." She lowered the second finger. "Second rule: you do not leave without us. Not because you are prisoners. Because you are protected. Castel Pink is isolated. And what happens here… stays here." She paused, then smiled. "Mostly… stays here." Lina felt the shiver. Some understood. Others not yet. Véra continued: "Each suite has a reinforced door. If you lock it from the inside, no one can open it from the outside. It is your sanctuary." Thomas Lemaître seemed to relax. Ariane, however, looked at Lina as if she were evaluating the contract behind the speech. "The common areas are free," Véra went on. "Bar, lounge, cinema, sauna, indoor pool, outdoor pool, Hall of Mirrors, dungeon. The performers are here to guide, propose, and secure." Mila Keren, the tantra coach, gave a small, calm nod. Carmen Nox, the elegant dominatrix, did not smile: she didn't need to. Jade Rivera, the icon, had that star-quality gaze that knew exactly where to stand even when no camera was officially turned on yet. Noa Bellini, the tech-enthusiast, was already casting amused glances at the decorations, the accessories, as if at a collection. Roxane Vale, the silent one, stayed a bit in the background. Beautiful, magnetic, almost too quiet. Lina couldn't read her—and that, at Castel Pink, was never a good sign. Véra finished: "Tonight is the arrival. The discovery. The first breath. Tomorrow, you will have tennis, outings, activities. And every night, a party. Every night, a rise in stakes. Every night… a choice." Soraya raised her hand. "And the site?" A smile crossed the room. Véra looked at Lina. Lina inhaled. This was the moment. The one that changed everything. "The site is active," Lina said. "It already is. But it isn't watching you yet. We will turn the live stream on officially in a few minutes, after you’ve settled in and had your first glass of champagne." Nina Vasseur felt a small shiver. "So… there are cameras?" "There are," Lina said, and she let the truth drop like a coin into a glass. "Many." Maël Santini smiled provocatively. "How many?" Véra answered without blinking. "One hundred and twenty." The silence was different now. Not surprise. Excitement. Fear. Pride. Mika Benali burst out laughing. "One hundred and twenty… This isn't a villa, it’s a spaceship." "It’s a theater," Ariane Lemaître corrected. "It’s a confession," Hélène Morel whispered. Lina observed the micro-reactions. Castel Pink was already selecting its stories. "Get settled," she said. "Joan will guide you. Your luggage is here. Your suites are ready. You have thirty minutes. Then… we meet at the bar." She added, with a smile: "With or without a mask. It’s up to you." The couples dispersed. The house swallowed them. Lina went upstairs to accompany Ariane and Thomas to their suite. Crossing the corridor, she already heard bursts of laughter, doors opening, whispered "ohs." Luxury always excited bodies. As if comfort authorized everything. Thomas entered the suite with almost childlike admiration: double shower, jacuzzi, immense bed, mirrors that multiplied the space without making it cold. He placed his hand on the velvet of the armchair. "It’s like… a movie," he said. Ariane turned to Lina. "And the cameras… where are they?" Lina answered with the most useful truth. "You won't see all of them. Some are visible. Others aren't. But you will always know when you are in a 'broadcast' zone. The suites, for example, have modes. You choose." Ariane nodded slowly. "We choose. Of course." It was said as a simple sentence. But Lina heard the nuance: *we choose… as long as we stay within the frame.* On her way back down, she crossed Gabriel Morel in the corridor, alone, the door to his suite open behind him. He was looking at a painting on the wall—an abstract landscape in dark colors. "Are you looking for your way?" Lina asked. "I’m looking to understand the house," he replied. "It’s a house," Lina said. Gabriel gave a smile. "No. It’s an idea." He passed near her, then stopped for a second, as if something had just crossed his mind. "What was it before?" Lina didn't answer immediately. "An inn," she finally said. "An old inn. Sacha transformed it." "Old inns have passages," Gabriel murmured. He said it like an anecdote. Like a banal fact. Then he walked away. Lina stood still for a second. She didn't like banal sentences that sounded like keys. Downstairs, the bar was coming to life. The performers circulated like comets around the couples. The first glasses of champagne appeared. Music, discreetly, began to set a rhythm. Lina felt the house opening. Like a womb. She stood behind the counter, without staying there: she had to be everywhere at once. She monitored distances, too-insistent gazes, gestures that sought to test a limit. Soraya Benali had already caught Kiara's eye. Two women sizing each other up like pretty weapons. Nina Vasseur was talking with Jade, fascinated. Jade knew how to listen in a way that made you feel chosen. Maël Santini was already telling the others what he was "going to do tonight," as if desire were a sport. Thomas Lemaître laughed halfway, uncomfortable but curious. Ariane observed everything, drinking little. Hélène and Gabriel Morel seemed calm. Too calm. Like people who know they have nothing to prove. Véra approached Lina. "Sacha is arriving." Like a stage cue. Sacha entered the bar with that ease of men who have learned to be expected. Forty-two years old, impeccable look without being rigid. A smile that made you believe in warmth, and eyes that were counting. He kissed Véra on both cheeks, greeted Lina with a lingering look—a look that said "without you, nothing holds together." "My guests," he said, raising his glass. The bar turned toward him. Silence fell like a tablecloth. "Welcome to Castel Pink." He pronounced "Castel Pink" with an almost indecent softness, as one pronounces the name of a lover. "You are here because you have understood one thing: desire is not an accident. It is a decision." He let a breath pass. "And luxury… is not a decor. It is a revealer." He smiled. "Tonight, we open." He signaled to Lina. It was the moment. The one where the house ceased to be a house. Lina crossed the lounge to the wall of screens. She placed her hand on a control tablet. She felt, for a second, the tension of everything it implied: the crowd, the money, the promise. She pressed it. The screens lit up. The mosaic appeared. Corridors, bar, lounge, indoor pool, terrace, Hall of Mirrors, cinema, dungeon. Angles everywhere. Pieces of the villa seeing themselves. At the bottom of the main screen, a counter appeared. **LIVE.** The word wasn't simply written. It pulsed. Like a heart. Then the numbers. **Connected: 42,118.** Soraya let out a laugh. "Already?" Sacha, with a tranquil smile: "Already." The numbers climbed almost immediately. **45,002.** **48,611.** **51,900.** Lina felt her stomach tighten. It wasn't fear. It was the strange sensation of being at the center of a phenomenon. On another screen, a chat appeared: lines scrolling too fast. Requests. Compliments. Provocations. "Wow." "I want to see." "Make them..." "Sanctuary for those two." "Jade!!!" Véra stepped forward, microphone in hand—an elegant, almost invisible mic. "Good evening," she said, and her voice, transmitted, immediately became an instrument. "Welcome to the live stream. You know the rules: respect, consent, elegance. And above all… remember: you are watching a game. You own no one." In the chat, there was laughter. Applause. Payments. Another counter appeared: **NIGHT 1 POT: $0.** Then, as soon as a first donation dropped, it began to climb. **$500.** **$1,200.** **$3,000.** Sacha placed his hand on Lina's shoulder, gently, like a confidence. "Breathe," he whispered. "It’s starting now." Lina didn't like him touching her like that—not because it was misplaced, but because it recalled a truth she hid from the others: she was attached to Castel Pink more than she wanted to admit. Attached to what it revealed in people. Attached to this power. To this madness. She pulled away half a step, professional. "We’re beginning," she said simply. The music went up a notch. Not too much. Just enough to make the glasses vibrate. Noa circulated masks on a tray: black masks, gold masks, lace masks. Glamour, not a carnival. An invitation to become someone else—or to reveal what you already were. Jade placed a mask on her face, perfectly, as if she had worn it all her life. Her gaze, through it, seemed deeper. Nina, fascinated, took a mask too. Soraya refused, for now. She wanted to be seen. She wanted to be recognized. Kiara chose a red one, insolent. The men played at hesitating, but their hands took them. Because in a place like this, refusing a mask was sometimes the greatest nudity of all. An interlude appeared at the bottom of the main screen: **LIVE — 11:26 PM** **Connected: 63,404** **POT: $12,600** *"Opening game?"* *"Masks + 10 min silence"* *"Couple A vs Couple E"* Sacha smiled. "They want an opening game," he said. Véra looked at Lina. Lina knew what that meant: from the first night, the audience wanted to write the script. "A game, yes," Lina replied. "But an elegant game." She stepped forward, took the mic from Véra, and spoke. "Good evening," she said. Her voice over the speakers gave her a sense of strangeness: she heard herself as another person. "Tonight is the arrival. We don't burn the house down in the first minute." In the chat, there were groans, then laughter. "But we can… light it up." She left a second of silence. "Opening game: *The Looks.* Three minutes. Masks mandatory. Silence mandatory. You choose one person in the room. You approach them. No forced gesture. Just… the right to look." She felt the room contract. Even those who were laughing fell silent. "You can refuse," she added. "And if you refuse, you say so. Clearly." A shiver passed. The music lowered. Like a held breath. The masks suddenly became serious. Three minutes was nothing. Three minutes was an abyss. Soraya chose Gabriel Morel—an unexpected choice, almost insolent. She approached him like a challenge. Gabriel looked at her without moving, and in his calmness, he reflected back to Soraya a strength she hadn't expected. Nina chose Jade. Jade smiled under her mask, softly, and that smile was enough to send "wows" through the chat. Kiara chose Léo Vasseur, just to see. Léo, caught, looked at Nina out of the corner of his eye for a fraction of a second—and that fraction of a second was a wound. Ariane chose Sacha. Sacha, surprised, let her approach. Ariane looked at him the way one reads a contract. Sacha, for the first time, had a micro-smile of uncertainty. Thomas stood still. He chose no one. Or rather: he didn't dare. Lina noticed. And she knew he would be the one who, later, would take a step too far—or a step that was necessary. Hélène Morel approached Lina. Lina felt a surge of vertigo. This wasn't planned. Hélène stopped a meter away. No provocation. No challenge. A clear look, almost tender. The silence between them was strange. Lina was not a guest. She wasn't supposed to play. And yet, at Castel Pink, everyone played. In the chat, messages exploded. "WHO IS SHE???" "THE BRUNETTE (STAFF) OMG" "Linaaaaa" "Is she playing too???" "PAY FOR HER" The pot climbed further. **$18,900.** **$22,000.** Lina felt her cheeks burn. She hated being visible. She loved, despite herself, the power it gave. Hélène made a tiny gesture—a tilt of the head—as if to say: *you are at the center, too.* Then Hélène stepped back. Without touching. Without breaking the rule. But leaving behind a discreet perfume and a dangerous idea. The three minutes passed. The music rose again. Laughter returned, more nervous, more charged. Glasses clinked. Bodies drew closer as if they had just passed through an invisible door. Sacha raised his glass. "There it is," he said. "Castel Pink has just opened." Connected viewers now exceeded 80,000. In a corner, Tom watched the screens with an attention that was too quiet. Élodie typed, calm. Nassim talked into his headset. Everything was fluid. Too fluid. Lina crossed the lounge toward the bar when she felt someone slip in beside her. Roxane. The silent one hadn't put on a mask. Her face was bare. Her eyes, however, seemed masked by something else: a restraint, a depth, an absence of need. "You chose the right game," Roxane said. Her voice was low, almost intimate. "You learn fast," Lina replied. Roxane gave a light smile. "It’s not you I’m looking at." Lina froze for a tenth of a second. "What are you looking at?" Roxane turned her head, as if listening to the house. Then she whispered: "The doors." She walked away. Lina stood there, glass in hand, in the middle of the music, the bodies, the luxury, the pulsing screens. And suddenly, she felt clearly what Castel Pink did to people. It gave them the impression of being free. And, in exchange, it asked them to be watched. On the screen, a new interlude appeared: **LIVE — 11:41 PM** **Connected: 97,120** **POT: $31,400** *"MORE"* *"We want a challenge"* *"Who is the favorite couple?"* Sacha approached Lina, a bright smile on his face. "You see?" he whispered. "They already want favorites." Lina looked at the couples, the masks, the tensions barely born. She thought of what Gabriel had said: *it’s an idea.* She thought of what Roxane had just said: *the doors.* And she understood that the first night would never be "just" a first night. At Castel Pink, even the arrival was a set-up. Even the looks were traps. She looked up at the wall of screens. The word **LIVE** pulsed. Like a heart. Like a threat. And in the crowd of the room, something had just been born: a silent competition, a hunger to be seen, a jealousy that didn't have a target yet—but was already looking for one. Lina took a breath, set down her glass, and resumed her perfect posture. The night could continue. Castel Pink had begun to write.

Chapter 2 — First Night: The Ignition The Castel Pink didn’t need to turn up the volume. It was increasing something else. After the game of The Gaze, the air had changed density. People spoke faster, laughed louder, as if the three minutes of silence had frightened them. Masks had slipped over faces, and behind the lace, behind the leather, everyone felt the same thing: desire wasn't a mood—it was a force. Lina perceived it in the way bodies positioned themselves in the room. In the way one shoulder brushed another without an apology. In the way a look lingered too long and pulled away just before being caught. She crossed the lounge, tablet in hand, controlling her steps so as not to run. Running gave the place an urgency it didn't need to display. The Castel Pink manufactured its own urgency, slowly, like an elegant poison. On the wall of screens, the word LIVE was still pulsing. The numbers, however, were climbing with dangerous indifference. LIVE — 23:48 Connected: 102,611 JACKPOT: $34,900 “Another game” “Make them mingle” “We want the cinema” “The couples in the mirror room!!!” Sacha Vanel was savoring it. He looked relaxed, almost happy, but Lina knew him: his happiness was never simple. For him, joy was a form of successful control. He stood near her, as if their proximity were a given. "We crossed a hundred thousand in less than an hour," he whispered. Lina didn’t answer immediately. She watched the guests, especially the energy passing between them like a current. Soraya Benali was already at the center of a small circle. She held her glass like a microphone, and every sentence she tossed out sounded like a punchline. Mika, beside her, laughed—too loud, too often—the laugh of those who refuse to let their place be taken. Ariane Lemaître had chosen a low armchair near the corner of the bar, a strategist's position. Thomas remained standing, as if sitting down would trap him. Nina Vasseur moved a lot. She had this way of living in the room, crossing it as if she were searching for a more intimate music than the one being played. Léo followed her, but without truly following. A tiny distance had settled between them after Kiara's look. A distance almost invisible, and therefore almost fatal. Maël Santini was already amusing himself by provoking the chat. He looked up at the screens as if someone could see him directly. Kiara, meanwhile, watched everyone—and when she smiled, you never knew if she was inviting or challenging. Hélène and Gabriel Morel spoke little. They had positioned themselves near the bay window overlooking the terrace, where the night outside seemed so thick you could touch it. They observed, and this observation was a form of quiet power. The facilitators circulated: Véra framing shots, Mila soothing, Carmen reminding them of boundaries with a simple look, Jade drawing attention effortlessly, Noa placing accessories like a priestess of scenography. Solveig Hart, the official "psy," was already asking questions that sounded innocent but opened doors. Louna, the newcomer, laughed with a sparkle that was too bright—as if she were playing at being lighthearted. Roxane, as always, stayed a bit in the background. "Lina," Sacha said, "are you listening to me?" She forced herself to snap back. "I’m listening." "They want mingling," he continued. "They want a first moment that is truly... iconic." He pronounced "iconic" the way others pronounce "sacred." Lina looked at the screen where the chat scrolled. The digital crowd wasn't an audience. It was a substance. A mass heating up. "Iconic doesn't mean uncontrolled," she replied. Sacha smiled. "On the contrary." He walked away before she could understand if it was a joke or a warning. Lina breathed in. She adjusted her earpiece. "Nassim, check the cinema sound and camera 3 in the north hallway. I have a blind spot on the east terrace." Nassim’s voice replied, quick and efficient. "Received. East terrace calibrating. North hallway OK." Élodie added dryly: "Everything is OK, Lina." The "everything" almost annoyed her. In a place like this, "everything is OK" was a dangerous sentence. She walked over to the bar. The music had changed subtly: a slower, heavier tempo. The lights, too, were sliding toward something warmer. The Castel Pink never announced its transitions. It imposed them like a breath on the back of the neck. Véra approached, a discreet microphone in hand. "I propose an initial installation sequence," she said. "Ten minutes. Let them breathe in their suites, choose their outfits, their masks. Then, we relaunch with a soft, glamorous game." Lina nodded. It was the right strategy: let desire charge in privacy, then bring it back into public like a spark. She took the microphone. "Ten minutes," she announced. "Enjoy your suites. Change, if you wish. Take a mask, or don't. At midnight sharp, we meet back in the lounge." In the chat, there were groans. Then a rain of donations fell as compensation. LIVE — 23:53 Connected: 118,904 JACKPOT: $49,800 “NO, NO BREAK” “OK 10 MIN BUT THEN WE WANT THE HEAVY STUFF” “Jade in the cinema” “Soraya & Kiara together” Lina felt the adrenaline rise. The people were going to their suites like one goes to reload a weapon. The couples dispersed. The hallways filled with muffled footsteps, laughter, and doors closing. The house, suddenly, seemed larger. Lina went upstairs to check a detail: a forgotten badge, a misassigned bracelet, a security protocol. She didn’t like "small details." Small details made for great dramas. In the hallway, she ran into Noa, a tray of accessories in her hands: soft leather gloves, velvet ribbons, masks with metallic reflections. "They are hungry," Noa whispered, amused. "They are human," Lina replied. Noa smiled. "Humans are hungry." Lina continued. She stopped in front of the Benalis' suite. Behind the door, bursts of voices, laughter. Then silence. A brief, electric silence. The suite swallowed that silence and made it denser. Further on, the Lemaîtres' suite was almost silent. Lina knocked softly—protocol. Ariane opened, already changed: a simpler dress, but more dangerous, like a refined sketch. Thomas was behind her, shirt open, looking a bit lost. "Is everything alright?" Lina asked. "Very well," said Ariane. "Very... interesting." Her gaze slid over Lina, then stopped. "Have you worked here long?" An innocent question. A scalpel's question. Lina replied with a professional smile. "Long enough to know the house." Ariane tilted her head slightly. "And the house... does it know you?" Lina felt a shiver. She didn't like this woman. Or rather: she respected her too much to like her. "The house knows everyone," she said, and she closed the conversation like one closes a door. She moved on to the Vasseurs' suite. Hardly had she raised her hand when Nina opened, her breath a bit too fast. "Lina! Can you come in for a second?" Lina entered. The suite was a blend of luxury and traps: mirrors, warm light, an immense bed, a jacuzzi like a promise. Nina wore a short black dress, simple, but on her, simplicity seemed designed to provoke. Léo was sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast, as if preparing for a competition he hadn't chosen. "What is it?" Lina asked. Nina hesitated. "We... we agree that everything is... consent, boundaries, etc.?" "Yes." "But the public... can they propose anything?" Lina placed the tablet on the cabinet, calm. "The public proposes. You choose. Always." Nina bit her lip. "And if... if one of us says yes and the other says no?" Lina looked at Léo. He raised his eyes for a second, and Lina saw something: a worry that looked like jealousy, but older, deeper. "Then it’s a no," Lina answered. "That is the couple's rule. We don't break a duo for the show." She added, more softly: "And if it happens... you come to see me. You don't have to handle it alone." Nina nodded, relieved. Léo inhaled, as if air were returning. Lina stepped out. In the hallway, she crossed paths with Gabriel Morel, who was walking alone, silently, as if exploring. He held a glass but wasn't drinking. "Still trying to understand the house?" Lina asked. Gabriel gave a smile. "I’m mostly trying to understand the people." "People are more complicated than the house." "I’m not so sure." He looked at the wall, as if he perceived something behind the decor. "There’s a smell..." he said. "What smell?" "Cold stone. Dampness. Not here—elsewhere. As if the house were keeping a memory." Lina felt her stomach tighten. She thought of the dressing room in Suite 5. Of that draft that Capucine might notice one day. Of that detail that luxury shouldn't let exist. She brushed the thought away. "You have a vivid imagination," she said. Gabriel stared at her, then whispered: "Imagination is an alarm." He walked away. Lina stood still for a moment. She heard a laugh at the end of the hallway—Kiara’s, sharp and insolent. Then a door slammed. Then a murmur. The Castel Pink was filling with stories. She went back down to the lounge. Midnight was approaching. Véra was ready. Sacha had changed his jacket: darker, more elegant. He wanted to embody the night. The screens already displayed a selection of angles. The mosaic of the cinema hallway, the terrace, the indoor pool. The chat was swelling. LIVE — 00:00 Connected: 141,600 JACKPOT: $68,300 “HERE WE GO” “CINEMA!!!” “DUNGEON!!!” “KIARA” “WE WANT THE FAVORITES” Lina took the microphone. "Midnight," she announced. "Are you ready?" The couples returned. They were no longer the same. Soraya had opted for a more fitted red dress, almost insolent. Mika had abandoned the modest shirt: collar more open, wrists bared. They looked like a duo that had come to win. Ariane wore a minimalist black mask. Thomas had a simpler mask, almost timid. But he was trying. Nina was magnificent in a dangerous way: not because of what she showed, but what she suggested. Léo had chosen a dark mask that hid his eyes—as if he needed to protect himself. Maël wore a golden mask, arrogant. Kiara a deep red mask and a defiant smile. The duo vibrated like a wildfire. Hélène and Gabriel had chosen sober elegance: no provocation. And that absence of provocation, in a place that encouraged spectacle, became a provocation in itself. The facilitators took their places. Jade stood slightly forward, naturally. Carmen stayed to the side, guardian of the balance. Mila positioned herself near the indoor pool, as if she knew bodies would eventually seek the water. Noa brought a tray of ribbons, gloves, and accessories. Solveig was already observing micro-reactions. Louna laughed beside Kiara, fascinated by her madness. Roxane stayed in the shadows, but her eyes never left the doors. Sacha stepped forward. "First real night," he said. "First real climb. You have the right to stay among yourselves. You have the right to mingle. You have the right to play." He raised his glass. "But above all, you have the right... to be beautiful." The chat exploded. LIVE — 00:03 Connected: 158,220 JACKPOT: $81,900 “SACHA 😈” “I WANT THE GOLDEN ARROGANT ONE (MAËL)” “SORAYA AS QUEEN” “NINA OMG” “DO AN ALLIANCE GAME” Véra took the microphone. "Game 1: Alliances." She made a simple, readable, elegant rule appear on the screens: *Each couple chooses another couple.* *An alliance for twenty minutes.* *No imposed gestures.* *Just: proximity, complicity, social play.* *The public votes.* *Financial bonus to the most loved alliance.* The couples looked at each other. This wasn't a sexual game. It was a power game. Lina watched the mechanics fall into place. Soraya looked at Kiara. Kiara smiled. Mika watched Soraya, tense. Nina looked at Jade, then looked... Capucine wasn't there, but Lina felt Nina was already looking for a figure. A queen. Someone to fascinate her. Ariane looked at Hélène, as if choosing a respectable ally. Maël looked at everyone like a predator choosing its prey. The alliances were formed. *Benali + Santini:* Soraya and Kiara like two flames recognizing each other. Mika and Maël like two males refusing to lose. *Lemaître + Morel:* Ariane and Hélène, cold elegance and soft sovereignty; Thomas and Gabriel, two men who hadn't come for the same reasons. *Vasseur + facilitators:* Nina and Léo hesitated, then Nina made an impulsive gesture toward Jade and Mila—"can we?"—and Véra validated it: a special framed alliance, glamorous and safe. The public paid for the audacity. LIVE — 00:09 Connected: 171,004 JACKPOT: $104,500 “BENALI x SANTINI IS FIRE” “LEMAÎTRE x MOREL IS CHIC” “NINA WITH JADE + MILA YES YES” “BONUS FOR THE CINEMA” The house divided naturally. The Castel Pink never forced. It attracted. CINEMA The Benalis and the Santinis found themselves there almost without consulting each other, as if drawn by the idea of a screen within a screen. The room was dark, velvet, the smell of rising human heat. On the giant screen, the live stream displayed an angle of the lounge—a delicious delay: they were seeing themselves almost in a parallel world. Soraya sat in the front row, legs crossed, a queen. Kiara sat next to her, too close. The two men stood for a moment, like bodyguards who don't know if they are protecting or waiting. Soraya took Kiara's hand, without warning. Just her hand. A simple gesture that, in this place, became a declaration. Kiara didn't pull her hand away. She turned her head toward Soraya, and their masks almost brushed. Mika gave a laugh. "You’re going to make the chat explode." Maël smiled, but his smile wasn't kind. "It’s already exploding." The jackpot climbed. LIVE — 00:12 Connected: 182,750 JACKPOT: $132,000 “SORAYA + KIARA I’M DYING” “MIKA IS GOING TO CRACK” “MAËL SO HOT” “KISS BUT CHIC” Lina, from the lounge, saw the cinema angle. She couldn't hear everything, but she perceived the structure: tension, provocation, jealousy. Desire, over there, wasn't a pleasure. It was a battle. LOUNGE / BAR In the lounge, the Lemaître-Morel alliance created a different atmosphere: slower, more dangerous because it seemed controlled. Ariane and Hélène talked near the bar, two women who had nothing to prove and who, for that very reason, could permit themselves anything. "Did you come out of curiosity?" Ariane asked. "I came because I love freedom," Hélène replied. "But freedom... well-done." She smiled, and that smile was a promise of boundaries set like jewels. Ariane nodded. "Well-done. Yes. Here, everything is 'well-done'." She let the sentence float, as if testing the idea. Thomas and Gabriel had drifted toward the bay window. Thomas breathed better near the outside, even if the outside was only a terrace surrounded by night. "Are you a doctor?" Gabriel asked. "Yes." "Then you are used to fear." Thomas gave a nervous laugh. "I’m used to reality. Here... it’s something else." Gabriel stared at the screens. "Here, reality is for sale." Thomas followed his gaze. "It’s weird... I can’t wrap my head around the fact that there are hundreds of thousands of people watching." "Don’t tell yourself that," Gabriel replied. "If you do, you won't move anymore." Thomas turned toward him. "Have you done this before?" Gabriel finally took a sip. "I’ve been watched before. It’s never neutral." In a corner, Solveig observed this conversation. She had that talent: being everywhere without being visible. She approached, smiling. "Thomas," she said softly, "you look a bit tense." Thomas almost jumped. "Is it that obvious?" "Everything is obvious here," Solveig replied. She placed a light hand on his forearm—not a grip, an anchor. "Breathe. You aren't forced to do anything. You can just watch. Let the others play." Thomas nodded. Ariane looked at Solveig as if she recognized a technique. Lina, at the center of it all, kept watch. She looked at the Nina-Jade-Mila alliance. Nina had followed Jade and Mila toward the indoor pool. The water caught the light like black skin. The room was hot, humid, and the silence there was different: less social, more intimate. Mila spoke softly, guiding. Jade laughed, lighthearted, and Nina seemed fascinated, as if discovering a courage she hadn't planned on. Léo remained at a distance, near a lounger. He watched, but his gaze wasn't simply desire. It was worry. Possessiveness, perhaps. And that possessiveness, in a place that glorified sharing, was becoming a fracture. Lina approached him. "Is everything okay?" she asked. Léo gave a forced smile. "Yes. It’s just... new." "New things shake you up." "It’s not 'new' that’s shaking me," he whispered. "It’s... what the people want." Lina followed his gaze. On the screen, the chat was already relentless: “Nina with Jade,” “Nina without Léo,” “Léo jealous lol.” Lina felt a cold anger rise. Not against the public—the public was a force, not a person. Against the very concept of this crowd taking emotions for toys. "You don't have to answer to the public," she said. "Here, everyone answers to the public," Léo replied. She didn't have time to respond. In her earpiece, Nassim whispered: "Lina, we have a surge in subscribers. It’s exceeding capacity." "How many?" she asked. "Two hundred thousand." Lina grit her teeth. the first night was supposed to be a setup. Not an explosion. Sacha, however, was practically rubbing his hands together. LIVE — 00:24 Connected: 201,330 JACKPOT: $176,700 “THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT” “MORE CINEMA” “DUNGEON DUNGEON DUNGEON” “DO A CHALLENGE: PRISON” Véra turned to Lina. "They’re asking for the prison." The prison: a "theatrical" room, cages, elegant bars, a staging of domination but within a framework. A place designed to play at the limits without crossing them. Lina hesitated for a second. Too early? Or exactly the right moment to set the Castel Pink brand: "madness," but mastered. "We do a chic version," she said. "Ten minutes. No more. Carmen supervises. Mila keeps an eye out. And no one gets isolated." Véra nodded. The Alliance game was coming to an end. The votes were already appearing on the screens in luminous bars. The crowd chose its favorites like choosing gods. Benali/Santini was dominating. Nina/Jade/Mila was rising fast. Lemaître/Morel was surprising everyone with its elegance. Sacha took the microphone. "You are magnificent," he said. "You are beginning to understand what the Castel Pink is." He paused, a predator's smile on his face. "And now... we open a door." The chat literally exploded. LIVE — 00:29 Connected: 224,090 JACKPOT: $212,400 “YESSSS” “PRISON” “MASKS” “WE’RE PAYING” “TURN UP THE HEAT” The door to the "prison" opened. The room was more beautiful than one could imagine. Not sordid. Not dirty. An aesthetic of black velvet, polished metal, and low red light. Cages that looked like sculptures. Chains like jewelry. And at the center, a space where domination could be played out like a dance. Carmen Nox entered first, a tall silhouette, minimalist black outfit, the gaze of the law. "Here," she said, "we play. We break nothing. Not bodies, not couples, not boundaries." She raised her hand. "Safe-word: Rose. If someone says Rose, everything stops. No discussion." The public in the chat cheered. And paid. As if consent were a spectacle too. Sacha stood at the entrance like a master of ceremonies. He invited, with a look, those who wanted to enter. Who went in? Kiara, obviously. Soraya, obviously. Nina hesitated—then went in too, pushed by Jade who took her hand like a friend at a party that's too big. Ariane entered without a smile. Hélène entered, calm. The men followed, some more confident, others more rigid. Maël entered as if he had been created for this place. Thomas entered as if he were going to take an exam. Lina stayed outside for a second, watching. She had learned not to enter scenes too quickly: the staff should be a frame, not an actor. But tonight, everything was sliding. The public wanted everything. The guests wanted to be desired. Sacha wanted to see them lose themselves a little. She entered in turn. The prison, paradoxically, didn't imprison. It liberated something: a permission to play with power. Carmen distributed roles. "A volunteer to be 'captured'?" Kiara raised her hand, an insolent smile. "Me." Soraya gave a little laugh. "Obviously." Carmen stared at her. "You accept being guided?" "I’ve always accepted it," Kiara replied, and her sentence sent a shiver through the room. Carmen placed Kiara in an open cage, not locked. Just the symbol. She placed a velvet ribbon on her wrists, without tightening. Everything was aesthetic. Everything was code. Soraya approached, fascinated. She placed a hand on the bars. The gesture was simple. But the gesture, in this place, was a novel. Mika watched Soraya, and Lina saw his jaw tighten. Maël watched everyone, and Lina felt his arrogance becoming a threat. Nina, meanwhile, looked at Jade, and Jade looked back as if saying: "You can." The chat on the screen in the hallway had become a river. LIVE — 00:38 Connected: 252,400 JACKPOT: $261,800 “KIARA IN A CAGE I’M SCREAMING” “SORAYA DOMINATES” “MIKA JEALOUS LOL” “NINA + JADE WE’RE PAYING 10K” “MAËL IS A DEMON” Lina felt her earpiece vibrate: Nassim. "Lina, the jackpot just passed a quarter of a million." She swallowed. "Received." In the prison, the temperature was rising. It was strange: the more the game looked "dangerous," the more it remained glamorous. It wasn't about violence. It was about tension. Ritual. The theater of the forbidden. And yet, Lina knew: theater, when it becomes too real, breaks things. Carmen changed the scene. "Second sequence: the mirror." She guided the group toward the hall of mirrors. The walls here reflected everything: silhouettes, angles, reflections, doubles. You couldn't hide from your own face. Noa turned on a softer, pinker light. The Castel Pink had this way of making danger beautiful. "Here," Carmen said, "you look at yourselves. You do not touch. You let the tension do the rest." The couples positioned themselves. Soraya stood behind Kiara, very close. Mika behind Soraya. Maël behind Kiara too, one step away, like a challenge. The positions were already creating a plot. Nina stood facing Jade. Jade facing Nina. Mila behind them, calm. Ariane stood facing Hélène. Two women who, in another world, might have greeted each other coldly at a chic dinner. Here, they looked at each other like truths. Thomas stayed behind Ariane, hands in his pockets, trying not to tremble. Gabriel, behind Hélène, looked almost serene. Lina observed Roxane in a corner. Roxane was looking at the reflections, yes, but mostly... she was looking at the edges. The angles. The lines where a mirror met a wall. As if she were looking for a flaw. Lina felt the shiver return. Roxane caught her eye for an instant. Her smile was tiny. Almost sad. Then Véra announced: "End of the game. We’re returning to the lounge." The couples exited the hall of mirrors like people who had just had a dream that was too intense. Some laughed. Others were silent. The lounge, meanwhile, waited for them like an open mouth. Sacha took the microphone again. "You’ve had a taste," he said. "Now... you choose." A new prompt appeared on the screens: "STARS." *STARS: a proposal from the public, framed by Lina and Véra.* *Rule: each couple chooses a "star" among the facilitators for a twenty-minute sequence in a dedicated space (cinema, sauna, bar, terrace). Glamour, seduction, conversation, dance—no graphic scenes. It’s all in the electricity.* The crowd paid immediately. LIVE — 00:52 Connected: 289,700 JACKPOT: $318,900 “STARS YES” “JADE EVERYWHERE” “ROXANE WE WANT ROXANE” “LINA IS SO GOOD” “1K IF SORAYA CHOOSES JADE” Lina felt a pang of anger: "Roxane we want Roxane." The people wanted a woman they didn't know, just because she seemed inaccessible. They wanted to possess what they didn't understand. The choices were revealing. *Benali* chose Jade—Soraya wanted a star by her side. And perhaps to test her own place. *Santini* chose Louna—Kiara wanted prey, Maël wanted a scene. *Lemaître* chose Solveig—Ariane wanted to control the narrative through speech. *Vasseur* chose Mila—Nina wanted softness, and Léo wanted a guarantee. *Morel* chose Carmen—Hélène wanted beautiful rules, Gabriel wanted to observe. Roxane was chosen by no one. And Lina noticed something: Roxane didn't look disappointed. She looked... relieved. The sequences began. BAR — Benali + Jade The bar became a brilliant stage. Jade, elegant and poised, stood between Soraya and Mika like tension incarnate. Soraya spoke, laughed, played. Mika smiled, but his smile cracked in places. Jade, in a soft tone: "You like being watched." Soraya replied immediately: "I love it." Mika, a bit later, more quietly: "I hate it when it’s not me they’re watching." Jade smiled. A smile that belonged only to her. "Here," she said, "one doesn't always choose." The sentence fell like a trap. Soraya placed her hand on Jade's hand. Just for a second. Then she pulled it back as if she had just stolen something. In the chat, donations exploded. LIVE — 01:03 Connected: 312,400 JACKPOT: $402,300 “SORAYA QUEEN” “MIKA IS GOING TO CAUSE A SCENE” “JADE DOMINATES WITHOUT MOVING” “WE DOUBLE IT IF THEY KISS (CHIC)” Lina, passing near the bar, caught Sacha's eye. He was satisfied. Too satisfied. SAUNA — Vasseur + Mila The sauna was a cocoon. Low light, warm wood, steam. Mila guided Nina and Léo like a musician guides a rhythm. "Breathe," she said. "Slowly. Look at each other. Don't try to please." Nina closed her eyes, inhaled. Léo, beside her, relaxed a little. Mila added: "Here, you have nothing to prove." Lina, behind the glass, watched. That scene was precious: it gave the story a breath, a soft sensuality, an intimate truth. And, above all, it prepared the ground for future jealousy: Nina was beautiful in the calm, and the public loved that. LIVE — 01:07 Connected: 330,990 JACKPOT: $451,600 “NINA IS A GODDESS” “LÉO LOOKS AT HER LIKE...” “I WANT MORE SAUNA” CINEMA — Santini + Louna In the cinema, the tension was different: younger, more brutal, more unstable. Louna laughed too much, Kiara guided her with her eyes, Maël stood too close. "Are you afraid?" Kiara asked, sweet and mean at the same time. Louna shook her head, but her laugh betrayed her. Maël tossed out a sentence, almost calmly: "Fear is sexy." Lina felt an alarm. Not because the sentence was "dangerous." Because it revealed a type of man: the one who loves to push. Véra, in the earpiece, whispered: "I’m keeping an eye out." "Me too," Lina replied. LOUNGE — Lemaître + Solveig Solveig did exactly what she did best: she transformed a glamorous sequence into an extraction of truth. "Why are you here?" she asked softly. Thomas hesitated. Ariane answered for him: "To liberate ourselves." Solveig smiled. "Liberate yourselves from what?" Ariane stared at Solveig, then answered: "From the image." The chat erupted in laughter. Irony. Cruelty. Solveig, calm: "Then you are in the worst place." Ariane smiled, but her smile was a blade. "Or the best." Lina felt a shiver. Ariane was dangerous. Because she understood the game. TERRACE — Morel + Carmen Under the night sky, Carmen spoke of boundaries like poetry. "People believe that freedom," she said, "is doing whatever you want. True freedom is knowing what you don't want." Hélène looked at her with respect. Gabriel, meanwhile, observed the house. The lights. The terraces. The hallways. And once again, Lina felt he was searching for a structure. The live stream was reaching the point of absurdity. LIVE — 01:12 Connected: 359,800 JACKPOT: $512,900 “500K WTF” “IT’S A MOVIE” “MORE” “DO A HALLWAY CHALLENGE” Lina felt her throat tighten. More than half a million on an opening night. The Castel Pink was no longer a business. It was a religion. And like all religions, it would one day demand a sacrifice. She shook her head. Not tonight. Not in her head. Not yet. She went to the control room. Nassim, concentrated, monitored the angles. Élodie was typing. Tom watched the monitors, silent. "Everything okay?" Lina asked. Nassim replied: "We’re holding. But it’s heating up. The demand for the stream is enormous." Élodie snapped, without looking up: "I’m handling it." Lina stared at Tom. He hardly moved. He looked... calm. Too calm. "Tom, can you pull up camera 7 from the west hallway?" she asked. Tom obeyed immediately, fast and efficient. "There." The west hallway appeared. Empty, carpeted, warm lights. "Thanks." She walked out. She didn't know why she had done that. Just an intuition: in a place where everything was an image, she wanted to know who controlled the image. Back in the lounge, the "Stars" sequences were ending. The couples returned to the center like planets drawing closer. Véra announced the final proposition of the night: "Final game: The Ballroom." The "ballroom" was the lounge, but transformed: low lights, slower music, and a simple rule: for ten minutes, you dance with someone who isn't your partner. You can say no. You can choose. You can stay alone. It was a game. But above all: it was a jealousy machine. Lina felt everything preparing itself. The chat paid. Always. LIVE — 01:18 Connected: 401,500 JACKPOT: $603,200 “SWAP DANCE YES” “LÉO WITH KIARA” “NINA WITH GABRIEL” “SORAYA WITH MAËL” “ARIANE WITH SACHA” The music changed. A slow, heavy rhythm. Not romantic. Hypnotic. The couples hesitated. Then the movement began. Soraya approached Maël. Two magnificent egos rubbing against each other. Mika watched, his smile frozen. Kiara, for her part, approached Léo, just to see. Nina felt the gesture, and Lina saw her face change for a fraction of a second: a mix of fear and anger. Gabriel approached Nina, more slowly, more respectfully. Hélène danced with Thomas, and Thomas, surprisingly, relaxed in that non-threatening contact. Ariane... Ariane approached Sacha, just like during the game of The Gaze. Sacha accepted, and Lina understood that this woman loved power enough to want to taste it. The room became a living painting. And the public, behind them, paid for every painting. Desire was no longer intimate. It was currency. Lina crossed the room, attentive. She monitored hands, distances, looks. She monitored the "yeses" and "noes." She monitored especially that moment when a "yes" becomes an invisible constraint. Suddenly, she felt a strange vibration in the floor. Not a tremor. More like a hesitation from the house. The lights flickered for a fraction of a second. A micro-silence fell. Then everything returned. In the chat, messages: “???” “WHAT WAS THAT” “BUG?” “LOL THE CASTEL IS BREATHING” “DON’T CUT THE FEED” Lina froze. She looked up at the screens. For a second, the mosaic had shuddered. Nassim, in the earpiece: "Micro-outage. Nothing serious." Élodie, sharper, almost annoyed: "I told you: the house does what it wants." Lina felt a chill on her neck. Gabriel's sentence came back: imagination is an alarm. And Roxane's: the doors. The music continued. The bodies continued. The laughter returned. But Lina was no longer laughing. She crossed the room discreetly toward the north hallway, then toward the stairs. Her instinct drew her upstairs. Not to interrupt. Not to control. To verify. She went up, silent, and stopped at the landing. The hallway was calm. Reinforced doors, warm lights, a smell of perfume floating in the air. She walked to Suite 5—Royal Blush—the one that was occupied by no one tonight, or at least not officially assigned to a particular couple for Night 1. She didn't even know why her steps had led her there. Perhaps because it was the most "mythical" suite. Perhaps because the Castel Pink loved its own legends. She placed her hand on the door. Cold. Stable. Then she felt something. A breath. Very light. A draft that had no business being there. Lina withdrew her hand, stepped back half a pace. Her heart beat faster. She leaned toward the bottom of the door: nothing. No visible movement. But the air—she felt it. She stood up. And in the reflection of the doorframe, she saw a silhouette at the end of the hallway. Roxane. Standing, motionless, as if she were waiting. Lina turned. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Roxane advanced slowly, noiselessly, and her gaze slid toward the door of Suite 5. "I’m walking," she said simply. "Upstairs, while everyone is dancing?" Roxane gave a tiny smile. "Everyone is dancing downstairs. I prefer to listen." "Listen to what?" Roxane raised her head slightly, as if scenting the air. "The house." Lina felt a shiver. "You told me, earlier, that you were looking at the doors." Roxane nodded, almost softly. "The doors always tell the truth." "Here," Lina replied, "the image tells whatever we ask it to." Roxane stared at her. "Exactly." She took one more step, stopped beside Lina, and whispered: "Do you know what there used to be, in the old days, in an inn?" Lina didn’t answer. Roxane continued, her voice low, almost tender: "Corridors. Storage rooms. Passageways so the 'important' people wouldn't cross the others. For the linens to circulate. For business to circulate. For secrets... to remain secrets." Lina felt her stomach tighten. "You’re making it up," she said. Roxane smiled. "I make very little up." She turned on her heel and walked away down the hallway, disappearing like a shadow. Lina remained alone in front of the door to Suite 5, her hand still cold. Downstairs, the music swelled. Laughter exploded. The live feed displayed a new figure. LIVE — 01:26 Connected: 439,900 JACKPOT: $690,400 “THIS IS CRAZY” “WE WANT NIGHT 2 EVEN HOTTER” “PREPARE THE FAVORITES” Lina closed her eyes for a second. The micro-outage had only lasted an instant. But it had left a mark. She went back down. When she returned to the lounge, the dancing was ending. The couples were drawing close again, some relieved, others wounded. Mika was gripping Soraya's waist a bit too tightly. Léo kept Nina near him like an excuse. Maël and Kiara were laughing, drunk on their own chaos. Ariane had a smile of victory. Hélène looked at Gabriel, and their looks said things that money couldn't buy. Sacha stepped forward to close the night. "You’ve survived the opening," he said. "You’ve shined. You’ve understood that the Castel Pink is not a place where one comes to sleep." He smiled. "It is a place where one comes to discover oneself." The audience cheered through their donations. Then Véra, more gently: "You may return to your suites. Tomorrow, we begin again. And tomorrow... the stakes will rise." The couples began to head upstairs. The house calmed down, slowly, like a sated animal. Lina stayed in the lounge for a moment, looking at the screens. The feeds showed hallways, doors, and silhouettes moving away. In the control room, Nassim spoke quietly. Élodie typed. Tom watched. And Lina, standing at the center of the empty lounge, felt a certainty: The Castel Pink was launched. The public was hooked. The money was already flowing like rain. And somewhere, behind a door, in an invisible corridor, the house perhaps had another life. She turned off her microphone. But the word LIVE continued to pulse. Like a heartbeat. Like a threat.

Chapter 3 — Day 2: The Sun and the Masks Morning at Castel Pink had a particular cruelty. At night, everything became permissible because everything was dark, because the music drowned out hesitations, because screens swallowed scruples. Day, on the contrary, revealed. The same corridors seemed longer. The same armored doors more serious. And faces, without the shadows, betrayed micro-fissures: ill-digested jealousy, regretted audacity, a phrase seen too many times on the chat. Lina had risen before everyone else. As always. She crossed the house in silence, barefoot on the thick carpet, tablet in hand. Castel Pink rarely truly slept. It breathed — ventilation, inverters, standby lights — an autonomous organism that refused total darkness. In the living room, the screens were in "standby" mode, a softened mosaic where angles overlapped without aggression: empty corridors, a gray terrace, the indoor pool like a black blade, and, in the background, the motionless forest. She stopped in front of the large wall of images. The word LIVE was no longer displayed, but the world had not ceased to exist: it was waiting. It waited like a crowd before a door yet to be opened. Lina swallowed a sip of water, then consulted the night report. Subscribers: + 86,000 during the 23:00–02:00 slot. Average time: indecent. Night 1 Prize Pool: nearly 700,000. Identified "iconic" moments: cinema, prison, dance. She felt the weight. This wasn't just a romance novel or a game for adults. It was an economy of impulses. And that economy, when it reached a certain level, always manufactured monsters. Human monsters. Technical monsters. Monsters of pride. Her earpiece vibrated. — Lina? came Nassim’s voice. Are you awake? — I didn't sleep, she replied. Nassim gave a small, tired laugh. — Even we slept. Sacha wants to see you as soon as you come down. He’s already at the bar. Lina took a breath. She knew what that meant: Sacha was going to roll out his figures the way others roll out a caress. He would speak of "growth" with the same sweetness as "desire." He would want more. And "more," at Castel Pink, always ended up costing something. She went down. The bar smelled of coffee and warm leather. The morning light, filtered through thick veils, made the pink of the place almost tender, almost innocent — a delicious lie. Sacha was there, white shirt, sleeves rolled up, phone in hand. He was looking at a curve like a man looks at an adrenaline rush. When Lina arrived, he looked up and smiled. — Did you see? He didn't specify what. He didn't need to. Here, everyone knew what needed to be "seen." — I saw, Lina said. — We nearly hit five hundred thousand peak connected users, he continued. Fifty percent new subscribers in twenty-four hours. And that’s only the first night. He leaned in slightly, as if confiding a secret in Lina’s ear, even though the house, obviously, already knew all its secrets. — Do you understand what that means? — It means you’re going to want to push, Lina replied. Sacha laughed. — I’m going to want to… honor the demand. — Demand will never be satisfied, Lina said. She placed her tablet on the counter. — The public always wants more. If they get everything, they get bored. If they don’t get enough, they get angry. You’re sitting on an animal that’s growing. Sacha looked at her with a sweetness that sometimes had something dangerous about it. — That’s why I have you. Lina felt a pang of tension. She hated the way he could pass off a burden as a compliment. — You also have Véra, Carmen, Mila, the whole team, she said. — Yes, Sacha said. But you… you hold the house together. He said "the house" as if Castel Pink were alive. And Lina hated that he was right. The sound of muffled footsteps announced the end of the conversation. Véra appeared in the doorway, impeccable even in the morning, a simple dress, her face rested as if she had the art of sleeping amidst the world's screams. Behind her, Noa carried a crate of accessories — bracelets, masks, ribbons, objects she handled with the care of a costume designer. — The guests are coming down, Véra said. Are we doing brunch in the living room or on the terrace? Sacha smiled. — On the terrace. Sun. Pool. Tennis. Let them see each other. Let them compare themselves. Let them desire each other. Lina held back a sigh. She could already hear the mechanics: by day, competition; by night, transgression. — And the live stream? Véra asked. Sacha turned his head toward Lina, as if the answer belonged to her. Lina hesitated for a second, then said: — We open at noon. Not before. The morning is for them. To pull themselves back together. To breathe. Sacha made a face but didn't argue. He liked playing king, but Lina knew a rule of the castle: a king without a steward always ends up lost. She went up a floor to check that everything was ready: linens, water, breakfast, security. In a corridor, she crossed paths with Joan, the concierge, already at work. He moved with an efficient slowness, that blend of a man who knows the place by heart and a man who never rushes. — Are the suites good? Lina asked. Joan nodded. — Good night. No damage. — No...? He gave a tiny smile. — Nothing broken. Just laughter. Lina looked at him for a moment. Joan rarely said more than necessary. When he added a sentence, it counted. — Did you hear anything? she asked. Joan stared at her, neutral. — I always hear. — That’s not an answer. — It’s the only one, he said, and walked away. Lina stood in the corridor for a moment. She remembered the micro-outage during the night. That hesitation of the building. As if the house had blinked. She shook her head and went back down. The couples descended in waves. Morning at Castel Pink had this strangeness: everyone looked a little too beautiful. As if the place, even in the light, demanded an aesthetic. Bodies still bore traces of the night — not visible marks, but rather a way of carrying oneself, of being less shy, or on the contrary, more cautious. Soraya Benali arrived first, sunglasses already perched on her head, a light dress that hugged the air like a provocation. Mika followed, smiling, but Lina saw immediately that he had slept poorly. His eyes were a bit too bright, his jaw too tight. Ariane and Thomas arrived next. Ariane was fresh, impeccably controlled. Thomas had the face of someone who had thought too much: a mix of excitement and shame, as if the brain were trying to catch up with the body. Nina and Léo came down hand in hand, but the hand was a construction. An effort. Nina was smiling. Léo too. But Lina had learned: smiles here were often bandages. Maël and Kiara arrived laughing, loud, young, electric. Kiara wore a small bikini top under an open shirt, and she knew exactly what she was doing: she was offering to the sun what the public would demand that evening. Hélène and Gabriel Morel arrived calmly. Hélène greeted Lina with polite sweetness. Gabriel, for his part, looked at the terrace, then the house, then the grounds. Always that attention to structures. The staff members also came down, distributed like a living decor. Jade was already made up, naturally perfect. Mila wore a simple white outfit that made her almost luminous. Carmen was in black, always. Solveig had a notebook — small, discreet — which she never took out ostensibly but consulted as a reflex. Louna was laughing too much, as if she needed to prove she belonged. Roxane moved without a sound, and yet she was noticed the way one notices a perfect shadow. Brunch was served on the main terrace. The terrace was immense, bordered by the outdoor pool. The water, under the sun, was a cold blue mirror. In the distance, the two hectares of land stretched out like a green sea. The tennis court, further away, waited. And all around: the countryside, the wind, the silence. Not a soul for miles. Just them. Just this world. Lina observed the scene with an editor’s eye: here was the "luxury" chapter, the "contrast" chapter, the one where light made the darkness more dangerous. The couples placed themselves naturally. The alliances of the previous day had left traces. Soraya sat near Kiara, as if it were obvious. Kiara accepted this proximity with a smile that didn't yet say whether she liked Soraya or wanted to use her. Mika sat next to Soraya, but he sometimes looked at Kiara a little too long. Maël, meanwhile, sat across from Mika, like a silent challenge. Lina felt the masculine tension tighten like a wire. Ariane sat near Hélène, a conversation between sovereign women. Thomas stayed beside Ariane, but he seemed drawn by Nina’s lightness, by her smile. Nina sat near Jade and Mila. Léo stayed close, as if guarding a territory. Gabriel and Hélène placed themselves slightly apart, with a view of the pool and the grounds. Roxane took a seat from which she could see… the glass doors leading inside. As if even in the morning, she was watching the exits. Sacha arrived with two glasses of champagne, as if the hour didn't matter. — My friends, he said, you are here to do yourselves some good. He raised his glass. — And to be real. Ariane smiled. — Here, "real" is a show. Sacha laughed, as if it were a compliment. — Here, "real" is a form of luxury. The chat wasn't open yet. And that was when Lina observed something interesting: without the public, people spoke differently. More softly. More humanly. But the competition didn't disappear. It just changed form: it became a comparison of elegance, control, confidence. After brunch, Lina announced the program. — Tennis at eleven. Pool. Sauna if you like. A limousine outing is possible this afternoon. And at noon… opening of the live stream. Maël gave a smile. — At noon? That’s early. — The public is waiting for you, Lina said. Kiara laughed. — The public is waiting for us… it’s funny to say that. Lina stared at her. — It’s not funny. It’s real. The sun rose. The house itself seemed to relax, almost. As if the day gave it a false sense of security. At eleven o'clock, tennis became a theater. Soraya wanted to play. Of course. She had that energy of conquest that needed a court. Kiara accepted immediately. Two women face to face, rackets in hand, smiles on their lips: a perfect scene. Mika proposed a doubles match to Maël. Maël accepted, too quickly. Lina saw the strategy: Mika wanted to regain control. Maël wanted to prove he could win on any field. Nina hesitated, then agreed to play with Jade — "for fun." Léo stayed on the bench, watching. Watching too much. Thomas timidly proposed a game to Hélène. Hélène accepted with a sweetness that reassured him. Ariane, for her part, watched like a judge. Lina positioned herself near the outdoor bar, in the shade, tablet in hand. She monitored the angles, the reactions, the micro-violences. She knew: sport revealed the same things as desire, but with less set dressing. Soraya served an ace. Kiara applauded, then served a perfect shot in return. The public wasn't there, but Lina already imagined the comments: "Soraya queen," "Kiara crazy." Mika missed an easy point. Maël smiled. Mika gripped his racket. Lina almost heard the strings snap. Nina laughed too loudly at a joke from Jade. Léo looked at Nina, then at Jade, then looked away. And in that turn, Lina saw the future: a jealousy that would only need one night to become a tragedy. At noon, Lina opened the live stream. She did it from the living room, like the day before, a simple gesture, a press on a screen. The monitors lit up. The mosaic appeared. The word LIVE pulsed. The counter exploded even faster than yesterday. LIVE — 12:00 Connected: 211,480 DAY POT: $0 "THEY'RE ALREADY THERE?!" "TENNIS RIGHT NOW" "WE WANT THE POOL" "SORAYA VS KIARA" Lina felt the house recharge. As if the public, by connecting, gave Castel Pink a second wind. The tennis immediately became a paid scene. LIVE — 12:07 Connected: 286,900 DAY POT: $41,000 "SORAYA IS A BLADE" "KIARA IS A FLAME" "MAËL IS PROVOKING MIKA" "NINA IS SO BEAUTIFUL WHEN SHE LAUGHS" Lina observed everything, and at the same time she heard the control room in her ear: Nassim distributing the angles, Élodie optimizing the streams, Tom sliding silently between the screens. Tom, again. Always there. Always invisible. And yet, it was often he who had his hands on the image at the moment it shifted. Lina shook her head. Paranoia. Fatigue. She had to stay on reality. After tennis, the outdoor pool became the obvious choice. The sun beat down, the water called, bodies were bared — not brutally, not vulgarly — simply because summer in the south made clothing useless. Kiara entered the water first, like in a music video. Soraya followed, more slowly, like a queen who never rushes. The two women looked at each other under the sun, and the public, behind them, paid. LIVE — 12:32 Connected: 412,300 DAY POT: $110,000 "THEY ARE TOO DANGEROUS" "MIKA IS GOING TO EXPLODE" "WE WANT A WATER GAME" Noa offered iced cocktails at the outdoor bar. Jade stretched out on a lounger, perfect, effortless. Nina sat at the edge of the water, feet in the pool, and Lina saw how the light changed her face: she seemed more self-assured, more alive. Léo, behind her, watched her the way one watches something one fears losing. Ariane, surprisingly, entered the water. Not to play. To show that she too could be desired. Hélène watched her, a soft smile. Carmen, meanwhile, stayed in the shade, the guardian of boundaries. Sacha circulated, glass in hand, the perfect host, a happy entrepreneur. He spoke to the camera as if speaking to an invisible friend. He knew the public loved that: the illusion of being intimate with the master of the house. Lina watched him from afar, and a thought crossed her mind: Sacha wasn't just playing with the guests. He was playing with the world. And the world, one day, would ask him to pay. At two o'clock, Lina gathered everyone in the living room to announce the outing. — You have an option this afternoon: a limousine will take you to an outdoor activity. Golf practice, a small private estate, or a walk to a viewpoint. — We're going out? Thomas asked, surprised. — Yes, Lina replied. Supervised. We’ll keep you anonymous. The route is… managed. Soraya smiled. — So we stay blind. — Not blind, Lina said. Just… discreet. The chat exploded. The public loved the idea of the outing, the mystery, the "where are they?". LIVE — 14:06 Connected: 521,800 DAY POT: $214,000 "LIMO OUTING OMG" "WHERE ARE THEY?" "NEVER TELL THEM" "THE CASTEL IS A SECRET" Each couple had the right to choose one or two people "invited" via the site, but not today. Today, Lina kept the format simple: a group outing, supervised, to reinforce the dynamics. The "outside" guests would come later, like fuel added to an already well-lit fire. The limousine left with three couples: the Benalis, the Vasseurs, and the Lemaîtres. The others stayed at the Castel: the Santinis and the Morels, along with the staff. Lina stayed at the Castel. She had to. She held the house. And the house, when empty of some of its inhabitants, revealed other noises. While the limousine was on the road, she went to check the indoor pool, then the sauna, then the cinema. She checked the corridors above all — that obsession with surveillance that had become her profession. In a corridor, she ran into Roxane. Roxane was walking alone, with no visible objective. Or rather: her objective was invisible. — You're not going out? Lina asked. Roxane stared at her calmly. — I’ve already gone out, she replied. — What does that mean? Roxane gave a small smile. — It means I don’t need a road to travel. Lina felt a shiver. Roxane spoke like a poet, but behind the poetry, there was often knowledge. — Do you like it here? Lina asked, trying a simpler approach. Roxane looked at the house the way one looks at a beast. — It’s beautiful. — And? — And it’s dangerous. Lina stared at her. — Why? Roxane shrugged slightly. — Because people think cameras protect them. They don’t protect. They excite. Then Roxane passed by Lina and whispered, like a throwaway line: — Old inns don’t like being disguised. She walked away. Lina stood still for a moment. She felt the house around her. A dull, distant noise — maybe a pump, maybe an inverter. Maybe something else. She forced herself back to the concrete: the afternoon had to proceed without incident. The night had to step up a notch. And Castel Pink had to remain glamorous, even when it went mad. The limousine returned in the late afternoon. Faces had changed. The outside world, even invisible, had left a mark: a fatigue, a tension, a feeling of "returning to the cage." Soraya stepped out first, with a wide smile. — we almost got lost, she said. — That’s not possible, Lina replied. — Everything is possible, Ariane said from behind her, and Lina felt that this woman was playing cat and mouse with reality. Thomas seemed more relaxed. He had laughed. He had breathed. And Lina understood something important: Thomas would be capable of unforeseen gestures — not because he was dangerous, but because he was searching for freedom. Nina stepped down, hair in the wind, her smile more confident. Léo, however, seemed more withdrawn. The outside had not calmed his jealousy. It had fed it. Evening fell over Castel Pink like a slow caress. Night 2 was to be a more structured climb. More intense. More "signature." Lina gathered Véra, Carmen, Mila, Noa, and Nassim in a corner of the living room, far from the main cameras. — Tonight, Lina said, we’re doing "Masks & Silence" in a long version. Fifteen minutes. Then "Pact." — Pact? Noa asked, interested. Lina nodded. — Two couples officially ally for the night. They share a space. They choose a dynamic. They can stay glamorous, but they must be… real. Véra smiled. — And the public votes. — And the public pays, Lina added. Carmen crossed her arms. — It’s going to create fractures. — Yes, Lina said. And we have to manage them. Mila looked at her. — You’re afraid of something slipping. Lina hesitated, then replied: — I’m afraid of a place where everyone believes the image protects them. She didn't say "the house," but everyone understood. Nassim added, dryly: — We’re monitoring the power supply. We had a micro-outage today. Lina turned to him. — Another one? — A micro one. It was nothing. Lina felt a tightening in her chest. — "Nothing"… doesn't exist here, she whispered. The live stream opened at nine o'clock. In five minutes, the counter exceeded levels Lina never would have imagined for a second night. LIVE — 21:00 Connected: 612,200 NIGHT 2 POT: $0 "WE ARE HERE" "WE WANT HEAT" "WHO ARE THE FAVORITES?" "SORAYA/KIARA IS A MUST" "NINA IS A STAR" The word "favorites" kept coming back. The crowd needed a hierarchy. Hierarchy gave desire a form of competition. Competition gave the crowd a reason to pay. The couples descended in their night attire. Tonight, it was more assertive. Soraya wore a black satin dress, slit just enough, and a minimalist gold mask. Mika had a black shirt, open, too perfect, too calculated. Kiara wore a short, dark red dress, almost insolent. Maël, a dark suit without a tie, black mask, a fiery smile. Ariane wore a long dress, simple, almost austere, but her fine lace mask transformed that austerity into a threat. Thomas wore a light suit, a discreet mask. He was trying to rise to the occasion. Nina wore a black dress again, but different: softer, more fluid. As if she wanted to be a promise rather than a challenge. Léo wore a dark outfit, and Lina felt he had dressed as if putting on armor. Hélène wore an elegant navy blue outfit, a light mask. Gabriel wore a dark suit, and his gaze remained that of a man observing the structure of the game. The staff were magnificent, but tonight, they were also pillars. Véra would hold the stage. Carmen would hold the boundaries. Mila would hold the emotions. Noa would hold the aesthetics. Solveig would hold the secrets. Roxane… Roxane would hold something else. Lina didn't know what. And that was the problem. Véra took the microphone. — Good evening. Her voice cut through the house like a golden thread. — Tonight, we go further. Not dirtier. Further. She left a silence. — Game 1: Masks & Silence. Fifteen minutes. The rules appeared on the screens: Masks mandatory. Prohibited to speak. Prohibited to use names. You may approach whomever you wish. You may refuse. You may stop. The public votes: tension, elegance, intensity. The chat exploded immediately, and the pot began to climb like a fever. LIVE — 21:08 Connected: 702,800 POT: $189,000 "SILENCE IS SEXY" "WE WANT THE LOOKS" "KIARA DEMON" "NINA ANGEL" The music lowered. A slow rhythm, almost like a breath. Silence settled in. And that silence… made more noise than all the nights combined. Bodies moved as if in a dream. Soraya approached Kiara. Always. Obvious. But tonight, it wasn't just a provocation: it was a decision. Kiara lifted her chin, and the two masks almost brushed. Mika watched, motionless, and Lina felt a contained anger. Maël approached Soraya, too close, a smile in the shadow of the mask. Soraya did not back away. Mika, however, took a step. And that step, in the silence, was a scream. Nina approached Gabriel, gently. Not to provoke. To breathe. Gabriel looked at her with calm attention, and Nina seemed to relax. Léo, from a distance, watched. His mask hid his eyes, but Lina could see his body: rigid shoulders, clenched hands. Thomas approached Jade, fascinated. Jade looked at him, and in her gaze, Thomas found courage. Ariane watched the scene, and Lina felt she was taking notes: her man could be drawn by another light. Ariane didn't look jealous. She looked strategic. Hélène approached Carmen. Two women of rules. Carmen stared at her, and Hélène smiled, almost invisibly. A tacit alliance: here, one can play, but one does not destroy each other. Solveig approached Sacha, and Lina frowned. Solveig always knew where to place her presence. Sacha accepted that look, as if accepting a mirror. And then Lina felt something: someone was approaching her. Roxane. Roxane didn't speak. Roxane didn't need to. She stopped in front of Lina at an exact distance: neither too close nor too far. Roxane’s mask was black, simple, but her eyes were of a troubling clarity. Lina held her gaze. The silence between them became charged with something Lina didn't want to name: an understanding, a threat, a cold attraction. Roxane raised a hand, slowly, and brushed — barely — Lina’s wrist. Not a sexual gesture. A marking gesture. Lina did not move. The chat, as if it had sensed something, went wild. LIVE — 21:14 Connected: 781,400 POT: $312,000 "THE BRUNETTE (STAFF) AGAIN" "WHO IS WITH HER?" "ROXANE???" "OMG ROXANE + LINA" "WE ARE PAYING FOR THEM" Lina felt anger rising — against the public, against Sacha, against this machine that took even her own body as content. She took a step back, breaking the thread. Roxane, for her part, seemed neither offended nor surprised. She tilted her head slightly, then walked away like a shadow that never asked for permission. The fifteen minutes ended. The music swelled again. Voices returned like a wave. People were laughing, but their laughs were different: higher-pitched, more nervous. The silence had left traces. Véra took the microphone again. — Game 2: The Pact. The screens displayed a simple, legible rule. Two couples officially ally for one hour. They choose a space: cinema, dungeon, bar, terrace, indoor pool. They choose a dynamic: seduction, game, confession, dance. They may invite a staff member. The public funds. The public votes. The winning couple of the night takes a share of the pot. The phrase "share of the pot" changed the atmosphere. It was no longer just about desire. It was a jackpot. The couples looked at each other. And Lina saw the exact mechanics fall into place: money was going to push those who hesitated to go further. And going further would create fissures. Sacha stepped forward, a bright smile. — You choose, he said. And you own it. The chat was already screaming its preferences. LIVE — 21:22 Connected: 842,900 POT: $451,000 "SORAYA/KIARA PACT FOR SURE" "NINA WITH HÉLÈNE" "MAËL IS MAKING A MOVE" "DUNGEON DUNGEON" "PUTTING 50K ON THE CINEMA" The pacts were formed. And that was when, Lina felt, the night became dangerous — not because it was "hard," but because it was meaningful. Soraya did what everyone expected: she proposed a pact to Kiara. Kiara accepted, with a fiery smile. Mika, however, gave a laugh that sounded like an internal break. Maël, behind Kiara, smiled like a man preparing for chaos. Ariane chose Hélène. An "elegant," "chic" pact. Hélène accepted gently, and Gabriel, beside her, gave an intrigued look: his wife was going to play with a woman who had the brain of a judge. Thomas, for his part, seemed relieved: for one hour, the attention would be elsewhere. Nina, against all odds, proposed a pact to Jade… but Jade, being a star, transformed it into a scene: she asked to include Mila, to frame the softness, to make the pact "poetic." Nina accepted, fascinated. Léo hesitated, then consented, but Lina saw his face: he was doing violence to himself. Maël and Mika found themselves without an obvious pact, like two men who had just lost ground. Maël smiled, then proposed a "surprise" pact: a pact with Louna, the new staff member, and… a staging with Noa in the cinema. Louna accepted, excited and frightened. Noa, intrigued, agreed to orchestrate. Lina felt an alarm: Maël wanted to create a "viral" moment, and virality was often a dirty fuel. Gabriel, for his part, proposed a pact to Carmen: not for the scene, but for the structure. Carmen accepted: a pact of "rules," "ritual," "control." Hélène watched from afar, and Lina saw confidence in her eyes: "I know who you are." The spaces filled up. And Lina, like an invisible director, followed the edit. CINEMA — Soraya & Kiara (with masculine tensions around) The cinema became the center of the world, obviously. The room was dark, velvet, with an immense screen. The live feed displayed their entrance in multi-angle: room camera, corridor camera, picture-in-picture. Soraya entered first, a queen. Kiara followed, a flame. They settled in facing the giant screen, but their bodies turned toward each other, not the projection. The public didn't need to see explicit gestures. The public paid for the tension, for the electricity, for that moment where two women looked at each other as if they had always been waiting. Mika stayed near the door, arms crossed. Maël stayed further back, a quiet smile. Two men pretending to be spectators, while they too were in the pact — a pact of jealousy. Soraya spoke softly. — We want you. Kiara smiled. — Who is "we"? Soraya turned her head toward Mika. — Us. Mika didn't answer. He clenched his jaw. Kiara looked at Maël, then smiled. — And him? Soraya gave a laugh. — Him, he thinks he’s in control. Maël took a step, slowly. — I don't think anything, he said. I’m watching. Kiara stood up, approached Soraya. The two women were inches apart. Their masks brushed. A breath. A smile. The chat exploded, the pot rose like a tide. LIVE — 21:35 Connected: 916,000 POT: $632,000 "IT'S CINEMA" "MIKA IS GOING TO SNAP" "KIARA IS A QUEEN" "SORAYA IS A GODDESS" "PUTTING 100K ON THEM" Lina, from the living room, monitored Mika above all. She knew that type of man: capable of being charming as long as he felt admired, capable of becoming dangerous if he felt humiliated. And humiliation, at Castel Pink, was a stronger currency than money. INDOOR POOL — Nina, Jade, Mila (and Léo at a distance) The indoor pool was the opposite of the cinema. Over there, tension burned like a public fire. Here, it slid like black water. Nina entered, light dress, barefoot. Jade followed, a gentle star. Mila, in white, had that guiding presence that made everything feel safer — and therefore more intense. Léo stayed at the entrance, sitting on a lounger, like a man forcing himself to be "free." He said nothing. But Lina, from the camera angle, saw everything: the way he clenched his fingers, the way he followed Nina with his eyes, the way he breathed too quickly. Mila guided Nina and Jade toward the water’s edge. — We force nothing, she said. We listen. We respect. And we let the tension do its work. Jade took Nina’s hand. Nina shivered. Not because she was afraid, but because she felt seen. Truly seen. Not by a million people — by one person. The chat, behind them, was less violent. More admiring. Almost tender. LIVE — 21:41 Connected: 952,300 POT: $701,000 "NINA IS PURE" "JADE IS LEADING HER" "LÉO IS WATCHING LIKE A WOLF" "IT'S BEAUTIFUL" Lina felt that this pact was dangerous in a different way: because it touched on the real. And the real, at Castel Pink, always hurt someone. LIVING ROOM / BAR — Ariane & Hélène (Pact of Queens) Ariane and Hélène occupied the bar like two sovereigns recognizing each other. They didn't play for vulgarity. They played for power. Ariane smiled. — You seem very comfortable. Hélène replied softly: — I am comfortable with myself. Ariane tilted her head. — That’s rare. — It’s a discipline, Hélène said. Ariane set down her glass. — And your man? — Gabriel? He belongs to no one. Not even to me. Ariane gave a slow smile. — Are you sure? Hélène stared at her. And in that look, there was a polite threat. — I’m not sure. I am… confident. Ariane laughed. — Confidence is a luxury. — Here, everything is a luxury, Hélène replied. The chat liked this pact less because it was "too subtle." But there were people who paid for intellectual tension, for chic coldness. LIVE — 21:46 Connected: 988,000 POT: $780,000 "ARIANE IS ICE COLD" "HÉLÈNE IS A LADY" "QUEEN LEVEL GAMEPLAY" CINEMA PART 2 — Maël, Louna, Noa (Virality) In another angle of the cinema — not the main room, but a smaller, more intimate "annex" — Noa orchestrated a set: pink light, fabrics, accessories like a stage. Louna was there, nervous, excited. Maël smiled, calm, too sure of himself. — You want to be seen? Maël asked. Louna laughed. — I… yes. — Then don't play at being someone else, he said. Be yourself. But amplified. Noa, cautious, intervened: — We’re staying within glamour. No pressure. Maël looked at her, a soft smile. — I’m not putting on pressure. I’m creating a moment. Lina, from the control room, saw this scene and felt an alarm. "Creating a moment," at Castel Pink, was a dangerous phrase. Because moments here were monetized. And when a moment costs tens of thousands, some are willing to do anything to make it happen. The chat paid because Maël was handsome and because Louna seemed fragile. LIVE — 21:52 Connected: 1,012,400 POT: $860,000 "MAËL IS A MOVIE" "PROTECT LOUNA" "NOA IS AN ARTIST" "DOUBLING IF SHE DARES" Lina clenched her jaw. She didn't like the word "protect" coming from a public that incited danger. DUNGEON — Gabriel & Carmen (Ritual) The dungeon tonight was not a scene. It was an architecture of trust. Carmen explained to Gabriel: — Here, power is beautiful when it is clear. Gabriel nodded. — I didn't come here to dominate. — No one comes "for that," Carmen said. People come to discover themselves. She handed him a velvet ribbon. — You can refuse. Gabriel took the ribbon, placed it on his palm like a sacred object. — I’m not afraid, he said. Carmen replied coldly: — It’s not fear I’m talking about. The chat, less excited, still watched. Because seeing a "respectable" man enter this place had symbolic power. LIVE — 21:58 Connected: 1,035,700 POT: $915,000 "GABRIEL HAS CLASS" "CARMEN IS THE LAW" "WE WANT THE HALL OF MIRRORS" The night was becoming massive. And Lina, at the center, had to stay calm. She had to maintain the rules. She had to maintain the glamour. She had to maintain the illusion of safety. She went through the control room. Nassim was tense. — We’re exceeding a million connected users, he said. We’ve never held this many so early. Élodie was typing rapidly. — We’re holding. Tom, behind them, watched the screens like a man listening to internal music. Lina stared at Tom. — Tom, what exactly are you doing tonight? she asked abruptly. Tom looked up, surprised. — I… I’m here. — That’s vague. Tom swallowed. — I… I’m monitoring camera transitions. The switches. Replays. Helping Nassim. Nassim confirmed with a nod, without leaving the screens. Lina felt she had just done something she never did: shown suspicion. She hated it. But Castel Pink was transforming her. She went out and crossed the corridor, heading upstairs. Not to check on the couples, but to listen to the house. She went up to the landing. The corridor was quiet. The music from below arrived as a vibration. The lined-up armored doors seemed to be sleeping. She walked to Suite 5. Royal Blush. She placed her hand on the wall near the dressing room — just like the day before. As if her body were seeking a truth her head refused. And there, she felt it clearly: a draft. Sharper. Colder. She pulled her hand back, and her heart sped up. She leaned down, searched for a vent, a flaw. Nothing. It was too clean. Too smooth. And yet air was passing through. Behind her, a noise. Lina spun around quickly. Joan, the concierge, was there at the end of the corridor, as if he had always been there. He approached slowly, unsurprised. — You never sleep, he said. — Neither do you, Lina replied. Joan approached, looked at the door of Suite 5. His face remained neutral, but Lina felt — a pure sensation — that he knew something. — Do you feel that? Lina asked. Joan didn't answer immediately. Then he said: — The house moves. — That’s not an answer. Joan stared at her. — It’s the only one. Lina grit her teeth. — Before… what exactly was this part of the building? she asked. Joan remained silent. For a very long time. Then he whispered: — It was an inn. Lina felt anger rising. — That much I know. Joan leaned in slightly, as if about to confide something, then straightened up and said simply: — Don't go looking for doors when you aren't ready to open them. He walked away. Lina stood there alone in front of Suite 5, her hand cold. Below, laughter rose. The live feed was exploding. The public was paying. And she, for the first time, had a thought she had never dared to formulate: What if Castel Pink was hiding something that even Sacha couldn't control? She went back down. She had to stay professional. She had to hold the night together. In the living room, Véra announced the final phase: a return to the large space, a Night 2 "final." — Last sequence, Véra said. The Gallery. The Gallery: "aesthetic" shots were projected on the screens, slow motions of the night — not explicit, but suggestive. A way of glorifying, of stoking pride, of creating favorites. The public paid again. LIVE — 22:24 Connected: 1,102,600 POT: $1,020,000 "1 MILLION WTF" "THIS IS HISTORIC" "WHO ARE THE FAVORITES?" "SORAYA/KIARA" "NINA/JADE" One million. Lina felt a sense of vertigo. This number was too large to remain "a game." This number would attract people, interests, pressures, threats. Sacha, however, had stars in his eyes. — Do you see? he whispered to Lina. One million. In two nights. — I see, Lina replied. And I also see that this is going to become uncontrollable. Sacha smiled. — Nothing is uncontrollable when you write the scene. Lina stared at him. — You think you write everything. Sacha leaned toward her, voice low: — I write it because I am willing to pay the price. That sentence chilled her. Because Lina didn't know what price he imagined. And because she understood something: for Sacha, the price was always paid by others. The Gallery began. The screens broadcast images: Soraya and Kiara in the cinema, masks almost touching; Nina at the edge of the indoor pool, looking up at Jade; Ariane smiling at Sacha; Maël in the shadows, as beautiful as a danger; Carmen placing a ribbon like one places a rule; Roxane walking down a corridor, a silhouette of mystery. The public voted. The results appeared live, in the form of light bars and symbolic crowns. Top Tension: Soraya & Kiara. Top Glamour: Nina & Jade (with Mila). Top Mystery: Roxane. Top Provocation: Maël & Kiara. Favorites were being born. And with them, hatred was born. Lina saw Mika looking at the "Soraya & Kiara" screen. His smile was frozen. Léo looked at "Nina & Jade." His eyes hardened. Ariane looked at "Ariane & Sacha" and smiled like a woman who had secured a piece. Gabriel looked at "Top Mystery: Roxane" and slightly furrowed his brow. And Roxane, she did not react. She was a black screen. The night ended late. The couples went up. Some together, others separately. Some excited, others wounded. Some rich from the pot, others poor in their pride. Lina stayed in the living room, as always, until the house calmed down. At two o'clock, the live feed lowered. Véra announced the closing of the night streams (not all — some angles remained accessible to premium subscribers). Nassim began the backups. Élodie was still typing. Tom remained standing, silent, like a man waiting for the next act. Lina approached the screens one last time. The upstairs corridor appeared. Empty. Silent. Then, for a fraction of a second, the image shuddered. Not a total cut. A micro-glitch. A skip. Lina froze. She listened to her earpiece. — Nassim? she asked. Did you see that? Nassim answered, tired: — See what? — The shudder on the upstairs corridor. Élodie, dryly, intervened: — Micro-latency. Nothing. Lina grit her teeth. — "Nothing"… doesn't exist here, she repeated. She left the living room and went upstairs. The corridor was silent. The armored doors closed. The house seemingly asleep. Lina walked to Suite 5. She placed her hand on the wall. The draft was there. Colder. Like a breath. Lina backed away slowly. And she knew, without proof, without an image, without logical reason, something she never would have wanted to know: Castel Pink was hiding a door. And that door, one day, would open. She stood there in the corridor, alone, in the midst of luxury and silence, and she looked at the armored door like one looks at a poisoned promise. Below, in the control room, the screens continued to turn. Backups were being made. The world outside might have been sleeping. But the house, the house was not sleeping.

Chapter 4 — Day 3: The Kings Enter the Dance On the third day, Castel Pink ceased to be a place. It became a phenomenon. It was no longer just "a livestream," nor even "a villa." It was something that exceeded its own geography, a fever circulating elsewhere—on screens, in private groups, in stories that disappeared and were reborn as blurry screenshots. People no longer asked: "Do you know about Castel Pink?" They asked: "Have you seen Castel Pink?" And Lina felt this shift upon waking, even before opening her eyes. The house's vibrations had changed. The silence was no longer restful. It was a pause before a wave. She went down to the living room barefoot, wearing a black sweatshirt too simple for this decor, and saw the mosaic of screens in standby mode. On the control tablet, notifications were piling up: press access requests, hacking threats, thousands of new subscribers, support tickets that were no longer questions but demands. In the control room, Nassim looked exhausted. Élodie was already at war with a string of numbers. Tom stood watching a graph the way one watches a fever curve. Lina entered without knocking. "How many do we have?" she asked. Nassim looked up, and his gaze said it all: too many. "We passed a million active subscribers last night," he said. "And we’re seeing... absurd spikes." Lina blinked. "A million... active?" "Yes." Élodie added, her voice sharp: "And there are access resales, screenshots, clones. The crowd wants everything. Even what isn’t planned." Lina felt a prickle of cold on the back of her neck. Castel Pink had always been a promise of control. But a million—that was no longer an audience: it was a tide. And you don’t control a tide. You build dikes and you pray. "Does Sacha know?" Lina asked. Nassim let out a joyless laugh. "Sacha is... happy." Lina didn’t reply. She knew that "happy": the state of a man who sees his numbers becoming a myth, and who forgets that myths always demand blood. She left the control room and crossed the living room. The low velvet armchairs, the glass tables, the screens: everything looked innocent in the morning. But Lina knew better. She felt as though she were living in a ballroom after a storm: everything was beautiful, but the air still held traces of the wreckage. She entered the bar. Sacha was there, of course, coffee in hand, white shirt, possessing the easy elegance of those who do not wear their fatigue on their faces. Véra was with him. Carmen too, arms crossed, a presence of law. Mila was drinking herbal tea, calm, as if she were silently repairing people. Noa was flipping through accessories like one flips through an art book. Solveig was already noting something in her small notebook. Sacha looked up at Lina, a brilliant smile on his face. "Did you see?" Lina placed her tablet on the counter. "I saw that you’ve become a city." Sacha laughed, sincerely this time. "A city... I like that." "A city has fires," Lina said. Sacha’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second. Then he recovered. "Exactly. We’re going to get organized." He signaled to everyone. "Staff brief. Now." The word "brief" at Castel Pink was a dangerous word: it meant "we’re going to push." And Lina had been right since the first day: pushing, here, was like playing with a wild animal. Sacha assumed his position as master of ceremonies. "We own the virality. We embrace it. We guide it." Carmen raised an eyebrow. "You don’t guide a crowd. You contain it." Sacha smiled. "We do both." He turned to Lina. "Journalists are starting to call." "They don’t have the address," Lina said. "They don’t need it," Sacha replied. "They have the myth. And the myth is enough to create a reality." Véra intervened, her voice calm: "The rules must be reaffirmed. If this gets too big, we have to reiterate: consent, limits, safety." "We will reiterate them," Sacha said. "And we’ll do better: we’ll show them." He placed his hand on the tablet and slid a file toward Lina. "Tonight, Night 3: Crown." Lina felt her stomach tighten. "Crown?" Sacha nodded, eyes shining. "We make favorites official. We create 'kings.' We show the jackpot. We announce the mechanics for the rest of the week. We make the public understand that this isn’t a livestream... it’s a championship." Noa, fascinated: "It’s going to explode." Sacha fixed his gaze on her. "Yes." Carmen crossed her arms tighter. "And it’s going to break people." Sacha looked at her, and his smile turned colder. "They are adults. They signed up." Lina felt a cold anger. "They signed up for a game," she replied. "Not a war." Sacha approached her softly, as if he were about to whisper a tender truth. "Lina," he said, "it’s the same thing." He straightened up and looked at everyone. "We keep the rules. We keep the elegance. We keep the glamour. And we turn it up." Véra took a breath. "And the 'bonus' guests? The ones selected online?" Sacha smiled, finally satisfied. "Tonight. We bring in two guests. Two profiles that will get people talking." Lina froze. "Two external guests... already?" Sacha nodded. "The public is demanding them. We’re giving them just enough." Mila cut in, soft but firm: "The couples must choose, then. Not have it imposed on them." "They will choose," Sacha said. "But we will 'propose'." Lina knew that word: "propose." At Castel Pink, "proposing" was a way of pushing without saying "push." She inhaled. "We brief the couples," she said. "Before the live tonight. We explain what 'Crown' means." Sacha nodded. "And we have a surprise." Lina stared at him. "What surprise?" Sacha smiled, and that particular smile birthed a tension in the bar. "The Delcourts truly enter the dance tonight." The name snapped like a whip. Lina knew it—from the files, obviously—but she hadn’t "seen" the couple yet. They had been there since arrival, yes. But until now, they had been... discreet. Present without being at the center. Like elegant predators waiting for the right moment. "They requested Suite 5," Sacha added. Lina felt her heart skip a beat. Suite 5. Blush Royal. The door, the draft, the breathing. "Why now?" she asked. Sacha shrugged. "Because now, the world is ready to worship them." He set down his coffee, looking at Lina as if she should understand the obvious. "They were made for this." Lina didn’t answer. But something in her sounded an alarm: if Suite 5 became the home of the future favorites, then everything she felt, everything she sensed, was going to move closer to the heart of the narrative. And a narrative, at Castel Pink, was always a weapon. *** The Day: Sun, Power, and the Shadow of the Myth The morning was devoted to one simple thing: building up pride. Brunch was held on the terrace again, but this time, the live feed was already open early. The public had realized they could "possess" the mornings too. LIVE — 10:11 Connected: 684,400 DAY 3 JACKPOT: $62,000 "HELLO CASTEL" "WE WANT TO SEE THE SHOWERS (GLAM)" "SACHA WHERE ARE YOU" "FAVORITES TONIGHT?" Lina didn’t like the phrase "where are you." It contained an infantile violence: the idea that someone, somewhere, could demand the presence of another. Here, at Castel Pink, the crowd thought that paying gave them a right. She forced herself to stay calm. She moved between the tables, making sure the couples were eating, drinking, breathing. She watched their eyes even more than their gestures. Soraya was already talking loudly, recounting Night 2 like a victory. Mika was laughing, but Lina saw it: his laughter was a lid. Kiara sat with her legs crossed, sun on her skin, a smirk on her lips. Maël stood behind her, his hand occasionally resting on the back of her chair like a sign of possession that dared not speak its name. Ariane was talking to Hélène about surprisingly mundane things: travel, books, restaurants—as if she were testing Hélène’s ability to remain "human" in this circus. Thomas, for his part, seemed more relaxed, but Lina felt it: his relaxation was fragile. Nina was laughing with Jade, looking more confident. Léo, however, occasionally stared at the chat screen, and Lina saw his jaw tighten every time a message mentioned Nina without mentioning him. And then, at the other end of the terrace, finally, Lina truly saw them. Valentin and Capucine Delcourt. They had that dangerous beauty of people who don't need to show off to be seen. Valentin: thirty-three years old, athletic without arrogance, white shirt open at the collar, sunglasses perched on his nose. He spoke little, but every time he did, people listened, as if his calm had weight. Capucine: thirty-one years old, light-colored dress, hair up, skin bronzed by the sun. She didn't laugh loudly. She smiled, and her smile was enough to shift the air. A queen without a crown. A woman who knew she was being watched—and who turned that gaze into a pleasure. They weren't "discreet" out of shyness. They were discreet out of mastery. The public, watching live, spotted them instantly. LIVE — 10:24 Connected: 739,900 JACKPOT: $91,000 "WHO IS THE COUPLE IN WHITE AT THE END?" "THE WOMAN IS... WOW" "DELCOURT???" "SMELLS LIKE FAVORITES" "SHE LOOKS LIKE A QUEEN" Capucine looked up at the screen at that exact moment, as if she had sensed the sentence. She didn't smile any wider. She didn't play along. She accepted it. And that acceptance, Lina knew, was a delicious poison: when someone accepts being seen without asking for permission, they become invincible. Sacha arrived on the terrace at just the right moment, of course. He kissed Capucine on the cheek, slapped Valentin on the shoulder like an old friend. He had this ability to appear intimate with everyone, as if Castel Pink were a dinner party at his own home. "Did you sleep?" he asked. Valentin replied calmly: "Just enough." Capucine added, her voice soft: "We observed." Sacha smiled. "That's what good players do." Lina felt a shiver. "Players." The word had two meanings here, and both were dangerous. *** Briefing the Couples: The Game Becomes a Crown Before lunch, Lina gathered the couples in the living room. The screens were on but in "soft" mode—slow angles, low music. The live feed was active, of course: the public loved the briefings because they felt like they were behind the scenes. Lina took the microphone. "Tonight," she said, "the game changes pace." The couples turned toward her. Some excited, some worried. "Until now, you've been discovering, testing yourselves, playing. Tonight, we make one thing official: the competition." Soraya smirked. "Finally." Lina continued, unfazed: "The public will vote for categories: tension, glamour, alchemy, creativity. And one important category: truth. The truth in what you embrace." Ariane smiled. She liked that word. "The jackpot," Lina resumed, "is becoming structured. It’s no longer a light rain. It’s a jackpot. And that jackpot will be shared." Maël raised an eyebrow. "How much?" Lina fixed her gaze on him. "Enough to tempt you. Not enough to destroy you." Sacha laughed softly behind her. Lina ignored him. "Tonight, Night 3: Crown. The public will designate favorites. This means two things: more votes, more money... and more pressure." Thomas swallowed hard. Nina squeezed Léo’s hand. Hélène remained calm. "Absolute rule," Lina repeated, "consent. Always. If one of you says no, it’s no. If one of you says stop, it’s stop. If one of you says 'Rose,' everything ends." Carmen nodded, a look of cold satisfaction. "And one last thing," Lina concluded, "tonight, two external guests will be proposed. You will have the choice to integrate them, or not. Nothing will be forced." The chat exploded, obviously. LIVE — 11:03 Connected: 802,600 JACKPOT: $140,000 "TWO GUESTS???" "WE WANT STARS" "CROWN WE'RE PAYING" "DELCOURT FAVORITES" Capucine, in the back, locked eyes with Lina. There was something strangely lucid in that gaze: she understood perfectly what she was getting into. Valentin remained calm, but Lina saw his hand: resting on the back of an armchair, firm, like an anchor. After the briefing, the couples dispersed. And Lina felt the house recharging. *** Suite 5: Blush Royal Changes Owners In the early afternoon, Lina had to go upstairs for a simple task: officially assign Suite 5 to the Delcourts, check their bracelets, and verify the "camera" modes of their sanctuary. When she reached the door, she felt the same cold on the back of her neck. Capucine was waiting in the hallway, light dress, soft smile. "Lina," she said. "Can you show us?" Lina nodded. "Of course." Valentin was behind her, calm, observant. His eyes slid over the hallway like Gabriel’s: structure, angles, doors. Men who look at doors always end up seeing what they hide. Lina opened Suite 5. The room was superb. Too perfect. An immense bed, double shower, jacuzzi, mirrors, velvet. A luxury aesthetic that felt like a movie set. Capucine entered, taking a slow turn like a queen inspecting a kingdom. "It’s... magnificent," she whispered. Valentin didn't look at the bed first. He looked at the dressing room. Lina felt her stomach tighten. "Camera modes," she said, professional. "You can choose 'soft' or 'off' depending on the zone. The rules are clear. Nothing is forced." Capucine nodded, but her attention was elsewhere. She approached a full-length mirror in the dressing room. Lina felt her heart beat faster. The mirror. Capucine placed her hand on the frame, softly, then turned to Lina. "There’s a draft." Lina froze. Valentin looked up, and his eyes hardened slightly. "A draft?" he repeated. Lina answered quickly, too quickly: "The air conditioning. The house is large. It happens." Capucine smiled. "It doesn’t smell like AC." Lina swallowed. Capucine had a sharp nose. She also had... intuition. Valentin approached the mirror, observing the alignment, the frame. He didn't touch it. But Lina saw his gaze: he was looking for the flaw. "Are you worried?" Lina asked, trying to regain control. Capucine replied calmly: "Everyone is worried here. The difference is those who hide it." Lina felt a sense of unease. She didn't like being read. She diverted attention back to protocol. "The door is reinforced," she said. "If you lock it from the inside, no one can enter from the outside. It is your sanctuary. The key is yours." Valentin fixed his gaze on her. "No one?" Lina held his gaze. "No one." Valentin nodded slowly. Capucine leaned down near the baseboard of the dressing room, as if she had sensed something. Lina held her breath. Then Capucine straightened up, smiled, and said nothing. As if she had chosen to keep an idea to herself. Lina left the suite with a strange sensation: she had just installed royalty in a room that had a shadow. In the hallway, Joan passed by silently, casting a brief look at Lina. Not accusing. Not complicit. Just a look that said: *you know.* And Lina, despite herself, did know. *** The Outside World Starts Pounding By late afternoon, the "mega-viral" pressure translated into concrete events. An unknown car tried to approach the access road, blocked at the first gate. Joan sent it away without a word. A second car, later, stopped at the same spot. Then a drone was spotted above the trees, circling like a curious insect. Nassim called Lina. "We have hacking attempts on the site. They’re hitting hard." Lina felt her heart tighten. "Where is it coming from?" "Everywhere." Élodie, sharp as ever, cut in: "It’s normal. When you become a myth, you become a target." Lina thought about that word: myth. A myth attracts believers... and vandals. Sacha, however, was almost amused by it. "They want to enter history," he said. "They want to be the crack." "They could be more than that," Lina replied. Sacha looked at her. "Are you afraid?" Lina held his gaze. "I am responsible." He smiled. "That's why I love you." Lina hated that sentence. Not because it was romantic. Because it was utilitarian. *** Night 3: Crown — When Desire Becomes a Championship At nine o'clock, the lights changed. At night, Castel Pink didn't just get darker. It staged itself. The walls seemed closer, the mirrors deeper, the velvet warmer, the leather more alive. The live stream opened with an almost comical violence: the counter jumped so fast it looked like an error. LIVE — 21:00 Connected: 1,186,400 NIGHT 3 JACKPOT: $0 "WE ARE AT A MILLION" "CROWN" "WE WANT DELCOURT" "SORAYA/KIARA OR NOTHING" "NINA GODDESS" Lina watched the couples come down. Tonight, they were dressed like characters. Soraya, shimmering black dress, gold mask, red lips. Mika in an impeccable black shirt, but his eyes betrayed nervous exhaustion. Kiara in dark red, a silhouette of fire. Maël in black, a sober mask, a smile of danger. Ariane in a long, almost austere dress, but with a delicate mask: coldness made sensual. Thomas in a light suit, looking more self-assured. Nina in a fluid black dress, soft light. Léo in black, stiff, a mask hiding his eyes like a refuge. Hélène in midnight blue, quiet elegance. Gabriel in dark tones, attentive gaze. And finally: Capucine and Valentin Delcourt. They descended together like a scene. Not theatrically. With that rare mastery of people who have an instinct for the "right moment." Capucine wore a pale pink dress, almost scandalous in its simplicity within this pink house. The dress followed her movements without screaming for attention. Her mask, fine and made of light lace, made her gaze appear deeper. Valentin wore a dark suit without a tie, shirt slightly open. Not a dandy. A modern king. The living room turned toward them, even unintentionally. The other couples looked at them as one looks at an aesthetic threat. And the public... the public paid. LIVE — 21:04 Connected: 1,304,900 JACKPOT: $98,000 "THEY ARE ABOVE THE REST" "DELCOURT FAVORITES IMMEDIATELY" "THE PINK DRESS I'M SCREAMING" "VALENTIN IS CALM BUT..." Sacha took the microphone, a brilliant smile on his face. "Welcome to Night 3." He raised his glass. "Tonight, we crown." The word "crown" made the room vibrate. "The public votes. The public finances. You, you live." He looked at Capucine and Valentin for a moment longer. "And some... were born to rule." Soraya gripped her glass a little too hard. Kiara smiled, interested. Ariane stared at Capucine as if evaluating an opponent. Nina looked at Capucine with almost pure fascination. Léo looked at Valentin, and Lina saw it: some men are jealous even of calm. Véra took over, impeccable: "Game 1: The Crown." On the screens, a rule appeared, simple. *Each couple presents a 90-second "signature."* *Nothing explicit. Everything is tension.* *Light, gaze, dance, gesture, phrase, mask.* *The public votes live.* *The two leading couples obtain an advantage: a premium "Sanctuary" one night later.* Lina froze. Premium "Sanctuary." Sacha had slipped it in there already. He was announcing Night 4 without naming it. He was preparing the ground. Carmen looked at Lina: she had heard it too. She too understood the danger of the word. But the room was buzzing. The signatures began. **Benali:** Soraya stepped forward, mask in hand, and placed it on Mika’s face slowly, almost tenderly. Mika, immobilized, let her. Then Soraya turned to Kiara, extending her hand like a royal invitation. Kiara brought her fingers close to hers without touching. Everything was in the air. The public roared. **Santini:** Kiara and Maël played with provocation: a quick dance step, a laugh, a direct look at the camera, a whispered phrase that wasn't heard—and that lack of audio became a fantasy. **Lemaître:** Ariane kept it simple: she took Thomas’s hand, placed it on her own heart, and looked at him as if telling him "be real or stay out." Thomas trembled, but in that trembling, there was a sincerity the public loved. **Vasseur:** Nina stepped forward alone for a second, looking up at the screens, then returned to Léo and rested her head against his shoulder. A gentle, almost domestic gesture—and in this place, the domestic became indecent. **Morel:** Hélène and Gabriel played with elegance: an exchange of masks, a smile, an ironic bow, as if saying: "We have nothing to prove." And that absence of proof became a charm. Then came the Delcourts’ turn. Capucine stepped forward, alone, into the center of the living room. The music lowered almost on its own. The castle seemed to hold its breath. Valentin stayed behind, motionless, like a pillar. Capucine raised her hand and let her mask fall—not out of defiance, but out of confidence. Her eyes met the screen. Then she turned toward Valentin, and in that look there was something rare: an intimacy so obvious it became a spectacle in spite of itself. She reached out her hand. Valentin took it. They took three steps, slow, like a dance without music. Capucine placed her fingers on Valentin’s collarbone, right where an open shirt leaves a promise. Valentin didn’t move. He looked at her as if the world didn't exist. Then Capucine turned to the room, a discreet smile on her face, and said a simple, almost insolent phrase: "You can watch. You cannot have us." The living room shuddered. The chat went insane. LIVE — 21:18 Connected: 1,512,600 JACKPOT: $312,000 "I AM DEAD" "SHE SAID THAT???" "FAVORITES" "DELCOURT IT'S OVER FOR THE OTHERS" "SANCTUARY FOR THEM" Lina felt a cold wave. That sentence, she knew, was going to trigger something: admiration, obsession... and hatred. A signature like that wasn't just sexy. It was a seizure of power. Véra announced the next part. "Game 2: The Hallways." *Rule: for ten minutes, couples move through the house by zones, in duos or small groups, wearing masks. The public chooses the zones: bar, cinema, dungeon, hall of mirrors, indoor pool, terrace. The goal: create unexpected encounters. Always consensual. Always glamorous.* The montage began. Lina positioned herself at the center as always, in the living room, but her gaze followed everything: on the screens, on the bodies, in the corners. The cinema filled up. The dungeon filled up. The hall of mirrors became a trap of reflections. The indoor pool became a humid cocoon. The bar became a stage for confidences. And in the middle of this madness, Lina watched one thing: the Delcourts. Strangely, Capucine didn't scatter. She moved with the precision of a queen. She accepted gazes, she refused invitations with a smile, she didn't let herself be swallowed by the crowd. Valentin stayed close, calm, but Lina saw it: he was scanning, like a man protecting something. Soraya attempted an approach: she neared Capucine at the bar, a ready smile. "You are magnificent," she said. Capucine replied softly: "As are you." "And yet... you have something... dangerous about you." Capucine smiled. "It’s the house." Soraya set down her glass. "No. It’s you." Capucine didn't answer. She let the silence do its work. And Soraya, for the first time, seemed... destabilized. Kiara approached Valentin in a hallway. She wasn't afraid of anything, Kiara. She lived for testing people. "You're calm," she said. Valentin replied quietly: "I am attentive." "To what?" Valentin stared at her. "To people who love being seen too much." Kiara burst out laughing. "So you saw me." Valentin didn't reply. That silence was more violent than any sentence. Kiara, intrigued, moved away. Lina understood: Valentin knew how to sting without moving. Ariane observed Capucine from afar, and Lina felt that the "respectable" woman was already taking notes: how do you beat a queen? By staining her. By finding a flaw. Or by proving she’s lying. Nina watched Capucine with an almost painful admiration. Nina wanted to be like that: desired without having to chase it. Léo, beside her, felt that admiration, and Lina saw: his gaze hardened. And while all this was building, the numbers were still climbing. LIVE — 21:41 Connected: 1,740,800 JACKPOT: $602,000 "IT'S THE NIGHT OF KINGS" "DELCOURT ABOVE ALL" "SORAYA IS GOING TO SNAP" "LEO IS JEALOUS" "WE WANT SANCTUARY" The word "sanctuary" returned like a prayer. Lina felt a prickle of worry. Because, in her head, "sanctuary" was now linked to Suite 5. To the door. To the draft. To the breathing. *** The Control Room: The Image Becomes a Kingdom In the middle of the night, Lina stopped by the control room. She had learned: when the party peaks, the technical truth can tip. And if the image tips, everything tips. Nassim was tense, even more than usual. Alerts were flashing. "It's heating up," he said. "What is?" Lina asked. "The servers, the bandwidth, and... the chat. It's becoming unmanageable." Élodie was typing like a pianist. "I’m stabilizing it." Tom, behind them, was watching. Lina fixed her gaze on him. "Tom." He looked up. "Did you see the micro-glitches in the upstairs hallway yesterday?" Tom hesitated too quickly. "Yes... well... it’s just latency." "Are you sure?" Tom swallowed hard. "Yes." Lina looked at him for a moment, and she felt it: he might be lying. Or he knew something. Or he was afraid. Élodie cut in, annoyed: "Lina, we can’t control everything. People are connecting like animals. It’s saturating. It’s normal." "Nothing is normal here," Lina replied. Nassim sighed. "We’re holding, Lina. But if we have a cut... a real one... it’s going to be madness." Lina felt her stomach tighten. A cut. She thought of Night 4, unintentionally. "Reinforce it," she said. Nassim nodded. "We’re reinforcing." Lina walked out. And in the hallway, as she left the control room, she ran into Roxane. Roxane was there, as if by chance. Always in the right place. Always at the right time. "Watching the images?" Roxane asked. Lina froze. "I’m watching the house." Roxane smiled. "The house isn't afraid of images. The images are afraid of the house." Lina felt a shiver. "What do you mean?" Roxane shrugged. "I mean that when you build a palace over an old inn... you can repaint the walls. But you don't change the hallways." Then Roxane walked away. Lina remained in the hallway, her heart pounding. Roxane always spoke in riddles. But a riddle, in a thriller, always ends up being a key. *** Final of Night 3: The Crown Is Placed At eleven o'clock, Véra gathered everyone in the living room. The screens displayed the votes. The light bars rose like blades. The public had chosen. *Top Glamour:* Delcourt. *Top Tension:* Benali / Santini (Soraya-Kiara mirrored). *Top Truth:* Vasseur (Nina) — controversial vote. *Top Provocation:* Santini (Maël & Kiara). And then, the most important: *Official Favorites of the Week.* The word appeared in elegant letters. **DELCOURT.** The room reacted. Some applauded sincerely. Others smiled, but their eyes burned. Soraya applauded, but too loudly. Mika applauded, but without a smile. Kiara applauded, amused. Maël applauded like a man saying: "Very well. Now I want that spot." Ariane applauded with icy elegance. Thomas applauded because he followed Ariane. Nina applauded, marvelling. Léo applauded, but his body was stiff. Hélène applauded calmly. Gabriel applauded softly. And Lina—she didn't applaud. She was looking at Capucine. Capucine accepted the crown without triumph. A discreet smile. A look toward Valentin. A tiny gesture: her hand on his arm. Valentin barely smiled at all. He looked at the room like a man who knows someone has just painted a target on his forehead. Sacha took the microphone. "Congratulations," he said. "You are our favorites." The chat exploded. LIVE — 23:07 Connected: 2,104,900 JACKPOT: $1,240,000 "ROYAL DELCOURTS" "SANCTUARY FOR THEM" "500K ON NIGHT 4" "I WANT SUITE 5" Sacha’s smile grew wider. "And now," he said, "you all want the same thing." He let the silence hang. "You want... the Sanctuary." Lina felt her blood run cold. Sacha continued, like a man announcing a party, not a threat: "Night 4. Tomorrow night. The public will choose a couple. Only one couple. The couple that will receive the Sanctuary, the key, and... a special jackpot." The bars on the screen displayed a new counter: **SANCTUARY JACKPOT: $500,000 (starting)** The chat became hysterical. LIVE — 23:09 Connected: 2,210,600 JACKPOT: $74,000 → $96,000 → $122,000 "WE'RE PAYING" "HAS TO BE DELCOURT" "SACHA YOU'RE A GENIUS" "1AM SANCTUARY KEY IN THE LOCK" Lina felt a distinct shiver. The phrase surged in the chat like a prophecy: *key in the lock.* She turned her head toward Sacha. Sacha wasn't looking at Lina. He was looking at the numbers. He was watching the rise the way one watches a tidal wave. Capucine looked at the screen. And in her eyes, Lina saw—very clearly—a flash of lucidity. Valentin squeezed Capucine’s hand gently. An anchoring gesture. Carmen approached Lina, her voice low: "It’s becoming too much." Lina replied, without taking her eyes off the screen: "It’s becoming exactly what he wants." Véra, further away, was smiling, but her smile was that of a woman holding a stage at the edge of a precipice. The night ended in a controlled heat. The couples went upstairs, some excited, some wounded. The Delcourts went up together, but Lina saw: even their ascent was observed like a procession. When the living room emptied, Lina remained alone for a few minutes in front of the screens. The word LIVE was still pulsing. The numbers, however, had no desire to go down. In the control room, Nassim was running backups. Élodie was rubbing her eyes. Tom, standing, was watching the upstairs hallway in multi-angle. Lina stepped up behind him. "What are you looking at?" she asked. Tom jumped slightly. "The... hallway. We have requests from the public. They want to see the doors." Lina felt a chill. "The doors..." Tom nodded. "Yes. They want... 'the favorites' suite.' They want... the sanctuary." Lina stared at the screen. The hallway, empty, carpeted, warm lights, reinforced doors lined up like teeth. And, at the end, the door to Suite 5. Blush Royal. The kingdom. The sanctuary. The target. Lina closed her eyes for a second. She understood that Night 4 wasn't going to be "just another night." It was going to be a night written in advance by a million pairs of eyes. And when a million eyes write a night, someone always ends up dying—even if only symbolically. She opened her eyes again. On the screen, an interlude appeared, like a final bite before the dark. LIVE — 23:42 Connected: 2,387,900 SANCTUARY JACKPOT: $312,000 "TOMORROW WE EXPLODE" "DELCOURT SANCTUARY" "WE WANT THE KEY IN THE LOCK" "DO NOT CUT THE FEED" Lina felt her stomach tighten. *Do not cut the feed.* She thought of the micro-cut. The glitches. The breathing in the dressing room. Roxane’s phrases. The concierge’s half-silences. Tom’s too-perfect calm. And she knew, with a certainty that wasn't yet proof: Castel Pink was preparing a night from which no one would emerge intact.

**Chapter 5 — Day 4: Sun, Social Poison, and the Countdown** Castel Pink had won. The proof wasn't in the numbers—even though they were monstrous. The proof lay elsewhere, more insidious: in the way the couples woke up in the morning with the sensation of already being watched, even when the camera showed only an empty hallway, even when the main screen in the living room was on standby. They weren't quite sleeping "at home" anymore. They were sleeping inside a story. Lina realized it the moment she opened her eyes, even before getting up: her body was already in control mode. A fine tension in the back of her neck, like an invisible collar. At Castel Pink, the night never truly ended. It shifted, it hid in the details, it folded itself into glances. She got up early, of course. She walked through the hallway in silence, and the house, as always, answered her with that discreet, almost imperceptible noise: the hum of the inverters, the breathing of the pumps, electricity circulating like quiet blood. Downstairs, the living room was empty. The previous night’s party had left invisible traces: a perfectly cleaned glass whose position on the table recalled a moment; a slightly moved armchair; a scent of perfume lingering in the velvet. On the standby screens, the mosaic of cameras displayed calm angles: a gray terrace, a dark indoor pool, an empty upstairs hallway. Everything seemed normal. And that was exactly what worried Lina: normality at Castel Pink was always a disguise. She entered the control room. Nassim was already there, hair disheveled, coffee in hand, the red eyes of a man who has looked at screens for too long. Élodie was typing as if her fingers were a weapon. Tom was standing behind them, a little further back, almost in the shadows, his eyes fixed on a traffic curve rising like a fever. Lina placed her tablet on the desk. "Report," she said. Nassim took a sip, then said bluntly: "We’ve entered another world. It’s not just 'viral' anymore. It’s… global." He pivoted a screen toward her: a graph, a map, glowing dots everywhere. Connections, countries, cities. "We had peaks of over two million simultaneous viewers last night. And we have communities forming around the Castel: forums, private groups, external crowdfunds, parodies, accounts copying the challenges. People are organizing to 'influence' the game. They want to carry weight." Élodie, curtly, added: "They’re even trying to launch 'off-site' votes to force the chat's hand." Lina felt the chill in her neck. Digital tides had that power: they manufactured courts, kings, and targets. "And security?" she asked. Nassim grimaced. "Drones spotted over the zone last night. We jammed them, but… they keep coming back. And we had three brute-force hack attempts. We’re holding, but they’ll try again." Élodie added, without looking up: "They don’t want to steal. They want to get in. They want to be 'the ones who broke the myth.'" Lina thought of Roxane, of her phrase: *the images are afraid of the house.* She thought of Suite 5, and its draft of air. And she thought of a simpler truth: when a place becomes a myth, it inevitably attracts someone who wants to profane it. "Where’s Sacha?" she asked. Nassim gave a joyless laugh. "At the bar. He’s celebrating." Élodie finally looked up at Lina, and in her eyes, there was something rare: true exhaustion. "Lina… if we have a major outage, we’ll lose control of the narrative. And the narrative, here, is everything." Lina nodded. "I know." And that was when she looked at Tom. Tom was barely moving. He had that stillness that, in a place like this, becomes suspicious. He even seemed… fascinated. As if he liked the idea of the outage. As if the shadow interested him. Lina forced herself not to stare at him for too long. She left the control room. *** **Brunch: When Smiles Become Weapons** On the terrace, the sun was already high. The air smelled of scrubland, warm stone, and that invisible scent of isolated places: the absence of the world. The tables were set with an almost indecent elegance: fruit, pastries, hot dishes, coffee, champagne—at Castel Pink, they didn’t respect schedules; they respected the momentum. The couples arrived, one by one. And Lina saw it immediately: the previous night’s crown had left marks. Soraya Benali arrived as if nothing could touch her. Sunglasses on her head, a light dress, the smile of a wounded queen. Mika followed, but his face was more closed. He sat near her, too near, like a presence saying "mine." Kiara arrived laughing, loud, free. Maël walked behind her, calm, an invisible mask. He had the energy of a polite predator: no need to bark, he knew people would watch him. Ariane and Thomas arrived together. Ariane seemed perfectly rested, which, to Lina, was almost worrying: women like Ariane don’t rest; they calculate. Thomas was smiling, more relaxed than before, but Lina saw it: beneath the smile, a sense of vertigo. Nina and Léo arrived hand in hand. Nina radiated more than before—the public’s admiration gave her a new confidence. Léo, however, carried a denser tension. He smiled, yes, but it was a smile that held up the walls. Hélène and Gabriel Morel arrived calmly. Hélène greeted Lina gently. Gabriel, however, cast another glance toward the house, toward the hallways. Lina was beginning to understand: Gabriel looked for structures the way others looked for excuses. And finally, at the end of the terrace, the Delcourts. Valentin and Capucine sat down as if the place belonged to them. Not out of arrogance. Out of naturalness. The public loved that because the public adores those who seem to need nothing. On a discreet screen near the outdoor bar, the live feed was already displaying numbers, even in the morning. **LIVE — 09:47** **Connected: 1,104,600** **SANCTUARY JACKPOT: $384,000** *"GOOD MORNING ROYALS"* *"DELCOURT SANCTUARY OR NOTHING"* *"KIARA IS GOING TO STEAL THE CROWN"* *"NINA IS SO SWEET"* Lina observed the micro-reactions. Capucine glanced briefly at the screen. A tiny smile. Then she looked away, as if the world had no right to enter her breakfast. Soraya, however, looked at the screen longer. And Lina saw a decision in her eyes: Soraya would not stand being relegated. Maël stared at the screen, then stared at Valentin. For a fraction of a second. It didn't look like admiration. It looked like a study. Ariane looked at the mention of "Sanctuary" the way one looks at a contract. She didn't seem jealous. She seemed interested in the mechanics. Léo looked at the messages about Nina. His smile hardened, almost imperceptibly. Nina pretended not to see—but Lina felt it: she saw it. Sacha walked onto the terrace with the energy of a man who had turned his villa into a country. He wore an impeccable white shirt, like a modern king’s uniform. He greeted everyone, touched shoulders, distributed smiles. He stopped behind the Delcourts. "My favorites," he said softly. Capucine looked up at him. "Your favorites," she repeated, amused. Valentin barely smiled. "And your targets," he added. The sentence was said calmly, almost like a joke. But Lina felt a shiver. Valentin understood. And someone who understands becomes dangerous to those who want to control. Sacha laughed. "In here, everyone is a target. Even me." Capucine replied, with a cutting sweetness: "You, you’re the shooter." Sacha didn't answer. He simply smiled, then walked away. Irony slid off him like water off glass. Lina approached Véra, who was watching the terrace like a mistress of ceremonies watching a dinner that might explode. "Today," Véra said, "we turn up the pressure without breaking them." "Today," Lina replied, "we hold the volcano." Véra nodded. "And the external guests?" Lina took a breath. Yes. Today. "They arrive in the late afternoon," she said. "We keep them separate, we brief them, and tonight, we introduce them." Véra whispered: "That’s going to excite the public." "It’s going to excite everyone," Lina corrected. *** **The Day: Tennis, Pools, and Made-up Jealousies** The audience wanted sun. They wanted to see bodies. They wanted to see daytime interactions because the day, paradoxically, made everything more intimate. An evening gown is a costume. A swimsuit, however, looks like a truth. Lina announced a simple program: tennis at eleven, outdoor pool afterward, then a "secret" minibus outing for those who wanted it, and, in the late afternoon, return and preparation for Night 4. The chat was already paying to influence things. **LIVE — 10:12** **Connected: 1,322,800** **JACKPOT: $412,000** *"ROYAL TENNIS"* *"DELCOURT AT TENNIS"* *"KIARA VS CAPUCINE"* *"SORAYA MUST WIN"* *"WE’RE PUTTING 20K ON A DUEL"* At eleven o’clock, the tennis court became an arena. Soraya asked to play against Capucine. Not for the sport. For the symbolism. Capucine accepted. Still with that disarming calm. She put on a simple white outfit, as if purity could be a provocation. Valentin took a seat on the bench, sunglasses on, his gaze fixed on the court like a man who observes without showing. Mika, for his part, wanted to play against Valentin. He wanted to reclaim a form of territory: if Soraya lost, Mika would win. Maël suggested a doubles match, a smirk on his face, as if he wanted to be in every scene. Lina watched the board take shape: it was sport, yes, but above all, it was hierarchy. The Delcourts played without rushing. Capucine returned balls with almost insulting precision. Soraya hit harder, faster, more aggressively. But every time, Capucine answered with a clean stroke, total control. The audience was going wild. **LIVE — 11:28** **Connected: 1,698,400** **JACKPOT: $458,000** *"CAPUCINE IS ICE COLD"* *"SORAYA IS GOING TO SNAP"* *"IT’S A DUEL OF QUEENS"* *"MIKA IS LOOKING LIKE A KILLER"* Soraya lost a decisive point. She clenched her teeth, smiled, and pretended to laugh. But Lina saw: that point, in her mind, felt like a humiliation. Capucine approached the net and held out her hand. "Well played," she said. Soraya shook her hand, her smile brilliant. "You’re… perfect." Capucine replied softly: "No. I’m focused." Soraya burst out laughing. "It’s the same thing, in here." Capucine didn't respond. That silence was a victory. On the men’s side, Mika played against Valentin. Mika wanted to crush him. Valentin played clean. Maël observed, occasionally intervening, throwing barbs disguised as humor. He didn't need to win: he wanted to sow seeds. At one point, Mika missed a serve. Maël clapped ironically. Mika stared at him. "You got a problem?" Mika snapped, a forced smile on his lips. Maël replied softly: "No. I just love watching." Mika gripped his racket. Valentin, calm, whispered to Mika: "Do you really want to win here… or do you just want people to look at you?" The sentence hit Mika harder than a smash. Lina felt an alarm go off. Words, at Castel Pink, were invisible weapons. And Mika’s hands were already full of weapons. *** After tennis, the outdoor pool became a spectacle. Bodies stripped down, not brutally, but with a new confidence: they were already characters, they knew it, and the audience knew it. Kiara entered the water like a music video. Soraya followed, slower. Nina sat on the edge, feet in the water, a soft smile. Jade lay on a sun lounger, perfect. Carmen stayed in the shade, the guardian. Mila spoke quietly with Léo, trying to soothe him. Solveig observed everything, an invisible notebook in hand. Valentin swam a few lengths, calm, almost silent. Capucine watched him, then looked at the screen where the chat was scrolling. She seemed amused, but Lina saw a fine tension in her eyes: even a queen feels the pressure when the kingdom becomes a courtroom. Ariane, by the edge, spoke to Hélène. "The public likes you," Ariane said. Hélène replied softly: "The public likes an image." Ariane smiled. "You think you’re different?" Hélène stared at her, calm. "I think I don’t care." Ariane laughed. "That’s a strength." Hélène replied: "It’s a protection." Lina heard that phrase like a dark omen. Here, those who had no protection always ended up being devoured. The live numbers continued to climb. The figures no longer made sense. **LIVE — 13:16** **Connected: 2,104,200** **JACKPOT: $481,000** *"2 MILLION"* *"SANCTUARY TONIGHT?"* *"DELCOURT OR NOTHING"* *"DO A LIMOUSINE OUTING"* Sacha, of course, answered the public. "Outing," he announced over the microphone. "This afternoon. For those who want to." The public screamed. Because the public loved the idea of them going out without knowing where. Lina didn't like the outing today. Too many drones. Too much pressure. Too many risks. But to refuse now was to frustrate the crowd. And a frustrated crowd becomes dangerous. She approached Joan. "Secure the outing," she said. Joan nodded. "I always secure it." "Not like usual," Lina replied. "More." Joan stared at her for a moment. "You’re afraid of the outside." Lina replied bluntly: "I’m afraid of everything that wants to get in." Joan gave a tiny smile, then whispered: "The thing that’s dangerous… is already inside." The sentence chilled her. "What do you mean?" Lina asked. Joan walked away without answering. Lina stood still. Her heart was beating faster. She thought of Tom. Of Roxane. Of Suite 5. Of the micro-glitches. Of the possible outages. She forced herself to breathe. *** **The External Guests: The World Knocks at the Door** In the late afternoon, as the outing returned and the couples laughed in the living room, recounting vague details—"an estate," "a viewpoint," "vineyards," "winding roads"—Lina received a signal from Joan in her earpiece. "They’re here." Lina inhaled. The two external guests were arriving. The protocol was always the same: a discreet minibus, a confusing route, blindfolds, anonymity. Even they wouldn't know where they were. Castel Pink was a secret that protected itself through confusion. Lina went down to the hall. The two guests waited for a few seconds, blindfolded, silent. They weren't "contestants" in the classic sense. They were spices, disruptions, fuel. And that fuel, tonight, was going to be poured onto an already high fire. Lina stepped forward. "Welcome. Do not remove the blindfolds yet." She guided the two figures. When the blindfolds fell, the house hit them. Just as it hit everyone. The first guest was a woman: tall, dark skin, black hair, an intense gaze. An almost animal presence. Her name was Sana. She had been selected by the public, but also—Lina had seen it in the files—by several couples who had voted for her. A "viral" woman: bold, free, known for her charm and her ability to hold a stage. The second guest was a man: more discreet, elegant, light eyes, a soft smile. His name was Elliot. Less "explosive" than Sana, more mysterious. He had been proposed because the public wanted a man capable of seducing without dominating, a contrast. Lina briefed them, quickly and clearly: rules, consent, safe-word, cameras, live feed. Sana smiled. "I’m used to people watching me." Lina replied: "In here, it’s not 'watching.' It’s… consuming." Sana shrugged. "Then I’ll make sure to be indigestible." Lina felt a shiver: this woman was sharp. Too sharp. Elliot asked a simple question: "And if I refuse a game?" "You refuse," Lina said. "And that’s it." Elliot nodded. "Good." He looked calm. But Lina had learned to distrust the calm ones. Castel Pink always revealed the truth behind a calm facade. She handed Sana over to Noa, so she could get settled, choose an outfit, and understand the setting. She handed Elliot over to Véra, to provide framing. Then Lina went upstairs. Because she couldn't help herself. She went to Suite 5. And there, in the hallway, she heard a light laugh behind the door: Capucine’s voice. A soft laugh. Valentin answered something—lower, deeper. Lina stood still for a second. She wasn't listening out of voyeurism. She was listening the way one listens to a wall that might hide a crack. Then she felt the draft of air again in the hallway, near the dressing room. Like a breath. She stepped back. *Not now.* *Not today.* But today had already decided. *** **Preparing for Night 4: The House Holds Its Breath** At seven o’clock, Lina gathered the staff and the couples for a briefing. This time, the live feed was open, of course. The audience wanted the behind-the-scenes like an addict wants their first hit. **LIVE — 19:02** **Connected: 2,488,600** **JACKPOT: $497,000** *"THEY’RE BRIEFING"* *"IS IT TONIGHT?"* *"SANCTUARY SANCTUARY"* *"SANA???"* *"WHO’S THE GUY?"* Sacha entered the scene with a showman’s smile. "My friends," he said, "tonight… Night 4." He let the sentence hang. Night 4 was already a myth. The numbers had written it before it even existed. Lina took the microphone, steadying her voice. "Tonight," she said, "the rules remain the same. Consent. Respect. If someone says Rose, everything stops." Carmen nodded, a cold satisfaction on her face. "But tonight," Lina continued, "there will be a special sequence: The Sanctuary." She felt the room contract. Eyes widened. Desire, here, wasn't just sexual. It was narrative: everyone wanted to be "the chosen one," "the moment," "the icon." "The Sanctuary," Lina resumed, "is a game of intimacy. One couple will be chosen by the public. They will go up to a suite. They will lock it from the inside. The key will be visible in the lock. And for one hour… they will live outside the living room." The phrase "key visible" rippled through the room. It made the scene more theatrical, more absolute. It promised the public proof: "they aren't cheating." And for the thriller, it provided a weapon. Sacha completed the thought, his smile brilliant: "Sanctuary Jackpot: 500,000." The counter on the screen, already near the ceiling, exploded. **LIVE — 19:10** **Connected: 2,756,400** **JACKPOT: $500,000** *"WE’RE THERE"* *"DELCOURT SANCTUARY"* *"KIARA IS GOING TO SNAP"* *"MIKA IS GOING TO CAUSE A DRAMA"* *"SANA IN THE SANCTUARY"* Lina saw the micro-reactions. Capucine remained calm, but her fingers rested for a second on Valentin’s hand. An anchoring gesture. Soraya smiled too broadly. Kiara laughed, excited. Maël didn't smile. He was observing. Ariane looked almost satisfied: a structured game, a mechanic. Nina seemed nervous, but fascinated. Léo clenched his jaw. Hélène and Gabriel remained calm, but Lina saw it: even they felt the pressure. Sacha added, as if announcing a trivial detail: "One last thing. Castel Pink is not connected to the standard power grid. You know this. We run on our own systems. Everything is secure… but micro-outages can occur." Lina felt her heart contract. He said it like an anecdote. But she knew: a micro-outage, in a place where the image is law, becomes a black hole. The chat exploded. **LIVE — 19:12** **Connected: 2,918,900** *"NO OUTAGES"* *"SACHA SWEAR IT"* *"IF THERE’S AN OUTAGE IT’S SUSPICIOUS"* *"WE WANT TO SEE EVERYTHING"* Lina took the mic back, her voice sharper: "If a micro-outage happens, stay calm. Do not leave the designated areas without supervision. Do not panic. The house is isolated, but it is safe." As she said "safe," she felt a cold irony. Safety, here, was never absolute. It was a promise they were selling. She then introduced the external guests. Sana entered, smiling, in an elegant black outfit and a minimalist mask. Elliot entered behind her, in a dark suit, looking gentle. The public went wild. **LIVE — 19:18** **Connected: 3,104,700** *"SANA IS A BOMBSHELL"* *"ELLIOT HAS SOMETHING ABOUT HIM"* *"MAKE THEM ENTER A PACT"* *"SANA WITH KIARA"* *"ELLIOT WITH CAPUCINE"* Lina observed the room: alliances were already forming. Sana looked at Kiara like one looks at a dangerous sister. Kiara smiled. Soraya looked at Sana like a competitor. Maël looked at Sana like an opportunity. Ariane looked at Elliot like a piece to be moved. Nina looked at Sana like freedom. Léo looked at Elliot like a threat. The volcano was rising. *** **Before the Night: Private Scenes, Nervous Desire** Castel Pink had an invisible rule: what isn't said in public is screamed in private. In the suites, the couples were preparing. **Benali Suite.** Soraya applied her makeup slowly, like a queen painting on armor. "I’m not going to let them steal this from us," she said. Mika, sitting on the bed, stared at his unusable phone as if he wanted to punch a wall. "No one is stealing anything," he replied. Soraya turned toward him. "Stop pretending. You’ve seen the numbers. You’ve seen the Delcourts." Mika clenched his jaw. "That couple… I don’t trust them." "Because they’re above us," Soraya said, her voice tinged with hate. "And I refuse to be below." Mika stood up, approached her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. "We’re together." Soraya smiled, but it was a sad smile. "At Castel Pink, no one is really together. Not when the world is watching you." **Santini Suite.** Kiara laughed as she adjusted her dress, as if the night were a personal party. "Sana is here," she said. "This is going to be delicious." Maël looked at her. "What do you want tonight?" Kiara smiled. "Everything." Maël replied softly: "Then you’re going to have to choose." Kiara stared at him, insolent. "And you’re going to have to accept." Maël gave a slow, dangerous smile. "I don’t accept anything. I take." Kiara burst out laughing. But Lina, had she heard, would have felt it: that sentence, one day, would become a problem. **Vasseur Suite.** Nina looked at herself in the mirror, wearing a flowing black dress and light makeup. She seemed more confident. But her fingers were trembling slightly. Léo stood behind her. "I don’t like Sana," he said. Nina turned around. "You don’t even know her." "I don’t like what she represents." Nina frowned. "And what does she represent?" Léo hesitated, then blurted out: "An excuse to look at you differently." Nina inhaled, a soft anger in her voice. "Léo… do you know why we’re here?" "To play," he replied. "No," Nina said. "To be free." Léo gave a joyless laugh. "In here, freedom is a trap." Nina approached him, placing a hand on his cheek. "Then we protect each other. Together. But you don’t hold me on a leash." Léo closed his eyes for a second, as if the sentence hurt him. "I’m not holding you on a leash," he whispered. Nina replied, her voice low: "Not yet." **Lemaître Suite.** Ariane was dressing calmly—a long gown, a lace mask, cold elegance. Thomas watched her. "Do you really want to… play this tonight?" he asked. Ariane turned to him. "Thomas, are you afraid?" "Yes," he said. "I’m afraid this will break us." Ariane approached and placed a hand on his chest. "It won’t break us if you stop believing we’re fragile." Thomas stared at her. "And if we are fragile?" Ariane smiled softly. "Then we deserve to know where." Thomas shuddered. He loved this woman. He feared her, too. And at Castel Pink, loving and fearing quickly blur together. **Morel Suite.** Hélène adjusted a bracelet, calm. Gabriel looked at himself in the mirror, pensive. "You’re still thinking about the house," Hélène said. Gabriel didn't deny it. "Something doesn't add up." Hélène smiled. "You want to understand everything." "It’s a flaw," Gabriel whispered. Hélène approached and placed a hand on his neck. "Tonight, you don’t understand. You live." Gabriel closed his eyes, and in that gesture, Lina would have seen one thing: even calm men have cracks. **Delcourt Suite — Blush Royal.** And then there were them. Capucine was preparing with an insulting simplicity. No excessive makeup. Just enough so that her face looked like a promise. Valentin was slowly buttoning his shirt, his gaze distant. Capucine approached the dressing room. "I felt the draft again," she said. Valentin didn't answer right away. He approached the mirror, observing the alignment. Then he placed two fingers on the frame, very gently. Lina would have screamed "no" if she had been there. "It’s… very slightly out of alignment," Valentin whispered. Capucine nodded. "I saw it too." Valentin turned to her. "Do you want to switch suites?" Capucine smiled, and that smile made the air shiver. "No. We’re the favorites. We take the favorites' suite." Valentin stared at her. "And if the house is hiding something?" Capucine replied, her voice soft yet sharp: "Then we’ll pretend we don’t know. Like everyone else here." She placed her hand on Valentin’s chest. "Tonight, they’re going to choose us. Tonight, they’re going to watch us. And tonight, we will remain… us." Valentin inhaled. "And if the Sanctuary is a trap?" Capucine smiled. "Everything is a trap. The difference is, we know how to walk into them." She turned away, and as she passed the baseboard of the dressing room, her fingers brushed against a detail: an imperceptible irregularity, like a carpet seam that shouldn't have been there. Capucine said nothing. But for a second, her eyes hardened. *** **Night 4 Approaches: The House Electrifies** At ten to nine, Lina was in the living room. She was looking at the screens. The counter was already climbing. The word **LIVE** pulsed, more alive than the people. **LIVE — 20:52** **Connected: 3,412,800** **NIGHT 4 PRIZE POOL: $0** **SANCTUARY JACKPOT: $500,000 (locked)** *"WE’RE AT 3 MILLION"* *"TONIGHT IS HISTORIC"* *"DELCOURT SANCTUARY"* *"NO OUTAGES"* Nassim, in the control room, was talking fast. Élodie was typing. Tom stood behind them, attentive. Lina entered the control room one last time before the official opening. "I want a check on the power supply," she said. Nassim nodded. "We have fuel. We have a margin. But… it’s still an autonomous system." Élodie added: "We’ve put in buffers. In case of a micro-outage, we recover quickly." Lina stared at Élodie. "How long is 'quickly'?" Élodie grit her teeth. "A few minutes, at worst." The word "minutes" hit Lina like a slap. A few minutes, at Castel Pink, was an eternity. She turned to Tom. "Tom, what are you on tonight?" Tom answered too quickly: "Transitions. Replays. The upstairs hallway, mostly, because the audience is asking for it." Lina felt a chill. "Why the upstairs hallway?" Tom swallowed hard. "Because… because the favorites' suite is there. And they want to see who goes up, who comes out, who… cheats." Lina nodded, but a thought crossed her mind: *They want to see the doors.* Just as Roxane had said. As if the whole world were becoming obsessed with a hallway. She left the control room. In the living room, the couples were coming down. The outfits were darker. More "final." Their eyes were the same. Sana entered like a black flame. Elliot entered like an elegant shadow. The public roared. **LIVE — 21:00** **Connected: 3,905,600** **PRIZE POOL: $210,000 (in 2 minutes)** *"SANA IS A PANTHER"* *"ELLIOT IS SCARY (CALM)"* *"SANCTUARY NOW"* *"DELCOURT"* *"WE’RE PAYING FOR A GAME IN SUITE 5"* Lina took the microphone, her voice clear and firm. "Good evening." A shiver went through the room. Because "good evening" here meant: the machine is starting. "Night 4. Rules unchanged. Consent, respect. Rose means stop." She paused. "And tonight… the Sanctuary." The room tightened. Glances turned, despite themselves, toward the Delcourts. Capucine smiled gently. Valentin placed his hand on the small of her back, a discreet, protective gesture. Soraya looked at them as one looks at a stolen crown. Kiara looked at them like an exciting challenge. Maël looked at them like an aesthetic target. Ariane looked at them like a problem to be solved. Nina looked at them like a dream. Léo looked at them like a threat. And Lina, in the center, felt her own heart beating too fast. Because she knew—without proof, without logic, just by instinct—that this night was a door. A door that was about to be opened. And at the back of that door, Castel Pink was hiding something that had nothing to do with glamour. Sacha stepped forward, microphone in hand, with a king’s smile. "Are you ready?" he asked. The audience responded with donations. The prize pool climbed like a tide. **LIVE — 21:07** **Connected: 4,201,900** **PRIZE POOL: $640,000** *"WE ARE HERE"* *"SANCTUARY"* *"KEY IN THE LOCK"* *"DO NOT CUT FEED"* Sacha smiled, and his voice turned soft. "Then let’s go." Lina felt her stomach tighten. Because at that same instant, somewhere in the house, a generator was humming. And in a dressing room, a mirror was breathing.

Chapter 6 — Night 4: The Trance of the Castel At nine o’clock, Castel Pink doesn’t "turn on." It enters a state. The light retracts into the corners, the music becomes a breath, and the air—that air thick with perfume, velvet, leather, and skin warmed by the day—densifies until it feels like something you could hold between two fingers. Lina always felt it at this exact moment: just before Sacha spoke, just before Véra announced the rules, just before the word LIVE took power over everything else. The night before, a crown had been set. Tonight, they were going to prove they deserved it. She stood in the center of the lounge, tablet against her palm, earpiece in place, her back straight as a promise. Around her, the decor was a machine: massive sofas, hidden dungeons behind discreet doors, screens everywhere, mirrors providing the illusion of an infinite palace. And on the main wall, the mosaic of screens was already pulsing—hallways, the bar, the cinema, the indoor pool, the terrace, the hall of mirrors, and above all… the upstairs hallway. The public had transformed a simple hallway into an obsession. They wanted to see the doors. They wanted to see who went up. They wanted to see who came out. They wanted to see the impossible: the truth in the keyhole. On a secondary screen, the jackpot counter was frozen, locked at $500,000 like a totem. The chat, meanwhile, was a cataract. LIVE — 21:02 Connected: 4,480,900 NIGHT 4 JACKPOT: $812,000 "SANCTUARY NOW" "DELCOURT DELCOURT" "NO CUTS" "KEY IN THE LOCK" "WE’RE PAYING FOR THE HALLWAY" Lina breathed in slowly. Four and a half million. That number no longer made sense. It wasn’t an audience anymore. It was a crowd breathing in unison, a crowd that believed they were in the room, wanting to hold the stage in place of the bodies. She turned her head. Sacha was stepping forward, microphone in hand, the smile of a modern king. Behind him, Véra possessed that cold elegance of people who know how to master a fire. Carmen, arms crossed, was the levee. Mila, slightly back, maintained that softness that kept the house from becoming a slaughterhouse. Noa circulated with masks and ribbons like a scenographer. Solveig was already observing, an invisible notebook in hand. Roxane was there—present without occupying space, her gaze piercing through. And Sana and Elliot, the newcomers, stood on the edge: Sana like a black flame, Elliot like a disquieting calm. Sacha raised the mic. "Night 4," he said. The room shivered. The mere fact that he uttered "Night 4" made it feel as though the house had just entered its own legend. "Are you ready?" The couples responded with smiles, glances, raised glasses. The public responded with money. The jackpot climbed by tens of thousands in seconds, as if every "yes" had to be paid for. Sacha continued, softly: "Tonight, we aren’t looking for scandal. We are looking for intensity." Lina felt the irony. At Castel Pink, intensity was the most elegant form of scandal. Véra took over. "First of all: rules. Consent. Respect. Safe-word: Rose." Carmen stepped forward, her voice snapping like a law. "If someone says Rose, everything stops. No discussion. No ego. No spectacle." The chat applauded. And paid. Always. As if morality, too, was a commodity. Lina took the microphone in turn. Her voice through the speakers had that clarity that imposes calm. "Tonight," she said, "the public will propose. You will choose. No one owns you here. No one." She paused, staring at the main screen where "key in the lock" scrolled like a mantra. "And if a cut occurs… stay in character. Do not panic. We will guide you." She wished she hadn't said the word "cut." But the chat had already said it a thousand times. In this place, what you refuse to name always ends up naming itself. Véra announced the first game. "Opening Game: The Inventory." On the screens, a rule appeared, elegant and simple. *Each couple chooses an accessory.* *Only one.* *And makes it a language.* *Nothing explicit. Everything suggested.* *The public votes: creativity, tension, elegance.* Noa placed a tray in the center: velvet ribbons, gloves, masks, a thin necklace, a symbolic golden key (not a real one), a scarf, a bracelet. Lina watched the scene like an editor looks at the start of a chapter: it was going to reveal the characters. Soraya took the thin necklace, like a queen choosing a jewel. She placed it at the base of Mika’s neck with an almost tender slowness—and Mika, motionless, accepted. The gesture said: *I hold you, but in satin.* Kiara chose the red ribbon, obviously. She wrapped it around her wrist like a challenge. Maël chose the gloves. When he pulled them on, it looked as though he were putting on an intention. Ariane took a black lace mask. Thomas took a scarf, hesitating. Hélène took a minimalist bracelet, and Gabriel took… nothing. He stood still for a moment, then chose a black ribbon, discreet, as if acknowledging he had to play—but in his own way. Nina took a purple ribbon and tied it to her wrist, simply. Léo took a dark mask, almost too covering, like armor. Capucine Delcourt did not rush. She looked at the tray as if choosing a word. Then she took the symbolic golden key. She weighed it in her palm. Then she smiled, without arrogance. Valentin looked at her. "You’re choosing the key," he whispered. Capucine replied softly: "It’s the word of the night." The public went wild, of course. LIVE — 21:16 Connected: 4,921,300 JACKPOT: $1,140,000 "CAPUCINE TOOK THE KEY OMG" "IT IS WRITTEN" "DELCOURT SANCTUAIRE" "MAËL IS A DANGER" "SORAYA IS GOING TO SNAP" Lina watched Soraya. She had seen it too. And Lina saw the spark: when one queen senses another, she does not want to share the kingdom. Véra started the music. A slow, heavy, almost tribal rhythm. The couples performed their "inventory" like a dance. And already, the house was fragmenting. The cinema was a magnet. The bar was burning. The hall of mirrors was demanding. The dungeon called to egos. The indoor pool called for silences. Véra announced the second game, the one that would structure the night until the Sanctuary. "Game 2: The Factions." The screens displayed: *Two camps.* *CAMP ROSE: glamour, slowness, soft tension.* *CAMP NOIR: provocation, audacity, power play.* *Each camp chooses a central space.* *Each camp can invite one of the newcomers (Sana or Elliot).* *The public votes + funds "missions."* Sacha smiled. He loved this idea: turning the house into a theater of war with no visible weapons. The camps formed almost naturally. CAMP ROSE: Delcourt, Morel, Vasseur (Nina pushed by her gentleness), with Mila as support. CAMP NOIR: Benali, Santini, Lemaître (Ariane choosing audacity to avoid being erased), with Carmen as the frame and Sana as a potential flame. Elliot remained a free piece. Lina noticed it: he didn't give himself away. He was waiting to be chosen by someone who understood his game. The public exploded: two camps, two aesthetics, two promises. LIVE — 21:24 Connected: 5,311,800 JACKPOT: $1,390,000 "CAMP ROSE = DELCOURT" "CAMP NOIR = KIARA" "CINEMA MISSION" "MIRRORS MISSION" "PRISON MISSION" "DROPPING 100K ON NOIR" Lina felt the trap: the public was turning everything into a bet. And a bet makes you want to cheat. She adjusted her earpiece. "Nassim, I want angles on both camps. And I want the upstairs hallway on at all times. But not obsessively. We don’t feed the madness." Nassim’s voice, tense: "Copy. But… it’s the public deciding, Lina. They’re paying for the hallway." "Hold the line," she replied. Élodie, in the background: "The line is already on fire." Lina clenched her jaw. **CAMP NOIR — The Cinema, the Bar, and the Burn** Camp Noir chose the cinema as their central space because the cinema, here, was a metaphor: a screen watching people who know they are being filmed. A *mise en abyme*, pure addiction. Kiara entered first, Sana on her arm. Two flames, two laughs. Soraya followed, golden mask, the stride of a queen who refuses to be relegated. Mika followed, stiffer. Maël entered noiselessly, like a polite danger. Ariane entered like a strategist. Thomas followed, a bit lost, but drawn to the intensity. Carmen positioned herself at the cinema entrance like a guardian. "Here," she said, "you play. And you respect." Sana smiled. "I love rules," she said. "It makes transgression more delicious." Lina heard the phrase via one of the ambient mics. She didn't like Sana. Or rather: she didn’t like what Sana could trigger. On the cinema screen, the live feed showed the lounge, then switched to them: the public loved this feeling of "choosing" the angle. LIVE — 21:37 Connected: 5,804,200 JACKPOT: $1,760,000 "SANA + KIARA IS INSANE" "SORAYA IS GONNA GET MAD" "LOOK AT MIKA’S FACE" "MAËL IS A KILLER (sexy)" Véra announced the first "mission" funded by the public. "Black Mission: The Oath." Rule: Two people face each other. One sentence. One promise. No more. The public paid to choose the duos. Absurd sums for a single sentence. And they chose: Soraya vs. Capucine. A murmur ran through the house. Even in the cinema, the shiver was heard. Sacha smiled, of course. "Magnificent," he whispered to Lina. Lina stared at him, cold. "It’s dangerous." Sacha replied: "It’s viral." The phrase "it’s viral" had become a universal excuse. Capucine was brought to the cinema. Valentin followed her, discreet, protective. Camp Rose felt the friction. Capucine entered like a queen accepting the arena. Soraya stepped toward her, a brilliant smile. The mission began. Silence. Soraya spoke first. "I promise you…" she said softly, "…that I will not let you take all the light." Capucine smiled, very slightly. Then Capucine replied, and her voice was soft but sharp: "I promise you… that I will not take anything from you. I leave you everything you can carry." Silence. Mika gave a dry laugh. Kiara applauded, fascinated. Ariane watched, eyes shining. Maël smiled like a man who had just seen a crack. The chat exploded. LIVE — 21:44 Connected: 6,110,900 JACKPOT: $1,980,000 "CAPUCINE KILLED HER" "SORAYA IS GONNA SNAP" "IT’S WAR" "DELCOURT SANCTUAIRE" "WE WANT SUITE 5" Lina felt her stomach tighten. This was no longer a game. It was a hierarchical clash. And those clashes rarely end beautifully. Sana, taking advantage of the tension, approached Kiara. "Do you want to win?" Sana whispered. Kiara laughed, excited. "I want to burn." Sana tilted her head, a dangerous smile. "We can do both." Mika, meanwhile, was looking at Soraya. Soraya was looking at Capucine. Capucine was looking at Valentin. Valentin was looking… at the others, like a man who senses the risk. Carmen, at the entrance, was observing Mika. And Lina, in the lounge, was observing Carmen: she felt it too. **CAMP ROSE — The Indoor Pool, the Softness, and the Cracks** Camp Rose chose the indoor pool as their central space because the water, here, was not just a backdrop. It was a refuge. Capucine and Valentin returned there after The Oath. Hélène and Gabriel were already there. Nina and Léo too, with Mila. The atmosphere was slower, more intimate. Paradoxically, the public paid as much for softness as for provocation: because softness felt "real." Elliot appeared at the threshold, invited by no one—or rather, drawn by the energy. Lina saw him on a camera angle and frowned. He didn't impose himself. He glided. And people who glide are often the ones who slip between doors. Mila greeted him with a nod. Elliot replied with a discreet smile. "You’re new," Mila said. "Yes," Elliot replied. "And no." Mila tilted her head slightly. "What does that mean?" Elliot looked at the water, then said: "It means I know how people become characters." Lina felt a shiver. She didn't know this man. But he spoke like someone who understood too much. Nina, at the water’s edge, observed Capucine. Her eyes were full of admiration. Capucine noticed. She approached softly. "You are beautiful when you forget people are watching," Capucine said. Nina blushed, surprised. "I never forget," she replied. Capucine smiled. "Then learn." Léo, behind them, stiffened. He didn’t like anyone "teaching" Nina anything. Especially not Capucine, especially not the queen. Gabriel approached Elliot. "What are you… exactly?" he asked. Elliot replied calmly: "A guest." Gabriel locked eyes with him. "I mean: in life." Elliot smiled. "Depends on the day." Hélène placed her hand on Gabriel’s forearm, gently. "Not tonight," she whispered. Gabriel fell silent. But he had planted a seed. The public funded a Rose mission. "Rose Mission: The Reflection." Rule: Two people look at each other in the water. They are not allowed to speak. They are allowed to smile. They are allowed to move closer. Everything is in the restraint. The public paid to choose. They chose: Nina and Capucine. Lina felt her heart tighten. Because she knew what it would do to Léo. And because she knew what it would do to the narrative: Capucine, again, at the center. Nina hesitated. Capucine, however, accepted effortlessly. Mila guided them to the edge. They looked at each other, silent, reflections in the black water. Nina was trembling slightly. Capucine was calm. Nina smiled, involuntarily. Capucine replied with a tiny, almost tender smile. Léo, in the back, clenched his fists. The chat went wild. LIVE — 22:03 Connected: 6,590,700 JACKPOT: $2,240,000 "NINA + CAPUCINE IS BEAUTIFUL" "LEO IS LOSING IT LOL" "DELCOURT SANCTUAIRE" "CAPUCINE EVERYWHERE" "PAYING FOR THE WATER" Lina felt a surge of anger. "Leo is losing it"—people said it as if they were commenting on a match. They didn’t see the danger. They never saw the danger when it looked human. She approached Léo, off-camera, in a quieter corner. "Breathe," she said. Léo stared at her, eyes burning behind the mask. "Everyone wants my wife," he whispered. "Everyone wants an image," Lina replied. Léo gave a dry laugh. "And what do I want?" Lina held his gaze. "You? You want to control her." Léo turned pale. "No." Lina didn’t back down. "Yes. And it will kill you if you continue." Léo looked away. "You don’t know what it’s like," he said. Lina replied coldly: "I know exactly what it’s like. I see it every night." She left him there, because she knew: talking too much to a jealous man sometimes just gives him a stage. **The Bar — Alliances Break in Silence** While the camps played, the bar remained the central organ: it was where people reunited, mended, or cracked. Soraya returned to the bar after The Oath. She was smiling, but her smile was hard. Mika followed her like a nervous shadow. Maël trailed behind, always at the right distance to overhear. Sana arrived at the bar too, like a panther coming to drink. Sacha, of course, was there, the master of ceremonies, handing out sentences like invitations. "Soraya," he said, "you are magnificent tonight." Soraya replied with a bright smile: "I am furious, Sacha." Sacha laughed. "Fury is a form of desire." Soraya stared at him. "You want buzz? You’re going to get it." Lina heard this and felt an alarm go off. Mika set his glass down too hard on the counter. "Let’s stop," he said low. Soraya turned to him, her smile icy. "Stop what?" "This circus," Mika replied. "They’re humiliating us." Soraya laughed softly. "They aren’t humiliating you. You humiliate yourself by wanting to be watched." The sentence stung. Lina saw it in Mika’s jaw, in the tiny trembling of his hands. Sana, standing nearby, smiled. "You’re beautiful when you hate each other," she whispered, like a useless provocation. Mika turned to Sana, eyes hard. "Shut up." Lina approached immediately, slipping between them with the smoothness of a knife. "Stop," she said. "We don't talk like that here." Mika stared at her. "And you, what are you doing? Are you playing too?" Lina felt the venom. The public had noticed Lina. Some of the guests had noticed her too. And when someone feels observed, they attack the person holding the frame. "I run the house," Lina replied. "And I’m asking you to calm down." Soraya placed her hand on Mika’s forearm, a dangerous softness. "Calm down," she whispered. "We’re winning, Mika." Mika exhaled. He stepped back. But Lina saw: it wasn’t settled. It was just… contained. And containment, on a night like this, always ends up overflowing. **The Hall of Mirrors — The Public's Obsession** Around ten-thirty, the public demanded the hall of mirrors. They demanded it the way a religion demands its temple. Véra accepted a "neutral" mission to mix the camps. "Mission: The Labyrinth." *You cross the hall of mirrors in a duo… with someone who is not your partner.* *Just a crossing. Just a look. Just the tension.* The public paid to choose the duos. And they chose, obviously, cruel duos. Soraya with Valentin. Mika with Capucine. Léo with Sana. Nina with Elliot. Ariane with Maël. Kiara with Gabriel. The house shivered. Lina felt her heart beat faster. This wasn’t a sexual game. It was a pure power play. Carmen stood guard at the entrance. "You cross. You do not touch if it is not desired. You can say no." The crossing began. Soraya and Valentin entered. Soraya was smiling. Valentin was calm. In the mirrors, they multiplied like two elegant lies. Soraya leaned toward Valentin, whispering something the mics didn’t catch. Valentin didn’t answer. He simply looked at her. That look alone was enough to make the chat explode. Mika entered with Capucine. Mika looked tense. Capucine was calm, almost gentle. Mika said a sentence, low: "You’re playing the queen." Capucine replied with a tiny smile: "And you’re playing the wounded king." Mika grit his teeth. Léo entered with Sana. Sana was laughing. Léo was not. Sana moved too close, on purpose, and whispered: "You’re afraid of losing." Léo replied coldly: "I’m not losing anything." Sana smiled. "That’s what people say right before they lose." Nina entered with Elliot. And there, Lina felt something shift: Nina seemed… at peace. Elliot wasn’t making a scene. He looked at Nina with an almost hypnotic gentleness. Nina was breathing better, as if, finally, someone wasn’t asking her to "perform." Ariane entered with Maël. Two elegant predators. They looked at each other in the mirrors like two blades. Maël smiled. "You’re calculating," he said. Ariane replied: "You’re manipulating." Maël tilted his head. "Same thing." Kiara entered with Gabriel. And that’s where the game became strange: Gabriel, calm, did not let himself be provoked. Kiara tried, of course. Gabriel contentedly looked at the angles, the joints, the reflections. Kiara laughed. "What are you looking at?" Gabriel replied softly: "The walls." Kiara stopped, surprised. "Why?" Gabriel didn’t answer. Lina felt a shiver. Gabriel was also searching. The doors. The hallways. The house. The chat exploded again. LIVE — 22:41 Connected: 7,204,600 JACKPOT: $2,910,000 "MIKA’S GONNA SNAP" "ELLIOT IS TOO CALM" "DELCOURT SANCTUAIRE" "WE WANT THE UPSTAIRS HALLWAY" "VOTE THE FAVORITES UP" The public already wanted the Sanctuary. They wanted Suite 5 like people want a relic. Sacha, on the mic, was savoring it. "Patience," he said. "The Sanctuary is not a moment. It is a rite." Lina stared at him from afar. She hated that word: *rite*. It made the danger sacred. **Votes Open — The Choice of the Couple** At eleven-fifteen, Véra announced the opening of the vote. "The Sanctuary vote is now open." On the main screen, an interface appeared: stylized portraits, names, bars rising. Delcourt took the lead immediately. Benali tried to catch up. Santini was pushing hard. Vasseur was climbing slowly. Lemaître was lying in wait. Morel remained stable, discreet. The public paid to vote. Each vote cost money. And each vote was a seizure of power over the story. LIVE — 23:17 Connected: 7,680,900 JACKPOT: $3,410,000 SANCTUARY VOTE: DELCOURT 47% BENALI 19% SANTINI 17% VASSEUR 9% LEMAÎTRE 5% MOREL 3% "DELCOURT OR NOTHING" Lina felt her throat tighten. It was written. And when something is "written" by a crowd, the crowd becomes a blunt force. They no longer just want to watch. They want the world to obey. Sacha approached Lina, his voice low, almost tender. "See? They want them." Lina replied without warmth: "They are devouring them." Sacha smiled. "It’s the same thing." Lina gripped the tablet. "You’re playing with humans, Sacha." "No," he whispered. "I’m playing with myths." That sentence should have been engraved in a courtroom. **Midnight — The Final Ascent before the Sanctuary** The house entered its final phase: a party, everywhere, all at once. Véra and Lina decided not to pile on more rules. Just create an orchestrated ascent: a "final" that burns without getting dirty. Lina spoke into the mic: "Until the Sanctuary, you play freely. In glamour. In tension. Build it up… without losing yourselves." A simple sentence, but heavy. Because at Castel Pink, "not losing oneself" was an impossible request. the editing went wild. CINEMA (Camp Noir) Kiara and Sana, low laughter, masks against skin like secrets. Soraya played aggressive elegance, Mika played contained rage. Maël circulated like a pretty poison. Ariane observed, looking for the angle to return to the center. Sana, in the middle of the gazes, said a sentence that made the chat explode: "They have their sanctuary… we have the crowd." And she smiled. Kiara replied with a low laugh: "The crowd is dirtier." Sana shrugged: "Dirtiness is the truth of people." Mika, in the back, gripped his glass. Lina saw it on a camera angle and felt an alarm. BAR Véra framed "glamour" confessions, one by one, mic in hand. Not sordid revelations. Little truths that turn up the heat. Soraya confessed: "I want to win." Nina confessed: "I want to be free." Thomas confessed: "I’m afraid of losing myself." Hélène confessed: "I don’t need to be chosen." Maël confessed: "I want to be admired." (And he smiled as if it were noble) The public loved the confessions. Because confessions give the illusion of knowing. DUNGEON Carmen orchestrated an aesthetic ritual: positions, ribbons, looks, never tipping into the crude. The tension was in the control. Gabriel observed. Léo observed. Ariane observed. Everyone observed, and that was the sickness. INDOOR POOL Mila kept Nina close, soothed Léo, prevented jealousy from becoming a crisis. Elliot glided there again, calmly, speaking little, watching much. Lina noticed: Elliot moved like someone who already knew the hallways. **01:12 — Pressure on the Door** The public, seeing the key in the lock, had had a collective orgasm of logic. And that pleasure transformed into obsession. They wanted "more." They wanted "an angle." They wanted "proof from the inside." Sacha, on the mic, played with fire. "The Sanctuary," he said, "is a space of intimacy. You have the proof: the key. You have the hallway. You have the myth." The chat responded with profitable rage. LIVE — 01:12 Connected: 9,140,900 JACKPOT: $5,210,000 "WE WANT SOUND" "WE WANT A SHOT" "WE’RE PAYING 200K FOR AN INTERIOR ANGLE" "DO NOT CUT" Élodie shouted into Lina’s earpiece: "Lina, they’re putting up bounties to force 'suite mode'." "We won’t do it," Lina replied immediately. "Sacha is hesitating," Nassim said, tense. Lina froze. She turned toward Sacha in the middle of the lounge. He was looking at the screen of donations, the bounties, like a man looking at a temptation. Lina stepped toward him, no mic, her voice low and sharp. "No." Sacha looked at her, a soft smile. "Lina, it’s artistic blur. Silhouettes. We stay glamour." "No," Lina repeated. Sacha tilted his head slightly. "You want to break the moment?" "I want to protect the rules," Lina said. "You sold a sanctuary. You don’t violate it." Sacha smiled, and his smile was dangerous. "The public pays for miracles." Lina replied coldly: "Then give them something else." A silence. Sacha hesitated. And Lina understood: he loved the numbers too much to be reasonable. Véra, seeing the tension, intervened with intelligence: she launched a "compensation" mission. "Special Mission: The Hallway of Promises." The public funds a collective sequence in the downstairs hallway (not upstairs), where each couple passes before a camera and makes a one-sentence promise. It diverted part of the crowd. Not all. But enough. Lina exhaled. **01:18 — The Shadow Before the Black Hole** Lina returned to the control room. Nassim had the face of a man on the verge of a crisis. "We’re barely holding on," he said. "We’re at the limit." Élodie was typing fast, almost violently. "If it blows, it blows," she snapped. Lina stared at her. "It must not blow." Élodie replied sharply: "The house is autonomous. Autonomous means: it does what it wants." Lina turned to Tom. "Tom, what do you see on the power supply?" Tom hesitated, then replied: "I… I don’t see anything abnormal." *A lie*, Lina thought. *Or ignorance*. But her instinct screamed at her: this calm was not empty. Nassim added: "Lina, there’s something… on the inverters. It’s fluctuating." Lina felt her heart race. "Fluctuating how?" "Like… like someone is pulling from them. Like the house is demanding more." Élodie sneered, exhausted. "Or like someone is doing it on purpose." Silence fell. Lina looked at Élodie. Élodie didn't look back. Tom stared at the screens. And Lina felt a coldness in her gut: the thriller was closing in. She left the control room and went back up to the lounge. She had to stay visible. She had to hold the house together. **01:20 — The Cut** She was in the center of the lounge when it happened. First, there was a hesitation. A small flicker of the lights, like a blink. The music wavered. Then everything plunged. The screens shivered. The word LIVE flashed. And, without warning, black. Not a romantic black. Not an "ambient" black. A brutal, total darkness, the kind that swallows landmarks and makes people foolish. In the lounge, a fraction of a second of silence. Then exclamations. "Oh—" "What is this?" "Sacha?" "Lina?" Lina felt her heart explode in her chest. In her earpiece, a broken voice. "Cut—" "We lost—" "The feeds—" Then… nothing. Even the earpiece died. Castel Pink, which was supposed to show everything, had just gone blind. In the gloom, a few emergency lights flickered on—faint, red, like embers. Silhouettes. Masks. Bodies searching for one another. And in that darkness, Lina had a cold, sharp, absolute thought: The key is in the lock. The door is closed. And no one can see anything anymore. On the wall, the screens were black. The chat was screaming into a digital void. The world had just lost its toy. And in an upstairs hallway, behind a reinforced door, a sanctuary had just plunged into shadow. Lina inhaled, and her voice came out firm, even without a mic, even without speakers: "Nobody move. Stay where you are. Stay calm." But calm, at Castel Pink, was always an illusion. And the night had just opened a fourteen-minute black hole.

Chapter 7 — Night 4: Fourteen Minutes of Shadow, Then Blood on the Screen The darkness didn't last a second. It lasted an entire world. In the living room, at the exact moment the music died and the screens went black, there was first that absurd silence—the silence of people waiting for reality to return like a video resuming. Then reality refused. The emergency lights flickered on in patches: dark red, dim orange, like embers trapped in the corners. Silhouettes became shadows. Masks became faces. Laughter turned into whispers. Whispers into calls. — Sacha? — What is this? — Lina! — Is it cut in the rooms too? Castel Pink, which marketed itself as an absolute eye, had just gone blind. And nothing terrifies adults more than the idea of no longer being watched once they’ve grown used to it. Lina felt panic rising like steam. She didn't have the right to panic. She stepped into the center, without a microphone, her voice projected more by instinct than technique. — Nobody move. Stay there. Stay calm. Breathe. Her sentence cut through the rising noise. Not because people were obeying, but because they needed a hand on the back of their necks. Carmen appeared on her left, a black silhouette, arms crossed, a barrier-like presence. — Everyone stay on the ground floor, Carmen said, louder. Nobody goes upstairs. In the darkness, those words were a weapon: *don't go up,* therefore, there is something upstairs. Kiara burst into nervous laughter. — It feels like a movie. — Shut up, Mika hissed, too sharply. Sana, in the back, murmured like a caress: — It’s better than a movie. This is real. Lina turned her head toward Sacha. He was there, motionless, almost happy, as if this blackout had just offered him a scene no one had planned. — Sacha, Lina said low. Turn down the intensity. Now. Sacha looked at her in the red of the emergency lights. His eyes were shining too brightly. — Lina, it’s a micro-outage. We’ve got this. — We "have this" by calming them down, she replied. Not by exciting them. Sacha smiled, and that smile had something irresponsible about it. — They’ll be talking about us for years. Lina felt a cold anger. — If someone dies while you’re "making them talk," you’ll be talking in front of a judge. The word *dies* echoed in her own skull like a bad omen. She regretted it immediately. Sacha, however, didn't flinch. He placed a hand on Lina’s shoulder, a "fake friend" gesture. — Nobody is dying. It’s a party. Lina pushed his hand away. — It’s an isolated house, full of people under tension, without video feed. This isn't "a party." It’s a risk. In her earpiece: nothing. The control room was silent. Lina was alone in a building that was too large, with a crowd that was too excited. And somewhere upstairs, behind a reinforced door, two people were locked in. The key was in the lock. And for fourteen minutes, nobody would see anything. 01:21 — Castel Divides: Those Who Panic, Those Who Profit The first minute of darkness created two categories of humans. Those who want light. And those who want the absence of light. Soraya grabbed Mika’s arm, pulling him close. — Look at me, she whispered. Breathe. Mika wasn't breathing. His eyes searched for someone to blame in the red glow. Maël was already moving, quiet, like a man who knows the shadows. Ariane, a few meters away, watched Maël like one watches a chess piece that might move on its own. Nina instinctively placed a hand on Léo’s wrist. A tender gesture. Léo took it like a leash. His fingers tightened too hard. — Gently, Nina whispered. — They’re cutting it on purpose, Léo muttered. They’re playing with us. Mila approached, and her voice in the dark had something almost maternal. — Nobody is playing with you, Léo. It’s not against you. Léo stared at her. — Everything is against me here. Mila didn't back down. — No. Everything is against your ego. In the shadows, Elliot stood near a column, silent. One would have sworn he was waiting. Sana, meanwhile, was smiling: the blackout nourished her. — This, she said softly to Kiara, is true luxury. No more audience. Kiara gave a nervous laugh. — The audience is going to scream. Sana replied, almost tenderly: — Let them scream. We, we can finally breathe. In the living room, couples sought out corners, as if the dim light finally allowed for an intimacy that wasn't "performed." Hands found each other. Breaths drew closer. Whispers were born. Lina saw all of this—and she knew the blackout wouldn't lower the tension. On the contrary: it would make it rawer. Because when you remove the Eye, the body believes it is free. And freedom, in a place like this, is a blade. 01:23 — The Invisible Hallway: The Night Where Footsteps Count Carmen did a quick round of the exterior doors, even though she knew: reinforced shutters, locked exits. She checked the access points like one checks dikes. Joan appeared at the bottom of the stairs, a concierge-like silhouette, with an unsettling calm. — The generators? Lina asked. Joan shrugged. — They’ll kick back in. — And if they don’t? Joan stared at her in the red light. — Then we’ll see who knows how to live without an image. Lina felt a shiver. He sounded like Roxane. Or like a man who had seen too much. Sacha, downstairs, was trying to play the showman despite the absence of a show. — My friends, he said loudly. Let's stay chill. It’s a technical glitch. It’ll be back. Enjoy… the moment. "Enjoy." That word was fuel. Soraya looked at him with polite hatred. — You're doing this on purpose, she murmured. Sacha didn't hear her—or pretended not to. Lina, meanwhile, couldn't stop thinking about the upstairs. About Suite 5. About Capucine who had felt the draft. About Valentin who had noted the mirror. About that room "that isn't a room." She looked at the stairs. Carmen had just said: "Nobody goes up." So, of course, someone would go up. That’s how it is: to forbid is to draw a path. Lina took a step toward the stairs, then forced herself to stay in the living room. She had to hold the living together. It was her responsibility. But her instinct screamed: something is happening up there. 01:24 — Inside Suite 5: The Sanctuary Becomes a Cage Behind the reinforced door, the air wasn't red. It was warm, intimate, almost too soft. Capucine had laughed the moment Lina closed the door. — We’re locked in their fantasy, she whispered. Valentin had replied low: — No. We’re locked in our own. They had started how they wanted: not like a show, not like an obligation. A slowness, a proximity, a language of their own. "Glamour" wasn't a choreography here: it was a way of holding each other, looking at each other, choosing each other. Capucine had placed the key in the lock like one places a symbol. Then she had pulled Valentin toward her, sovereign sweetness. — Do you hear that? she asked. — What? — The house, she replied. It always makes that sound. Like breathing. Valentin hadn't answered. He tried not to listen. He tried not to see the dressing room mirror, slightly misaligned. He tried to forget that the air, sometimes, seemed to circulate where it shouldn't. And then the darkness outside struck. Not the darkness of their room—the room still had ambient lights—but the darkness of the house, perceptible in a change in electricity, a micro-vibration in the walls. Capucine froze. — It cut out, she said. Valentin moved to the door, pressed his ear against it. Nothing. Just the thick silence of a place where the music has died. Capucine whispered, almost amused: — They’re going to panic. Valentin replied, lower: — And here? Capucine turned toward the dressing room. — Here… there must be no panic. Then there was that breath. A draft, clearer than before. Capucine placed her hand on the frame of the mirror. — Valentin… He joined her. They looked at each other for a second, that second where two adults realize they are no longer playing. — Do we open it? Valentin asked. Capucine replied, her voice soft and sharp: — No. We don't open anything. The mirror shivered. A nearly imperceptible sound, like fabric sliding. The sanctuary, in a single second, ceased to be a game. 01:26 — On the Ground Floor: Desire Continues, Because Humans Are Absurd While the upper floor held a secret, the ground floor reorganized itself around the darkness. Lina tried to maintain a perimeter: living room, bar, visible zones. She had emergency candles and lamps lit so the shadow wouldn't become total. She knew: in total shadow, boundaries vanish. Véra gathered the couples near the bar, her voice low and soothing. — We stay together, she said. We breathe. We keep busy. Soraya leaned against the counter, her gaze lost. Mika, behind her, was seething. Kiara was laughing louder than she intended. Maël seemed… relaxed. Ariane observed the room like a general. Sana moved closer to Kiara. — You know what I love? Sana said. Kiara tilted her head. — What? — When nobody can prove what’s happening, Sana whispered. Kiara felt a shiver, half excitement, half suspicion. — Don’t say that, she breathed. Sana smiled. — Why? We’re adults. Lina heard this phrase and felt an alarm go off. She approached without aggression, but with authority. — We stay within the rules, Lina said. Blackout or not. Sana stared at her. — I am always within the rules. Lina replied coldly: — You are in your words. I want to see you in your actions. Sana smiled, as if Lina had just challenged her. — Fine. And she stepped back, docile—too docile to be sincere. Elliot, meanwhile, approached Nina. Not touching. Just close enough for her to feel him. His voice was calm. — You okay? he asked. Nina nodded, but her eyes were searching for Léo. Léo was a few meters away, his gaze fixed, jaw clenched. He watched Elliot as if he were a threat. And in the red emergency light, jealousy looked more primitive. Mila slipped between Léo and Nina, gently. — Come have some water, she said to Léo. Léo didn't move. — I want to go up, he whispered. Mila froze. — Go up where? Léo pointed to the stairs, the invisible hallway. — There. I want to see. Mila placed a firm hand on his arm. — No. Léo smiled, but there was nothing sexy about the smile. — Who’s going to stop me? Carmen appeared like an answer. — I am, she said simply. Léo stared at her, surprised. Carmen didn't raise her voice. She didn't need to. — Back off, she said. Léo backed off. Not out of respect. Out of calculation. Because he didn't want to be kicked out in front of the others, even in the dark. Lina breathed out. A drama avoided. For now. 01:29 — The House Chooses What It Shows The outage no longer felt like a "micro" outage. It was long, too long. And above all: it was stable. As if Castel Pink had decided to remain blind. Lina felt a cold sweat. She went up two steps of the stairs, just to see. Carmen followed her. — No, Carmen said. You’re not going up alone. — I’m not going up, Lina replied. I’m looking. The upstairs hallway was a black gorge. The emergency lights were weaker up there. The air seemed colder. Lina had the absurd impression of hearing a sound of fabric. Or carpet. A rustle. She froze. — Did you hear that? she asked Carmen. Carmen shook her head. — I hear people breathing. Lina went back down. She forced herself to stay in the center. She mustn't go crazy. But she couldn't shake the image: Capucine and Valentin locked in, and something moving behind a mirror. 01:32 — Darkness Gives Ideas to Evil Spirits The minutes passed. Every minute added tension. The public outside must be screaming at a black screen, threatening, paying, insulting. Here, inside, bodies began to compensate for the absence of the live feed with a "realer," closer intensity. Soraya and Mika argued in low voices behind the bar. — You’re embarrassing me, Soraya said. — Me? Mika replied. You’re the one giving them everything. Soraya gave a harsh laugh. — I give them an image. You give them your weakness. Mika grit his teeth. — I’m going up. — You’re going nowhere, Soraya said, suddenly colder. — You’re not my mother. Soraya stepped in close and whispered: — No. But I’m the only one here who knows you. Mika swallowed. He backed away. Their tension was poison. Kiara, Sana, and Maël were laughing in a corner, as if the darkness made everything funnier. Ariane watched them, fascinated: she loved people who burn. Nina, meanwhile, was unwell. The darkness gave her a sense of confinement. Léo was watching her. Elliot stayed close, without touching, like a quiet availability. And that availability was driving Léo insane. Hélène and Gabriel were off to the side. Gabriel, again, wouldn't take his eyes off the walls. He wanted to go up. Hélène held him back with a soft look. — It’s not your role, she whispered. Gabriel replied: — When something doesn't add up, I can't ignore it. Hélène placed her hand on the back of his neck. — Then you wait for the light. Gabriel nodded. But Lina saw: his patience was a taut rope. 01:34 — The Return of Power: Truth Returns with the Image The light returned like a punch. Not all at once: in waves. A first breath from the lamps, a rumble from the generators, a shiver in the walls. The music returned in a hiccup. Then the screens lit up in a cascade. The word LIVE flashed. The living room reappeared from twenty angles. The chat returned like an avalanche. LIVE — 01:34 Connected: 9,804,200 JACKPOT: $6,120,000 "IT’S BAAACK" "WHERE WERE THEY???" "14 MINUTES WTF" "CHEATERS" "DELCOURT ???" "SHOW THE LOCK" People cheered. Laughed. Sighed in relief. Some kissed, as if the light had saved them. And immediately, the digital crowd demanded the same thing: The upstairs hallway. The control room, in turn, obeyed almost instinctively: the main screen switched to the hallway camera. We saw the carpet, the doors, and, at the far end, Suite 5. Zoom on the lock. The key was still visible. Still there. The chat exulted. LIVE — 01:35 "THE KEY IS STILL THERE" "THEY’RE STILL INSIDE" "WE WANT TO HEAR" "SANCTUARY OVER?" Lina felt a cold dread. The key is there, yes. But… why is nothing moving? The protocol dictated that upon the return of power, Lina should go up to check that everything was fine—without opening, without intrusion. Just a "is everything okay?". She didn't wait two minutes. She didn't wait for a smile from Sacha. She turned to Carmen. — I’m going up. Carmen nodded. — I’m coming. Joan appeared behind them, as if he had smelled the shift in the air. — I’m coming too, he said simply. Sacha tried to stop them. — Lina, wait. We need to calm the public. We— Lina cut him off. — You can calm them later. I’m checking. Sacha stared at her, annoyed, then smiled like a man who doesn't want to lose face. — Fine, he said. But make it quick. They want to see. Lina looked at him with cold hatred. — I don’t give a damn what they want. And she went up. 01:38 — The Hallway: Silence Too Clean The upstairs hallway, under the returned light, looked even calmer than before. Too calm. Lina walked barefoot on the carpet. Carmen followed her, straight and solid. Joan brought up the rear, tranquil, and that tranquility was frightening. The hallway camera was filming them. Lina knew it. She couldn't forget it. Even here, even now, she was a camera shot. When they arrived in front of Suite 5, Lina felt her heart beating in her throat. The key was indeed there, visible through the small porthole on the inside. — Capucine? Lina called out, softly. No answer. — Valentin? she called. Silence. Carmen placed a hand on her invisible weapon: her authority. — Open up, she said louder. Nothing. Lina knocked, not hard, just enough. — Capucine, it’s Lina. Answer me. Silence. Lina felt a chill run down her spine. — They could be sleeping, Joan whispered. Carmen stared at him. — At this hour? After that? No. Lina placed her hand on the wall, near the dressing room, exactly where she always felt the draft. And she felt it. Colder. Sharper. As if someone were breathing behind it. She looked at Carmen. — There, Lina whispered. Carmen understood immediately. — You mean… a passage. Joan said nothing. But his silence was a confirmation. Lina inhaled. She knew what this meant: if the sanctuary was no longer a sanctuary, then the entire Castel Pink was a rigged stage. She slid toward the dressing room area in the hallway, near the corner where she had already sensed the flaw. The dressing room mirror… was inside. She couldn't see it. But she could feel the air passing through. She placed her fingers on the baseboard, searching for the irregularity she had ignored. The carpet fabric was slightly "stitched" differently—a ridiculous detail, invisible to almost everyone. Except for someone looking for it. Lina pressed. A faint click. Carmen froze. Joan, behind them, whispered: — There it is. The wall didn't swing open like in the movies. It just gave way by a centimeter, like a door that doesn't want to be seen. A thin black line appeared. Lina felt her heart stop. She pulled. A hidden panel slid away, revealing a narrow opening: a passage within the thickness of the wall, a breath of cold air, the smell of ancient stone. The inn, beneath the villa. The past, beneath the luxury. Carmen cursed under her breath. — Dammit… Lina didn't answer. She entered. 01:40 — The Passage: The Belly of the House The passage was narrow, raw, almost obscene in such a luxurious place. You could smell damp stone, ancient wood. They moved blindly, guided by a hand on the wall. Lina was breathing too fast. She felt the live feed behind her, she felt it like a presence pushing against her back: millions of people who want to see, who want to know, who want a story. Carmen followed her. Joan came behind, calmly, as if he already knew this belly. At the end, another opening. Lina pushed. The passage opened into the dressing room of Suite 5. And there, the air changed. There was a metallic smell, faint. Not flowing blood. Something more discreet. A spilled perfume. A minimal mess. The dressing room was impeccable… except for one detail: a hanger on the floor, as if someone had fled and bumped into it. Lina moved forward, further. Carmen whispered: — Lina… easy. Lina reached the threshold of the bedroom. And she saw. The world narrowed. Capucine and Valentin were there. Not in a posture of pleasure. Not in a glamorous scene. In an impossible stillness. Capucine was lying on the bed, her dress rumpled, face pale, her mask beside her like a dead joke. Valentin was near her, half-sitting, his head slightly tilted, as if he had tried to speak and the sentence had gotten stuck. Their skin wasn't "wounded" in a spectacular way. Nothing gore. Nothing out of a horror movie. But something absolute: absence. And around them, a staging. A velvet ribbon laid out like a prop. An overturned glass. A mark on the pillow, like a silent struggle. Carmen placed a hand over Lina’s mouth, instinctively, to hold back a scream. Lina felt tears rising without falling. It wasn't grief, not yet. It was the shock of a reality that shatters the narrative. Joan whispered, very low: — There’s your moment. Lina turned around, furious. — Shut the hell up. Joan didn't move. Carmen approached the bodies, professional despite the horror. She checked for a breath, a sign, a chance. Then she straightened up. Her gaze, when it met Lina’s, was a sentence without words. They are dead. Lina felt the floor shift. And immediately, a second thought struck her: The door is locked. The key is in the lock. Therefore… the killer left through here. Through the passage. Through the belly of the house. Castel Pink had a secret. And that secret had just killed its kings. 01:42 — Return to the Hallway: The Murder Surfaces Lina backed out, leaving the dressing room through the passage, as if the air in the room were burning her. In the hallway, the camera was still filming. And that, Lina had forgotten for a second: everything she did, everything she was going to do, was potentially a shot. Carmen came out behind her, face set. Joan followed, calm. Lina looked at the lock from the hallway side. The key was visible, still. The chat, obviously, had seen Lina enter the hallway… then disappear around a corner. The netizens were already starting to sense that something was happening. LIVE — 01:42 Connected: 10,110,600 "WHY DID SHE DISAPPEAR?" "SECRET OPENING???" "WHERE ARE THEY???" "LOOK AT LINA’S FACE..." "SHOW US" Lina turned to Carmen. — we don’t say anything yet, Lina whispered. Not in front of them. Not in front of the live feed. Carmen stared at her. — Lina… they’re going to find out. They’re going to see your face. They’re going to— — Then we control it, Lina cut her off. We control it or we die with the narrative. Joan, behind them, said simply: — Too late. Lina stared at him, icy. — You knew. Joan didn't answer. His silence was a knife wound without a blade. Carmen made a decision. — I’m going down to warn Sacha. And I’m blocking off the floor. Lina nodded. — No panic in the house. Not yet. Carmen went down. Joan stayed. — What are you doing? Lina asked Joan. Joan replied, still calm: — I’m closing this passage. Lina stared at him. — No. Not now. Not before we know. Joan looked at her, and for the first time, Lina saw something in his eyes: an old fatigue. — When you know a place can kill… you close it up, he murmured. Lina grit her teeth. — You close it, yes. But afterward, you tell them why it was open. Joan didn't answer. Below, the living room continued to live, still ignorant. But horror had just placed its hand on the house. And the public outside was starting to feel it. 01:45 — The Broadcast Shifts: "Murder Live" When Lina went downstairs, the living room was a volcano still dancing. The couples were laughing, drinking, seeking each other out. The light had returned, so the festive instinct reclaimed its rights. Human absurdity: we return to warmth as soon as fear disappears. Sacha stood near the bar, microphone in hand, "re-framing" the live feed as if the blackout had been a bonus. — My friends, he was saying, you’ve just lived fourteen minutes without an audience… that’s rare, isn't it? The public screamed in the chat. Some were excited, others furious. The jackpot continued to climb, as if the imminent horror were already being monetized. Carmen arrived at Sacha’s side, whispered something to him. Lina saw Sacha’s face change. Not with sadness. With calculation. He slowly set down his glass, like a man who understands that the scene is about to become historic. Lina approached, blunt. — Cut the live feed. Sacha looked at her, and in his eyes, there was a horrible glint. — Do you understand what this means, Lina? — Yes, she replied. It means we’re going to have people panicking, police calling, and a million fallout scenarios. So you cut it. Sacha smiled. — And lose ten million in a minute? You think you "cut" a myth? Lina felt a cold hatred. — It’s a crime scene, Sacha. Sacha didn't answer. He looked at the chat screen like a man looking at a crowd. — They don’t know yet, he whispered. Lina placed her hand on his arm, hard. — Don’t do this. Sacha turned his head toward her. — Lina… it’s the headline. It’s the legend. It’s— — It’s human beings, Lina cut him off. A tense silence. Then, on the main screen, the control room switched involuntarily. Because the public, en masse, was paying for the upstairs hallway. The demands were overwhelming everything. Nassim, under pressure, had just put the hallway back on full screen. We saw the door to Suite 5. We saw the key. We saw… nothing. And the chat went wild. LIVE — 01:46 Connected: 10,640,900 "THEY AREN’T COMING OUT???" "OPEN UP" "THERE’S A PROBLEM" "THIS IS A BUZZ STUNT" "I SWEAR IF SOMETHING HAPPENED..." Lina felt nausea. Carmen returned, face set. — Lina. We have a bigger problem. — What? Carmen whispered: — The external lines are exploding. People are calling the cops. They’re talking about "sequestration," "death," the "blackout." It’s leaking. Lina turned to Sacha. — You wanted to go viral? There you go. Sacha looked at the hallway on the screen, then smiled. A smile that made Lina want to hit him. — Then we’re going to be legendary, he murmured. And he did the worst possible thing. He took the microphone. — My friends… we have a concern in the Sanctuary. The living room froze. Soraya looked up. Kiara smiled, excited. Maël straightened. Ariane froze, attentive. Nina turned pale. Léo tensed. Hélène placed a hand on Gabriel. Sacha continued, his voice soft: — Lina is going up to check. Stay calm. Lina stared at him. — I already did. Sacha didn't answer. He smiled at the invisible audience. — You wanted real… he said, and his smile trembled slightly, …you’re going to get it. Lina felt her blood turn to ice. He had just surrendered the stage to the mob. And Castel Pink, in a single second, ceased to be a fetish club. It became an arena. 01:50 — The Contained Rush: Jealousy, Fear, Excitement In the living room, a commotion rose. — What, a concern? — Are they okay? — Is this a joke? — It’s buzz, for sure… Kiara stepped toward Lina, eyes shining. — Are they dead? she asked, too quickly. Lina stared at her, icy. — Don’t say that. Kiara smiled nervously. — I’m saying what everyone is thinking. Soraya approached, mask in hand, her voice lower: — They won. It would be funny, wouldn't it, if they… fell. Lina stared at her, shocked. Soraya shrugged. — I’m not saying I want that. I’m saying… it excites people. Mika stood behind Soraya, face set. He watched the hallway screen like a man watching a door he wants to kick in. Maël approached Lina, his voice soft. — Lina, he said. Tell me the truth. Lina stared at him. — Go play somewhere else. Ariane, for her part, asked no questions. She was already watching Sacha, as if she had just understood something: this man was capable of turning a catastrophe into a campaign. Nina approached, panicked. — Lina… Capucine… is she… ? Lina placed a hand on Nina’s shoulder. — I don’t know what I can say, Lina whispered. Nina understood immediately. Her eyes filled with water. Hélène approached, calm but firm. — Lina, she said softly. We need to know if we are in danger. Gabriel, behind her, said nothing. His gaze was already that of a man calculating exits. Lina inhaled. — Stay together, she said. All of you. And don’t go up. Léo gave a dry laugh. — Don’t go up… that sounds familiar. Lina stared at him. — I’m serious. And that was when the control room flipped the world upside down. On the main screen, instead of the hallway, another angle appeared: the hallway camera near the passage, where Lina had gone up. We saw Lina, Carmen, Joan… and the opening, just barely, the panel that had moved. The chat exploded. LIVE — 01:53 Connected: 11,204,800 "SECRET PASSAGE" "SHE OPENED A WALL" "IT’S AN OLD INN" "THEY’RE LYING" "IT’S A LIVE MURDER" The title had just appeared in the chat. "Live Murder." Like a prophecy. Like a curse. Lina felt dizzy. She turned toward Nassim (via the restored earpiece): — Nassim, cut that shot. Nassim’s voice was trembling: — Lina, they’re paying… they’re paying for this shot. It’s overriding our commands. — CUT IT, Lina repeated. A silence. Then Nassim: — I’m trying. The live feed had become a beast biting the hand that fed it. 01:56 — Lina’s Decision: Controlled Truth or Total Chaos Lina realized, in a second, that chaos was inevitable. The house had a secret passage. The crowd had seen it. And there were two bodies in Suite 5. If Lina kept silent, the crowd would invent. If Lina spoke, the crowd would devour. Sacha was already savoring the idea of a legend. Lina saw it: in his eyes, sadness was secondary. The narrative was primary. So Lina made a decision. Not a gentle decision. The decision of an editor-in-chief in a fire: choose what to tell to prevent the worst. She took the microphone from Sacha’s hands. — Listen to me. The living room froze. Even Kiara fell silent. — There is a serious incident in the Sanctuary, Lina said. Sacha tried to take back the microphone. Lina pushed him away with a sharp gesture. — No, Sacha. She continued, her voice clear: — Nobody leaves. Nobody goes up. The phones aren't working, the network is cut, you know that. Security is in place. We are waiting for help. We are cooperating. "We are waiting for help" was a deliberately vague phrase—it calmed without promising anything. The chat exploded: "HELP???", "THEY’RE DEAD", "POLICE", "ADDRESS". Lina knew: the outside world was now going to break loose. She handed the microphone back to Véra and turned to Carmen. — We’re going up. We secure the area. We close that passage. And above all: we keep the house alive. If the lights go out, they’ll panic. Carmen nodded. — And if they panic? Lina whispered: — Then we’ll have a second tragedy. She turned to Joan. — You close the passage afterward. Not before we have a plan. Joan stared at her. — The plan is already written. Lina replied coldly: — Then I’m going to rewrite it. 02:01 — The Final Shot of the Chapter: The Image Swallows Death Lina went back upstairs with Carmen. This time, the main screen stayed on the hallway, because the crowd was paying for it. The control room could no longer regain control. The hallway had become a coliseum. Lina stopped in front of Suite 5. She looked at the lock. The key was still there. She thought of Capucine who had said: "You can watch. You can’t have us." The world had had them anyway. Not through desire. Through death. Lina entered through the passage, a second time, faster. And this time, the camera, by a horrible fluke, captured the inside of the dressing room—an angle no one was supposed to see, a reflection, a mirror that, in moving, offered a glimpse. A second. Just one. But enough. On the live feed, millions of people saw a corner of the bedroom, a motionless form, a rumpled pink dress, an arm that was too white. The chat froze for a fraction of a second. Then it exploded like a digital massacre. LIVE — 02:02 Connected: 12,018,600 "THEY’RE DEAD" "HOLY SHIT" "CALL THE POLICE" "IT’S A MURDER" "LIVE MURDER AT CASTEL PINK" Lina felt her legs give way, but she forced herself to stay standing. Carmen, in the room, was already pulling Lina back, as if to protect her from the image. Too late. The world had seen. And when the world sees death, it no longer wants glamour. It wants culprits. Lina stepped back out into the hallway, her face set, and she knew one thing, clearly, without poetry: From now on, Castel Pink was no longer a game. It was a crime scene. And the house, with its secret passage, had just swallowed everyone—inside and out.

Chapter 8 — Day 5: The House with No Exit The worst part wasn't death. The worst part was the aftermath. Because at Castel Pink, death did not fall like a curtain. It seeped into the fibers of the decor. It clung to the velvet. It hooked onto the mirrors. It lodged itself in people's gazes, and above all, in this impossible-to-erase truth: the world had seen. One second, maybe two. Long enough for twelve million brains to make the same association. Long enough for the expression “Live Murder” to stop being a title and become an accusation. Lina went back down to the living room as if crossing a minefield. She kept her back straight, but inside everything was trembling: not out of pure fear, but rather a toxic lucidity. The kind of lucidity that says: if you make a mistake now, you will never recover. In the control room, Nassim’s voice was breaking. Élodie was no longer looking at the camera: she was looking at the logs, the replays, the feeds, as if searching for proof of the exact moment everything had shattered. Tom, meanwhile, was standing still, hands in his pockets, too calm. Always. The chat was screaming. The donations didn't stop. The prize pool was rising as if horror excited the market. On a screen in the top left, a counter appeared — a new counter that no one had planned but that the algorithm had created on its own, because the algorithm loves legends: “WORLDWIDE TREND #1: MURDER LIVE — CASTEL PINK” Lina felt a wave of nausea. Sacha, in the center of the living room, didn't look like a man in mourning. He looked like a man standing before an absolute opportunity. He was already speaking in low tones with Véra, too close, too calm, as if they were preparing an “Act 2.” Carmen, for her part, had changed her face. Less “security,” more “crime scene.” She held the house like a barricade. Mila circulated among the couples, placing a hand on a shoulder, whispering short, essential phrases: breathe, sit down, drink, look at me. And all around, the survivors — five couples, two guests — stood in a strange, almost indecent state: a mixture of shock, fascination, fear, and ego. Because a tragedy here wasn't just a tragedy. It was a mirror. And the mirrors at Castel Pink always reflect the faces you didn't want to see. 02:07 — The useful lie: “stay calm” Lina took Véra aside, in a less exposed corner. — We have to cut the live feed, Lina said. Véra pressed her lips together. She had that intelligence of women who have already seen crowds turn. — If we cut it, Véra said, they’ll invent something worse. They’ll say we’re hiding things. They’ll say we’re killing people. — They’ll say it anyway, Lina replied. Véra placed a hand on Lina’s arm, a tense softness. — Then we control the narrative. We give a truth… without giving everything. Lina stared at her. — The truth is that there are two deaths. Véra inhaled, and her gaze grew harder. — The truth is also that we have a secret passage in a “sanctuary” bedroom. And if the public learns that raw, without context, they’ll become a pack of wolves. Lina felt a surge of anger. — The public is already a pack. — Yes, Véra said. But a pack can be held by a leash. The leash is the image. Lina looked at the screen where “SHOW THE HALLWAY,” “OPEN THE DOOR,” “WE ARE PAYING” still scrolled by. — That’s not a leash, Lina whispered. It’s a choke collar. Véra didn't answer. She knew. Carmen arrived, her face set. — We have a protocol to establish now, Carmen said. Right now. No debate. Lina nodded. — We block the upstairs. We close the passage. We group everyone together. Carmen added, coldly: — And nobody leaves. Nobody will leave, even if they want to. Sacha appeared behind them, an almost tender smile on his face. — Nobody can leave, anyway, he said. The shutters are armored. The exterior doors are locked. It’s for security. Lina stared at him. — It’s also a trap. Sacha shrugged, as if the word “trap” pleased him. — It’s what will save us, Lina. Outside, they will come. The curious, the crazed, the drones, the journalists. In here, we are protected. — Protected from what? Lina spat. From the others… or from you? Sacha smiled, and his smile sent a chill down her spine. — From the others, he whispered. Always the others. He placed a hand on Lina’s shoulder. — Do what you know how to do: keep people together. Lina pushed his hand away. — And you, do what you’ve never known how to do: keep your mouth shut. The silence between them was like a slap. Sacha didn't get angry. He was too good for that. He settled for a smile. — You are magnificent when you’re angry. Lina felt an urge for violence. She swallowed it down. Because here, the violence must never come from her. 02:15 — The crime scene, and the public’s obsession Carmen went back upstairs with Joan to close off access. Lina wanted to go with her. Carmen refused. — You stay downstairs, Carmen said. You are the anchor. — I’m the only one who saw, Lina replied. — Exactly, Carmen said. You are contaminated. You mustn't dissolve up there. The word “contaminated” hurt, because it was true. Lina still felt the smell of the stone in the passage, the cold behind the mirror, and the immobility of the Delcourts like an image printed on the inside of her eyelids. She stayed in the living room. She gathered the couples. — Everyone here, she said. Now. They obeyed poorly. They obeyed slowly. They obeyed while looking at the screens rather than her eyes. As if the screen were the true authority. LIVE — 02:16 Connected: 12,640,900 PRIZE POOL: $8,010,000 “THEY ARE DEAD” “WHO IS THE KILLER” “WE WANT NAMES” “POLICE ON THE WAY” “SMELLS LIKE ORGANIZED BUZZ” Lina took a breath. — Listen to me, she said. We are in a serious situation. I’m going to be clear: nobody goes upstairs. Nobody tries to leave. You stay together. You wait for instructions. Soraya raised her hand, almost insolently. — Wait for what? she called out. The police? Lina stared at her. — Yes. Soraya gave a dry laugh. — And how are they going to get here? We’re in the middle of nowhere. No network. No phone. That sentence fell like a stone. Lina felt the room grow tense. Nina turned pale. Thomas swallowed hard. Hélène remained calm, but her gaze hardened. Gabriel, meanwhile, looked into the distance as if already searching for a route. Sacha intervened, too quickly. — We have a connection, he said. A private line. The control room can send out alerts. Lina stared at him. — And us? several voices asked at once. Can we call? Can we notify our families? Lina felt a weight. Because the truth was this: they were in a place where everything was designed to film… but not to communicate. The Castel Pink was an eye. Not a mouth. Mila stepped forward, with firm gentleness. — We are going to manage the panic, Mila said. One by one. Breathe. Maël smiled, too lightly. — It’s funny, he said. When things get dangerous, everyone discovers reality. Kiara gave a nervous laugh. — Are you serious? Two people just died. Maël shrugged. — And yet, look, he said, pointing to the screens. The public is still paying. Sana, beside him, whispered: — They’re paying more. Lina turned to Sana. — Be quiet. Sana smiled. — I’m just saying what I see. Lina felt that the poison wasn't just in the house. It was in the people. In their way of using a tragedy to feel significant. Elliot, for his part, was silent. But Lina saw it: he was observing everything, and above all… he was observing the control room, the angles, the habits. She promised herself not to lose sight of him. 02:32 — The lockdown: the Castel becomes a closed-door mystery Carmen came back down. Her face said: it’s done. — Passage closed, she said. And the floors are locked down. — How? Lina asked. — Security mode, Carmen replied. The armored doors to the suites remain functional from the inside, but common access to the floor is controlled. No one goes up without me. Lina nodded. She hated the idea of transforming the house into a prison. But the house already was one, anyway. Sacha approached, his voice low. — You see? We’re in control. Lina stared at him. — What are you controlling? The people? The cameras? Or the fact that they can’t call for help? Sacha gave an almost sad smile. — Lina… if we open up to the outside now, we’ll be invaded. We’ll be destroyed. — And if we stay, we destroy ourselves from the inside, Lina replied. Sacha didn't answer. He looked at the chat. Always. Lina turned to Nassim and Élodie in the control room. — Cut the chat, she said. Or slow it down. Nassim shook his head, pale. — We can’t. If we cut it, they migrate, they mirror-stream, they hack. And… they’ll say we’re erasing evidence. Élodie added, sharply: — The only way to control a crowd is to give it a direction. Lina felt a shiver. — Don't tell me you’re going to… continue. Élodie stared at her, pitilessly. — Lina, the live feed is already everywhere. Even if you cut it, you’ve already lost. So you choose: total chaos… or framed chaos. Tom, behind them, whispered, almost inaudibly: — And framed chaos… pays well. Lina spun around to face him. — What did you just say? Tom smiled, innocent. — I’m saying that… the public wants a story. They’ll get it, with or without us. Lina felt something shift inside her: a denser, colder suspicion. Tom wasn't just “too calm.” He was too… comfortable with the idea. 03:10 — The first night after death: desire as anesthesia The living room no longer looked like a place for a party. It looked like a set after an accident: people standing around, side-glances, glasses still full, hands searching for something to hold. And yet… something profoundly human settled in: a need for anesthesia. Because when fear is too great, the body seeks refuge. And at Castel Pink, the closest refuge… is the warmth of another. Lina observed these gestures without judging them. Hélène sat near Gabriel, her hand on his neck. Gabriel’s eyes were too wide. He wanted to understand. He wanted logic. And logic, here, had just been torn apart. — You’re going to make yourself sick, Hélène whispered. — If I don't understand, Gabriel replied, I’ll go mad. Hélène answered softly: — Then become simple. Nina sat near Mila, trembling. Léo paced around them like an animal. — I want us to leave, Léo said. Mila looked at him, calm. — You can’t. — Then I want us to shut everything down, Léo snapped. Stop this circus. He pointed at the screens. — They’re there, watching death like a movie! Mila placed a hand on his wrist. — And you, what do you want? To become violent to prove you exist? Léo gritted his teeth. — Don’t provoke me. Mila didn't move. — I’m not provoking you. I’m holding you. Lina felt a sense of gratitude. Mila was a discreet pillar. Soraya, meanwhile, was drinking too fast. Mika was silent, but his eyes never left the stairs. Kiara was talking loudly, nervously. Maël let her talk, smiling like a man who loves tension. Ariane stood apart with Thomas. She was talking to him in a low voice, too low. Thomas seemed shaken. Sana, in the middle of it all, seemed… alive. As if death had just given her an intensity she had been searching for. Elliot stayed near the walls, like Gabriel. But unlike Gabriel, Elliot didn't look like he was searching for logic. He was searching for an opportunity. At that moment, Lina understood something disturbing: the murder had not killed desire. It had made it more nervous, more cruel, more charged. The thriller did not extinguish eroticism. It made it toxic. 04:02 — Outside: the world arrives, but doesn't find At four in the morning, the Castel Pink was still illuminated. Not by the party. By the screens. By the control room. By the obsession. And outside, in the black countryside between Perpignan and the Spanish border, gendarmerie cars were already driving. Not toward the Castel Pink — no one knew where it was. But toward zones. Hypotheses. Leads. The world was searching for the myth like one searches for a beast. In the control room, Nassim showed Lina a feed: incoming calls, alerts, messages. — The cops are getting thousands of calls, he said. They have screenshots, clips. They know there was a blackout. They know there was a secret passage. They know there are two deaths. Lina gritted her teeth. — And do they know where we are? Nassim shook his head. — No. Élodie added: — They know it’s “somewhere” in the south. Internet users are making theories. They’re cross-referencing vegetation, light, sounds. They’re trying to geolocate… but it’s too isolated. And the link that’s streaming… it exits somewhere else. Lina understood: the live uplink was designed to be untraceable. A business choice. A choice of secrecy. — So we’re an island, she whispered. Nassim nodded. — An island with twelve million spectators. Lina felt a cold rage. — Cut the live feed, she said. Élodie replied, without softness: — Lina… it’s already everywhere. Mirror sites are streaming. Pirate accounts are rebroadcasting. You don't cut off the internet. — But I can cut our part of it, Lina replied. Élodie stared at her. — And become “the guilty ones who erase the evidence”? Lina understood the trap. It was a perfect trap: continuing fed the crowd; cutting it fed the suspicion. Sacha entered the control room, as if he had sensed the conversation. — We’re continuing, he said. Lina turned around, icy. — No. Sacha placed his hands on the back of a chair. — Lina, listen to me. If we cut it, the public will become a wild mob. They’ll call, they’ll threaten, they’ll come here. They’ll hunt us down. We keep the live feed… and we transform it into a call for calm. Lina burst into a joyless laugh. — You’re going to make a “call for calm” with a prize pool at eight million? Sacha smiled. — Yes. Because money is their language. Lina stared at him. — You are sick. Sacha stepped closer, his voice low. — No. I am lucid. And you are, too. You know you need them. Because without them, we are alone. And alone… we are dead. Lina felt a shiver. He was right about one terrible thing: the public, however monstrous, was also a shield. As long as the world was watching, the killer — if they were inside — couldn't just do anything… or at the very least, they had to choose their angles. But the public also gave people ideas. And Lina asked herself, for the first time, a question that burned: What if the killer actually wanted to be seen? 06:30 — Morning: shock becomes political By daybreak, the house looked more beautiful. That is the indecency of luxury: it remains superb even when it kills. The couples were exhausted, but none were truly sleeping. They spoke to each other in small groups, like clans. The alliances from the day before — Team Pink, Team Black — had transformed into survival instincts. Sacha ordered a “calm” brunch. As if the ritual of food could mend a shattered night. Lina, for her part, didn't let go of two things: the control room, the faces. Carmen set a clear rule: — From now on: exterior doors are locked. Nobody leaves. Nobody goes upstairs alone. The suites remain sanctuaries: you lock yourselves in from the inside if you need to be alone. But nobody disappears without us knowing where they are. Soraya raised an eyebrow. — So we’re prisoners. Carmen stared at her. — So you’re alive. Soraya smiled, but her mouth was trembling. — And the police? Carmen replied: — They’re searching. — They won’t find us, Kiara blurted out. That’s the thing. No one ever finds anything. Lina felt a chill. Kiara had said it like a joke, but it sounded like an ancient truth. As if the Castel had already escaped the world before. Gabriel approached Lina, finally. — I want to see the passage, he said. Lina stared at him. — No. — Lina, Gabriel insisted. If we’re going to survive, we have to understand. — Understand what? Lina replied. That the house is a labyrinth? I know that. And I also know that the more people who know about the passage… the more it becomes a weapon. Gabriel gritted his teeth. — You can’t keep this to yourself. Lina replied, cuttingly: — Yes. And I’m going to. Hélène placed a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder, gently. — We listen to Lina, she whispered. Gabriel fell silent. But his eyes said: I’m not giving up. Ariane, for her part, approached Sacha like a woman negotiating. — What are you going to do? Ariane asked. Stop? Continue? Sell the tragedy? Sacha smiled. — I’m going to protect what we’ve created. Ariane tilted her head. — And the dead? Sacha didn't blink. — They will be part of the story. Ariane shivered. Thomas, beside her, turned pale. For him, this wasn't a story. It was a horror. Nina looked at Lina, her eyes wet. — Capucine… Nina whispered. She was… Lina cut her off, gently. — Don’t force yourself through that right now. Nina swallowed. — I can’t… stop seeing them. Lina placed a hand on her wrist, a brief, human gesture. — Then look at me, Lina said. Look at the living. Léo, nearby, observed the gesture. He said nothing. But Lina felt his jealousy, even then, even on this morning of death. Which proved one thing: certain violences never die. 09:10 — The decision of the closed-door: no more phones, no more network, no more escape The tipping point came when a couple — not one of the main ones, but one of the secondary guests selected to “spice up” certain games, who had remained discreet until then — asked for their phone. — I want to call, the man said. I need to talk to my brother. Now. Lina explained, tiredly: — Phones don't get signal here. It’s the zone. And… the system. The man turned toward Sacha. — You have a connection for streaming, so don't tell me we can't make a call! Sacha had that landlord smile. — The connection is private. Secure. It’s not used for… — To help us, the man interrupted. Silence. Sacha didn't answer. He didn't need to. The Castel Pink had always been built this way: everything for the show, nothing for the escape. Carmen intervened, sharply. — Phones stay in the lockers. As stipulated in the contract. — But people are dead! the man’s wife screamed. Carmen stared at her. — Exactly. Lina felt the metallic taste of irony. They had just officially locked the "huis clos." No more phones. No more network. No more “outside.” And paradoxically, the live feed continued. Lina saw this inconsistency like a slap: They could be seen by the entire world… but they couldn't talk to the world. A transparent cage. The most beautiful kind of prison. 11:40 — The public transforms the tragedy into a game In the living room, the screens now displayed automatic “polls.” “WHO IS THE KILLER?” “IS IT A SET-UP?” “SHOULD IT CONTINUE?” And worse: “missions” were appearing, proposed by fan collectives. “MISSION CALM: a moment of collective tenderness.” “MISSION TRUTH: a couple confesses a secret.” “MISSION JUSTICE: interrogation in the hall of mirrors.” Lina looked at Véra. — They’re gamifying a murder. Véra replied, white-faced: — They gamify everything. Sacha, for his part, was almost happy. — It will channel the crowd, he said. Lina stared at him. — Above all, it’s going to give the killer a role. Sacha smiled, and his smile was an admission without being one. — Maybe he needs one. Lina felt a wave of nausea. Because she understood that a killer, in a place like this, could kill for a thousand reasons. Jealousy, money, revenge. But they could also kill for a more modern, dirtier reason: to write a moment that everyone will see. And that idea made the Castel Pink even more dangerous. 13:00 — Soft interrogation: the masks fall without violence Carmen imposed a first interrogation sequence, simple and unofficial. No threats. No shouting. Just structure. She gathered everyone in the living room. The screens, of course, were broadcasting. The public, obviously, drank in every micro-expression. — We’re going to talk, Carmen said. Each in turn. Where were you during the blackout? With whom? Silence. Then the answers began. And Lina quickly understood: the blackout had created holes. Blind spots. Blurred minutes. Gestures impossible to verify. Soraya swore she was at the bar with Mika. Mika confirmed, but his voice was trembling too much. Kiara said she was at the cinema with Sana and Maël, “laughing.” Sana confirmed, with a strange smile. Maël confirmed, too smoothly. Ariane said she was with Thomas, but Thomas hesitated before nodding. Nina said she was near the pool; Mila confirmed. Léo confirmed, but his gaze never left Elliot. Hélène said she was with Gabriel; Gabriel confirmed, but added that he had “heard a noise” near the stairs — just an impression. Elliot, when his turn came, answered calmly: — I was near the walls. I was observing. Carmen stared at him. — Observing what? Elliot smiled. — The people who are lying. A shiver went through the living room. Lina felt her anger rising. — What game are you playing? Lina snapped. Elliot looked at her, calm. — I’m playing at surviving, he said softly. Lina hated that answer. Because it was perfectly rational. Carmen concluded: — Nobody moves alone. And if someone is lying, I will know. Soraya whispered, almost inaudibly: — You won’t know anything. Nobody knows anything here. Lina heard her. And she felt the truth behind it: at Castel Pink, ignorance was a condition of the game. And the game had just produced a murder. 16:10 — End of the chapter: horror mingles with desire Evening was approaching. And with it, a question no one dared to ask out loud: Do we continue to play? Nobody wanted to be the one to say “yes” after two deaths. Nobody wanted to be the one to say “no” when the world was watching and the money was becoming an emergency exit. In a corner of the living room, Sana approached Kiara and whispered: — Do you know what it feels like, to be alive when others aren't? Kiara shivered. — Stop. Sana smiled. — I’m not scaring you. I’m telling you the truth. Death… it makes the skin more sensitive. Kiara stepped back, but her gaze betrayed one thing: she was afraid, yes… and that fear was mixing with something more troubled. Maël observed the scene and smiled, satisfied. Soraya observed and seethed. Léo observed and hardened. Ariane observed and was already calculating how to transform the following night into an advantage. Gabriel observed the house. And Lina observed everything, searching for the thread. In the control room, Nassim showed Lina a new figure. A figure that looked like an insult. — We’re at over a million new subscribers since the deaths, he said. Lina closed her eyes. — They’re subscribing because they think we’re going to die next, she whispered. Élodie replied, coldly: — They’re subscribing because they want to be there when it happens. Lina turned toward the screens. The upstairs hallway. The door to Suite 5. The lock. The key. A relic. Then she looked at the house: the bar, the mirrors, the dungeon, the pool. All this luxury. All this sensuality. All this promise. And now, in the middle of it, a freezing truth: the Castel Pink is a trap that excites. Lina felt exhaustion hit her all at once. An exhaustion that wasn't in the muscles. An exhaustion in the soul. She straightened up anyway. Because she finally understood what was waiting for her: The next night, they wouldn't just be fighting against a killer. They would be fighting against the crowd. And against that human impulse, indecent and true: to seek desire even when death is standing right there. The sun was setting over the countryside. The house, meanwhile, stayed awake. And Lina, at the center, knew there would be no more “pauses.” There would only be chapters.

Chapter 9 — Night 5: The Trial of the Bodies Evening fell over Castel Pink like a hand over a mouth. Outside, the countryside between Perpignan and the Spanish border darkened peacefully, indifferent. The trees had not heard the Sanctuary's silent cry. The hills did not know that two corpses lay upstairs behind an armored door, in a suite turned mausoleum. Inside, however, nothing was peaceful. The house was overheating. Not the overheating of a party. The overheating of a lockdown. Castel Pink had been built as a glamorous fortress: armored shutters, locked doors, isolated grounds, not a soul for five kilometers, a place whose address no one knew. That was its commercial strength. Now, it was also its sentence. And then there was that other truth, more modern, dirtier: The entire world was watching. Every breath in the living room had a price. Every look was interpreted. Every silence became evidence. Lina stood near the control room, as if the place had become her command post. She had changed since the day before: not in beauty, but in density. She no longer smiled. Even her movements seemed calculated, as if she feared a gesture too quick might trigger a panic. Carmen was in the living room, motionless, arms crossed—a living wall. Mila was still moving about, human, warm, the only one who spoke to them as living people and not as characters. Véra managed the staging like one holds a knife: with elegance and caution. Nassim, Élodie, and Tom, in the control room, were the Eye. And the Eye, now, was afraid. Sacha, meanwhile, possessed a dangerous calm. He looked at the numbers the way one looks at an oracle. He heard the chaos like music. He breathed in the catastrophe like a perfume. The live stream displayed an indecent counter. LIVE — 19:58 Connected: 10,904,700 JACKPOT: $12,670,000 “JUSTICE” “WHO KILLED THE DELCOURTS” “WE WANT CONFESSIONS” “WE WANT TO CONTINUE” “NO CUTTING THE FEED THIS TIME” The people were hungry. For sex, yes. But mostly for meaning. Because a human being can watch bodies for a long time… But they cannot long endure watching a mystery without trying to solve it. And tonight, the mystery had a price. 20:06 — Sacha’s Proposal: Turning the Night into a Courtroom Sacha stepped forward, microphone in hand, as if nothing had been broken. As if Castel Pink could simply "resume." "Good evening," he said. The word tasted like scandal. In the living room, the couples reacted differently. Soraya Benali straightened her shoulders, a queen without a crown, but a queen nonetheless. Mika, beside her, never took his eyes off the stairs, as if his anger were looking for a door to kick down. Kiara Santini smiled too broadly, nervous. Maël, on the other hand, seemed almost rested. Ariane Lemaître maintained an impeccable mask. Thomas, beside her, still seemed cracked from the inside. Nina Vasseur’s eyes were damp. Léo, however, had the eyes of a man suspicious of everything that breathed. Hélène Morel was calm, but her hand remained resting on the back of Gabriel’s neck as if holding a thread. Sana and Elliot were slightly set back. Sana looked excited by the tension. Elliot looked… interested. Sacha continued, his voice soft: "Yesterday, you experienced something unimaginable." Lina felt a cold rage. *Yesterday.* As if it were an episode. "And yet," Sacha said, "you are here." He paused. "Alive. Together. And watched by… the entire world." The chat exploded. LIVE — 20:08 “THE WHOLE WORLD IS WATCHING” “SACHA DON’T TAKE YOURSELF FOR GOD” “JUSTICE” “NO MORE BLABBER” Sacha smiled. "I’ll be clear. We cannot leave. We cannot call out. The police are informed, they are searching, but they cannot locate us. So…" He let the *so* float. "So we hold on," he said. "We protect ourselves. And we do not let fear govern us." Lina felt the trap: he was selling resistance as a show. Sacha added, and his voice became almost tender: "Tonight, we are not having a party. We are having a vigil." The word—elegant, soothing. And yet, behind it, a mechanism: we continue. Lina approached him, grabbed his arm, no mic, no smile. "No," she whispered. "No vigil-show. No games." Sacha turned his head, calm. "Lina, the crowd demands it. And if we don’t give, they will take. They will dox us. They will send drones. They will try to find us. They will turn us into targets." "We are already targets," Lina replied. Sacha gave a small smile. "Then we might as well be rich targets." Lina-clenched her teeth. Véra approached, slipping between them with the diplomacy of a woman who understands both monsters: the one in the house and the one in the public. "Lina," Véra said softly, "we can’t turn off the machine all at once. But we can slow it down. We can divert it toward something structured." Carmen, who had overheard, laid down a sentence like a law: "Tonight, I want everyone visible. And I want simple rules." Mila added, more gently: "And I want them to feel alive, otherwise they’ll explode." Lina looked at the faces. She saw the state they were in: fear, fatigue, nervous desire, wounded egos. She understood the truth, the only one that matters in a lockdown: If you prevent people from discharging tension, they will discharge it any way they can. So Lina nodded, but her gaze was a threat. "Fine. But this doesn't become a hunt. This doesn't become a murder game." Sacha smiled, almost sincerely. "Exactly," he said. "We’re going to do the opposite." And he raised the microphone. "Tonight," Sacha said, "we have only one framework: The Chamber of Truths." On the screens, a stylized title appeared. CHAMBER OF TRUTHS — The Mirror Room. Rule: One truth per person. Rule: No direct accusations. Rule: Desire stays alive. Rule: Pink Stop. Lina felt a shiver. The mirror room… The place where everything multiplies. The place where a lie can become true just by being reflected. The chat exploded, obviously. LIVE — 20:14 Connected: 11,308,200 JACKPOT: $13,420,000 “YESSSSS” “CONFESSIONS” “MIRRORS = JUSTICE” “MAKE THEM SNITCH” “ANYTHING BUT CUTTING THE FEED” Lina closed her eyes for a second. The crowd had just been granted a tribunal. 20:22 — Before the Mirrors: Couples Fracture in Private The house, as always, transformed the announcement into intimate micro-wars. Benali Suite — Soraya and Mika Soraya was adjusting her makeup like armor. Mika paced nervously from the armored window to the bed, from the bed to the dressing room, like an animal in a cage that was far too beautiful. "I don’t want to go," Mika said. Soraya turned to him, calm, dangerous. "What do you want to do? Hide? Let the others paint us as guilty?" Mika clenched his jaw. "I don’t care about the public." Soraya gave a dry laugh. "No. You don’t care when you’re strong. Right now, you’re trembling because you know they can see." Mika stepped closer, too close. "Stop it." Soraya placed a finger on his lips. "Mika… listen to me. The Delcourts are dead. The house is a trap. And we are still here." She paused. "So we become untouchable." Mika stared at her, and for the first time, Lina could have sworn he was afraid… of Soraya. "Untouchable how?" Mika whispered. Soraya smiled. "By taking back power. Through the image. Through desire. And through the truth… the one we choose." Santini Suite — Kiara and Maël Kiara was laughing to keep from screaming. Maël, sitting on the edge of the bed, was far too calm. "Do you think this is normal?" Kiara asked. "That we’re doing 'truths' after that?" Maël shrugged. "People need a structure. Otherwise they go crazy." "And you, what are you becoming?" Kiara snapped. Maël stood up slowly, approached her, and placed his hands on Kiara’s waist. "Me? I’m becoming lucid." Kiara shivered. "You’re worrying me, Maël." He smiled sweetly. "That’s because you’re finally seeing what I’ve always been." Kiara wanted to respond, but Sana appeared at the threshold without knocking, as if the house had invited her. "Are you ready?" Sana said with a dark smile. Kiara recoiled slightly, then gave a nervous laugh. "You walk around like you own the place." Sana stepped closer, her voice dropping low: "In a house where the dead are sleeping upstairs… nobody owns the place." Maël observed Sana, and Lina would have sworn there was a spark of recognition between them: two predators saluting each other. Vasseur Suite — Nina and Léo Nina was trembling. Not from cold, but from saturation. She looked at herself in the mirror, and her eyes seemed like those of a stranger. "I don’t want them to look at me tonight," Nina whispered. Léo, behind her, answered too quickly: "Then we won’t go." Nina turned to him. "You’re not the one who decides." Léo froze. "Nina…" She stepped toward him, placing her hand on his chest. "I want to be free, Léo. Even here. Especially here." Léo swallowed. "Free… and dead?" he whispered. Nina went pale. "Don't say that." Léo approached, putting his hands on Nina's shoulders, too tightly. "I’m protecting you." Nina stared at him. "No. You’re holding me." Silence fell. Then Nina, more softly: "We’re going. But you stay… dignified." Léo nodded. But in his eyes, Lina would have seen it: dignity is a costume that cracks easily. Morel Suite — Hélène and Gabriel Gabriel was putting on his shirt like a man going to trial. Hélène watched him, calm. "You want to talk," Hélène said. Gabriel didn’t deny it. "Yes. And I want to understand." Hélène stepped closer, placing a light kiss on his temple. "Don’t try to understand a place that lies by its very nature," she whispered. Gabriel smiled sadly. "Then what do I do?" Hélène replied: "You look at me. And you stay alive." Lemaître Suite — Ariane and Thomas Thomas’s hands were cold. Ariane, however, was impeccable. "I don’t want them to force me to say things," Thomas whispered. Ariane placed her hands on his tie, straightening it slowly. "No one is forcing you to do anything." Thomas stared at her. "Ariane… you know exactly how it works here." Ariane smiled, and her smile had a hidden blade. "Exactly. I know." She leaned in, her voice low. "And you, you’re going to do what you always do: you’re going to apologize for existing. Well, tonight, you’re going to stop." Thomas swallowed hard. "And if I lose myself?" Ariane replied sweetly: "Then I will find you… if you ask me to." Thomas shivered. Because this woman could be a refuge. And a trap. 20:41 — The Mirror Room Becomes an Arena The mirror room had been designed for desire: reflections, depth, illusion, multiplied bodies. Tonight, it would serve another purpose: the justice of the crowd. The cameras were discreet but present, integrated into corners and cornices. The living room screens broadcasted the room in a mosaic. And the chat, outside, was a permanent roar. Véra entered first, microphone in hand, elegant and calm. Carmen stood at the entrance, acting as a human gate. Mila stayed inside, in the center, so that gentleness might still exist. Lina stayed near a corner, not in the center. Because she knew: if you become the center, you become a target. Sacha entered, of course, last—like a king arriving at his tribunal. "Well," Véra said. "Chamber of Truths. One truth per person. We do not accuse. We say 'I,' not 'you.'" The public protested immediately. They wanted names. They wanted culprits. LIVE — 20:43 “NO WE WANT NAMES” “WHO IS THE KILLER” “THEY ARE PROTECTING SOMEONE” Véra smiled coldly. "Here," she said, "you are not the ones in command." The chat paid even more. Because the public loves it when you resist them… as long as they can pay to break that resistance. Sacha took the floor, as if to soothe. "We are all in shock. But we are going to do this properly. And we are going to keep… the warmth. Because the warmth is what holds us together." Lina hated that phrase, but she understood: he was right. The heat prevented the explosion. Véra pointed to the first person. "Soraya." Soraya stepped forward, mask in hand, dark dress, eyes shining. She knew how to own a stage. "My truth," Soraya said, "is that I am jealous." A murmur ran through the room. Soraya continued without trembling: "I am jealous of those who seem to fear nothing. I am jealous of people who are loved. I am jealous… of the attention." Mika tensed up. Soraya barely looked at him. "And my second truth… is that this jealousy makes me dangerous. But not a murderer." She smiled. "I don’t need to kill to win." The public exploded: some cheered, others vomited insults. LIVE — 20:46 “SHE’S ADMITTING IT” “DANGEROUS = GUILTY” “QUEEN SORAYA” “MIKA IS WEIRD” Véra raised her hand. "Mika." Mika stepped forward, stiffer, sharper. He didn’t like to talk. He didn't like being read. "My truth," he said, "is that I couldn't stand the humiliation." He swallowed. "I couldn't stand feeling like we were being watched like… extras." Soraya stared at him, glacial. Mika continued, his voice lower: "And during the feed cut… I wanted to go upstairs." A shiver ran through the room. Carmen moved a millimeter, like a reminder: don't lie. Mika added: "I didn't do it. But I wanted to." The chat caught fire. LIVE — 20:49 “MOTIVE” “HE WANTED TO GO UP” “IT’S HIM” “WE WANT THE REPLAYS” Lina felt a chill. This game was manufacturing suspects on demand. Véra followed up quickly. "Kiara." Kiara stepped forward with a nervous smile. "My truth… is that danger excites me." Silence. She laughed, as if to lighten the mood, but her laugh was shaky. "It’s always been that way. The risk… the limit… it’s like it switches something on." Maël looked at her gently. Kiara added: "And I hate it. Because I know it’s unhealthy." Sana, behind her, barely whispered: "It’s true." Lina turned to Sana. "Sana, your turn." Sana stepped forward like a panther, calm, with a dark smile. "My truth," Sana said, "is that I am not afraid of death." A shiver ran through the room. "Because death isn't a monster," Sana continued. "It’s a door. And sometimes… you brush against it, and you feel alive." Kiara shuddered. The public outside went wild. Because Sana was perfect for them: a sexy threat. LIVE — 20:54 “SANA IS DIABOLICAL” “IT’S HER” “NO IT’S TOO EASY” “PAYING FOR SANA + KIARA” Lina felt a weight: the crowd was already starting to fabricate its own version of the killer. Véra pressed on, faster, to prevent the room from turning into a lynch mob. "Maël." Maël stepped forward with a slow smile. "My truth," he said, "is that I love being watched." He let the sentence breathe. "And my second truth… is that I am at my best when others are trembling." Kiara stared at him, shocked. Ariane smiled, almost admiringly. The chat roared. "Ariane." Ariane stepped forward, impeccable. "My truth," she said, "is that I understand systems." She looked at the mirrors. "And Castel Pink is a system. It rewards beauty, transgression, narrative." She turned toward Sacha. "And this system… manufactured a murder." A deathly silence. Sacha smiled, but his eyes hardened. Ariane added without trembling: "My second truth: I don’t believe in coincidences. Not here." Thomas went pale. "Thomas," Véra said. Thomas stepped forward, his voice broken. "My truth… is that I want to go home." The sentence hurt, because it was the only one that was truly human. "And my second truth," Thomas whispered, "is that… I wanted to continue to desire… even after." He hung his head, ashamed. Mila approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It’s normal," Mila whispered. "It’s human." The public, however, had no mercy. They were paying to judge. "Nina." Nina stepped forward, trembling. She gripped her hands together like a prayer. "My truth," Nina said, "is that I feel guilty for being alive." Silence. "And my second truth… is that I want to be free, even if it kills me." Léo clenched his teeth. "Léo." Léo stepped forward like a man about to bite. "My truth," he said, "is that I trust no one." He stared at Elliot. "And my second truth… is that I can become violent if anyone touches what belongs to me." Nina closed her eyes. Carmen tensed, ready to intervene. The chat exploded: “THERE’S THE KILLER,” “POSSESSIVE,” “DANGEROUS.” Lina felt the situation slipping. "Hélène." Hélène stepped forward, calm, her voice soft. "My truth," she said, "is that I don’t believe love protects." She cast a glance at Gabriel. "I believe love reveals. And tonight, it reveals that we are fragile." Gabriel swallowed hard. "Gabriel." Gabriel stepped forward, and his voice was that of a man who had made up his mind. "My truth," he said, "is that Suite 5 has a passage." The room froze. Even Sacha froze for a fraction of a second. Lina felt her blood run cold. Gabriel continued, without looking at Lina: "And my second truth… is that someone used it." The chat exploded like a bombardment. LIVE — 21:06 Connected: 12,204,900 “SECRET PASSAGE CONFIRMED” “WHO USED IT” “GIVE NAMES” “IT’S THE CREW” “IT’S SACHA” Lina wanted to kill Gabriel with her eyes. Carmen took a step forward. "Stop," Carmen said. "We are not giving details." Gabriel stared at her, calm. "You want to survive? Then you need to know." Carmen replied coldly: "You want to play the hero? You’re going to get us killed." Lina approached Gabriel, whispering through her teeth: "Why did you do that?" Gabriel looked at her, and his gaze was sad. "Because I refuse to die in silence." Lina felt a surge of rage. And an involuntary admiration. Because he had broken the secret. And sometimes, breaking a secret saves you… or condemns you. Sacha reclaimed the microphone immediately, like a king reclaiming his throne. "Thank you," he said. "That is a useful truth." Lina glared at him: *Don’t you dare use it.* Sacha continued anyway: "So tonight, we are going to do two things: we stay together… and we let the public help us." Lina felt her stomach turn. "No," Lina cut in, snatching the mic with a sharp gesture. "The public isn't helping us. The public is watching." Silence fell. Then the chat paid even more. Because the line was good. Véra, ever intelligent, took back control. "We’ll stop there," Véra said. "The rest… will be handled by security. Now, we return to the warmth." She launched the second part, which was even more dangerous. "Vigil Ritual." The screens displayed the rule: A moment of tenderness per couple. A gesture, a word, a look. Not for the public. For yourselves. A rule that seemed gentle. But at Castel Pink, tenderness is sometimes the sharpest weapon. Because it reveals who holds whom. Who dominates. Who cracks. 21:18 — Parallel Montage: Warmth Resumes… Under Surveillance The house split into simultaneous scenes, like a film that refused to stop. 1) The Bar — Soraya Reclaims Her Territory Soraya settled at the bar like a queen on a throne. Mika stayed beside her, but not glued to her. They were a couple that was fracturing and trying to hide it. Soraya placed her hand on the back of Mika’s neck, gently. "Look at me," she whispered. "We’re still here." Mika stared at her, his eyes hard. "We’re trapped," he replied. Soraya smiled. "Trapped… or chosen." Mika gave a dry laugh. "You’re still playing." Soraya leaned in, very close, and her voice became low, almost intimate: "Yes. Because if I stop playing, I become a victim. And I will not be a victim." She brushed her lips against his, just enough to wake up whatever was still alive in his body. Not a crude scene. A promise. Mika inhaled. His anger transformed into tension. And outside, the chat paid. 2) The Indoor Pool — Nina Breathes, Léo Cracks Mila had taken Nina near the water. Because water at Castel Pink had this power: it absorbed screams. Nina sat at the edge. Elliot stood at a distance, calm and respectful. Léo, however, was pacing like an animal. "Come," Nina said to Léo softly. "Sit down." Léo sat, stiff. Nina placed her hand on his wrist. "We’re alive," Nina whispered. "Look at me." Léo looked at her, and his gaze was that of a man who loved too much. "I want us to leave," he said. "We can't," Nina replied. Léo clenched his teeth. "Then I want to… keep you close to me." Nina closed her eyes. Then she replied, more firmly: "You don’t keep me. You choose me. There’s a difference." Léo trembled with a contained rage. Elliot, from behind, said calmly: "She’s right." Léo turned, ready to explode. Carmen appeared like a shadow. "Léo," she said. "You stay calm." Léo swallowed. He went quiet. But Lina, watching on a screen, understood: that violence doesn't disappear. It waits. 3) The Cinema — Kiara and Sana, the Dangerous Flame In the cinema, the atmosphere was darker, more humid. Kiara sat in an armchair, Sana beside her, too close, but not touching. A proximity that burned. Maël was a bit further away, intentionally. He let it happen, because he knew: watching a woman being desired by another woman was also a scene of power. Sana whispered: "You’re trembling." Kiara laughed nervously. "I’m trembling because… everything is so weird." Sana placed her finger on the inside of Kiara’s wrist, just a point of skin. "No. You’re trembling because you’re alive." Kiara closed her eyes for a second. And in that second, Lina felt the wave: desire was there, intact, charged with fear, more powerful than ever. Maël watched with a slow smile. "You’re playing with fire," he said to Sana. Sana answered without looking at him: "Fire is the only thing that gives light when the power cuts out." Kiara opened her eyes again, and her look said: *Don’t do this to me… and keep going.* The chat paid again. 4) The BDSM Room — Ariane and Thomas, Control as Refuge Ariane had chosen the dungeon not to shock, but to feel in control. Thomas followed her, anxious. Carmen had forbidden any excess. No drifting. No dangerous scenes. Just aesthetics. Ariane placed a hand on Thomas’s cheek. "Look at me," she said. "Not the cameras. Me." Thomas obeyed. Ariane whispered: "Fear makes you small. I want you big." She made him close his eyes, made him breathe. Everything was in the suggestion, in the tension, in this way of existing for each other despite the world. Thomas whispered: "I don’t want to die here." Ariane replied sweetly: "Then stay with me." 5) A Hallway — Lina and Gabriel, the Investigation Despite Everything While the house sought warmth, Lina was seeking the truth. She caught Gabriel near the stairs, out of the living room’s camera range. "Why did you blab about the passage?" Lina whispered. Gabriel stared at her. "Because someone is using it. And because I don’t want to be next." Lina clenched her teeth. "You gave the public a weapon." Gabriel replied: "The public already has all the weapons. You just refuse to see it." Lina took a breath. "Fine. Then you help me. But you listen to me. You don’t talk. You observe." Gabriel nodded. They went up one floor… not toward Suite 5 (which was locked and sealed), but toward an adjacent technical corridor, a place known only to the staff and the floor plans. Joan intercepted them. "No," Joan said. Lina stared him down. "Joan, you owe me the truth." Joan replied calmly: "I owe you security." "Security no longer exists," Lina spat. Joan looked at her for a long time, then took a step back. "Five minutes," he said. "No more." Lina passed by. The technical corridor smelled of stone. Of the old. The inn beneath the luxury. Lina felt a shiver: Castel Pink was a new skin on an old skeleton. Gabriel placed his hand on the wall, searching for joints, for irregularities. "Here," he whispered. He pointed to a tiny trace: displaced dust, as if a panel had been opened recently. Lina felt her heart beat faster. "Do you see?" Gabriel said. "No need for a camera. The wall speaks." Lina brushed the dust. Then she felt something else, minute: a smell. Not the smell of stone. A smell of metal, of mechanical grease. "Someone is maintaining these passages," Lina whispered. Gabriel nodded. "Or someone uses them often." Lina thought of Joan. Then of Tom. Then of the control room. She felt a cold fear: if the passage was known by several, then the killer could be anyone. And if the passage was known by only one… then that one was very close to power. 22:07 — The Public Wants “Justice”: The Most Toxic Mission In the living room, the screens changed: a new mission appeared, funded by a collective jackpot. JUSTICE MISSION — “The Circle” A circle in the living room. Each person may ask ONE question to someone else. Mandatory response: Yes / No / I don't know. The crowd was paying to turn the survivors into both jury and prey. Lina returned to the living room just as Véra was reading the mission, looking pale. "We can’t do this," Véra whispered. Sacha smiled. "Yes. We can. And it will calm the pack." Lina glared at him. "It’s mostly going to excite the killer." Sacha replied, almost tenderly: "Then let him tremble." Lina felt a shiver: Sacha spoke as if the killer were a concept, not a person. Carmen cut in: "We do a structured version. No witch hunts. No direct accusations. And at the slightest overflow, I’m stopping it." Véra nodded, constrained. Lina understood: they couldn't stop the mission. They could only prevent it from becoming a lynching. So the house organized itself. A circle was formed in the living room. Softer lighting. Low music, almost non-existent. The cameras framed the faces like a trial. LIVE — 22:12 Connected: 13,010,800 JACKPOT: $14,980,000 “THE CIRCLE” “WE WANT YES/NO” “WHO LIED” Sacha, obviously, placed himself outside the circle, like a judge who does not judge himself. Véra announced: "One question each. Maintain respect. Do not destroy." The circle began. Soraya asked her question to Nina. "Were you jealous of Capucine? Yes or no." Nina went pale. She answered, honest and trembling: "Yes." The chat screamed: “MOTIVE,” “NO THAT’S NORMAL.” Nina asked her question to Léo. "Are you capable of doing harm… to keep me? Yes or no." Léo remained motionless. Then, far too slowly: "I don't know." The answer was worse than a yes. Léo asked his question to Elliot. "Did you come here because you knew things were going to go off the rails? Yes or no." Elliot smiled calmly. "No." Léo sneered. "Liar." Carmen stepped forward. "Léo, stop." Kiara asked her question to Sana. "Do you like scaring people? Yes or no." Sana smiled. "Yes." The audience relished it. Sana asked her question to Maël. "Are you manipulating Kiara? Yes or no." Maël smiled. "I don't know." Kiara stared at him, wounded. Maël asked his question to Soraya. "Would you be willing to sacrifice someone to win? Yes or no." Soraya replied without trembling: "No." But her eyes said something else: *I won’t sacrifice them… I’ll just nudge them until they fall.* Ariane asked her question to Sacha. "Have you thought, for one second, about using death to create buzz? Yes or no." The living room froze. Even the chat seemed to hold its breath. Sacha smiled. Then he answered: "Yes." A horrified murmur ran through the circle. Thomas turned pale. Hélène’s gaze went icy. Gabriel clenched his teeth. Sacha added, as if making a noble confession: "Because I know that if I lose control, the crowd becomes uncontrollable. So yes. I’ve thought of everything." Lina felt a cold rage. That "yes" was a confession. Not of murder. But of cynicism. Gabriel asked his question to Tom, from a distance, without warning—breaking the rule slightly, but in a way that seemed natural. "Tom, did you touch the streams during the feed cut? Yes or no." The living room froze. Tom blinked, surprised. Then he smiled. "No." The answer was clean. Too clean. Lina stared at Tom, and she felt something: Tom wasn't afraid. In a place where two people are dead, those who aren't afraid are either idiots… or dangerous. The circle ended with a tension higher than before. Because the game, under the pretext of truth, had just manufactured visible fractures. And fractures, in an isolated house, become opportunities. 23:08 — Heat Becomes a Weapon: “Proving We Are Alive” After the Circle, the atmosphere shifted into a strange necessity. Bodies had been humiliated by questions. Minds had been burned by suspicion. So, like a reflex, the house slid toward the only language it knew: sensuality. Not the hardcore. Not the vulgar. But that elegant, toxic rise, where a look becomes a soft slap and a smile becomes a promise. Sacha launched one last mission, more "glamorous," allegedly soothing: VIGIL MISSION — “The Pact” Each couple chooses another couple. A pact of protection. A symbolic gesture before the camera. The public was paying to see who allied with whom. Alliances formed. Hélène and Gabriel chose Nina and Léo—by instinct, by compassion, perhaps by strategy. Hélène took Nina’s hand in front of the screen. "We stay close," Hélène whispered. Nina nodded, her eyes wet. Soraya chose Ariane—two women of control. Soraya placed her fingers on Ariane’s. "If you fall," Soraya said, "I fall with you." Ariane smiled. "You’re lying," she whispered. Soraya replied with a bright smile: "Of course." Kiara chose… Sana. The living room shivered. Because this choice was an act. Kiara took Sana’s hand, nervously. Sana smiled, satisfied. Maël observed, and his eyes hardened slightly. A small detail. But Lina saw it. Sana had just taken a place in Kiara’s story. Elliot, meanwhile, remained without a pact. No one chose him. Or rather: everyone was afraid to choose a man that no one understood. The public loved this solitude. They paid for it. LIVE — 23:15 Connected: 13,980,400 “ELLIOT ALONE = SUS” “SANA + KIARA OMG” “SORAYA + ARIANE DANGEROUS” “NEXT DEATH?” Lina felt a surge of nausea. “Next death” had become a category of entertainment. 00:02 — A Detail in Control: The Shadow of a Command Midnight passed without any triumphal music. Midnight passed like a blink. Because here, no one celebrated the hour anymore. They endured it. Lina went back to the control room. She wanted to check one thing: the cut from the day before. Logs. Fluctuations. Inverters. Nassim showed her the curves. "Look," he said. "Here, 01:19. Fluctuation. Here, 01:20… drop. Then it resumes at 01:34." Lina stared at the screen. "It could be accidental," Nassim said. "But…" "But?" Lina asked. Élodie answered dryly: "But it’s too clean. A 'natural' cut creates chaotic oscillations. This… it’s almost a switch." Lina felt a chill. "So it was provoked?" Élodie shrugged. "Or assisted." Lina turned to Tom. "Tom. What exactly were you working on during the cut?" Tom answered, far too quickly: "I was managing the transitions." Lina stared at him. "Transitions on a black screen?" Tom smiled. "Exactly. For the resume. So we wouldn't lose the stream." Lina stepped closer. "Show me your access logs." Tom blinked, looking slightly annoyed. "Lina, are you suspecting me?" Lina replied coldly: "I suspect everything that breathes." Tom gave a thin, offended smile. "I didn't do anything." Nassim avoided Lina’s gaze. Élodie, however, stared at Tom as if she already had a theory. Lina understood: the control room was a minefield. If they destroyed each other, the killer would win. She forced herself to step back. "Fine. But from now on," Lina said, "double control. No one is alone at a console. No one." Élodie nodded. Nassim did too. Tom smiled, but his eyes… his eyes remained too calm. And Lina, as she left the control room, felt a certainty hit her: The killer doesn't need a knife. He needs a button. 00:36 — The Invisible Message: Someone is Playing with the Narrative When Lina returned to the living room, the live stream was displaying something new: a "suggestion" from the public, funded en masse, appearing as a banner. “DO A TOUR OF THE DOORS” “SHOW THE LOCKS ON THE SUITES” “PROOF THEY ARE ALL THERE” The crowd wanted to verify their presence. As if an inventory could prevent death. Carmen refused flatly. "No." The chat screamed. The donations doubled. Sacha approached Carmen, his voice low. "Carmen, we can do it in a structured way. A quick check. An 'everyone is here.'" Carmen stared at him, glacial. "You want an inventory of the living… to calm the dead?" Sacha smiled. "To calm the spectators." Carmen replied sharply: "The spectators are not in the house. I protect those who are." Lina felt a surge of gratitude. Carmen was still holding a human line. But the crowd insisted. And then, on a secondary screen, a tiny event occurred. An internal pop-up, reserved for staff, appeared on Lina’s tablet: a system notification. “Technical Panel — Floor Zone: Activity detected.” Lina froze. Floor zone. She looked up at Carmen. "Someone is upstairs," Lina whispered. Carmen turned toward the stairs immediately. "Impossible. The floor is locked down." Lina showed her the notification. Carmen went pale. "Joan!" she shouted. Joan appeared, as if he were already there. "What?" Carmen showed him the tablet. Joan stared at the screen, then answered far too calmly: "False sensor. It happens." Lina stared at him. "False… whenever it’s convenient?" Joan didn't answer. Lina felt a cold sweat. Because she understood: someone could play with the sensors just like they played with the live feed. And if it were false, why now? And if it weren't false… Then someone had just approached the floor. 00:52 — Lina Goes Up: The Corridor is No Longer Just a Corridor Carmen wanted to go alone. Lina refused. "I’m coming." "No," Carmen said. "You’re too exposed." Lina replied: "I don't care." Véra tried to stop them. "If you go up, the public will understand. They’ll panic." Lina replied coldly: "They’re already panicking. I refuse to die because we didn't dare walk up a flight of stairs." Carmen nodded. They went up together. The upstairs corridor was colder. Always. The carpet seemed to absorb their footsteps. The cameras in the corridor, of course, were filming. The live feed switched almost instantaneously to the floor, because the public was paying for it. The crowd felt the tension even before they understood the cause. LIVE — 00:55 Connected: 14,802,700 “THEY’RE GOING UP” “WHAT’S HAPPENING” “NEXT DRAMA” Lina felt a wave of rage: they were waiting for the drama like it was dessert. Carmen stopped in the middle of the corridor. "Listen," she whispered. Silence. Then… a tiny sound. Like a rubbing noise. Lina felt her heart stop. Carmen gestured to Lina: *Stay behind me.* They advanced to a technical door, usually not visible to the public: a small door in a recess leading to a maintenance room. Carmen placed her hand on the handle. "Do you have the keys?" Lina whispered. Carmen nodded. She opened it. The room smelled of dust, electricity, and oil. A raw world in the heart of luxury. Lina entered, her eyes scanning. Carmen swept the floor with her gaze. And there, in a corner, a detail. A small thing, almost ridiculous. A black ribbon. Not an "accessory" ribbon. A technical ribbon: a zip tie, cut. Someone had been tampering. Lina picked up the tie, feeling it between her fingers. "This didn't come from us," Carmen whispered. Lina nodded. "Someone came in here." Carmen looked at the cables and the boxes. "And someone touched them." Lina felt a cold panic. Because this room was the belly of the house. This was where you could act on the electricity, the sensors, the internal streams. Carmen turned to Lina. "You’re thinking about the cut." Lina replied, almost voiceless: "Yes." And in the shadows of the room, Lina thought she heard… a breath. She froze. Carmen did too. Then, behind them in the corridor, the sound of footsteps. Fast. Fleeing. Carmen burst out of the room. The corridor was empty. But at the end of it, a door had just closed—a dull, sharp thud. Carmen ran. Lina followed. The door in question led toward a part of the floor near the old core of the inn—where the passages existed. Carmen placed her hand on the handle: locked. Lina was breathing too fast. "He was there," Lina whispered. Carmen stared at her. "He heard us coming up." Lina felt a sense of vertigo. "So he’s watching us," she said. Carmen replied, glacial: "And he’s playing." The chat below was screaming. The public was paying. The screens were vomiting messages. LIVE — 01:03 “THEY’RE HUNTING SOMEONE” “OPEN THE DOOR” “IT’S THE KILLER” “WE WANT TO SEE” Lina felt pure hatred: they wanted to see a man hunted like it was an exciting scene. Carmen made a decision. "We go back down," she said. "Now. We lock down tighter. And nobody leaves our sight." Lina nodded. But inside, a new certainty burned: The killer isn't just in the house. He is in its organs. He knows where to press. 01:12 — Return to the Living Room: The Illusion of Calm and the Promise of the Next Night When they went back down, the living room froze for a moment. The couples looked at their faces as if reading an announcement. Soraya stepped forward with a glacial smile. "Well?" she said. "Did you find the monster?" Lina stared at her. "No." Kiara, nervously: "Is someone up there?" Carmen replied sharply: "No one goes up. Period." Sana smiled. "It excites you, doesn't it," she whispered to Kiara. "The idea that he’s there." Kiara shivered. Lina pulled Sacha aside immediately. "Someone tampered with a technical room. There are signs." Sacha blinked, then smiled gently. "You see," he said. "The narrative continues." Lina stared at him, sickened. "You don't understand anything." Sacha placed a hand on her arm. "Lina, listen. If the killer wants to play… then we play too. We force him to make a mistake." Lina pushed his hand away. "We aren't playing anymore." Sacha smiled, and his smile was an abyss. "Yes. We are. Because it’s the only language this house speaks." Lina turned to Véra. "We stop everything for tonight. We close up. We keep watch. Everyone in their suites, and no one leaves without Carmen." Véra nodded. Mila added softly: "And we calm them down. Each of them. Otherwise they’re going to tear each other apart." Carmen imposed the protocol: "Couples in your suites. Doors locked from the inside. You do not come out. If you are afraid, you call via the internal intercom. And you don't play the hero." The couples obeyed reluctantly. But Lina saw it in their eyes: they weren't just obeying Carmen. They were obeying fear. And fear at Castel Pink is always mixed with desire. Before going up to her own staff room, Lina looked up at the screens. The live feed still showed the corridor. Another door. Another lock. And the chat was already writing the future: LIVE — 01:29 “THERE’S GOING TO BE ANOTHER DEATH” “IT’S A SERIES” “WE’RE STAYING” “WE’RE PAYING” “LIVE MURDER EPISODE 2” Lina felt her blood turn to ice. She understood, with raw lucidity, the final horror: They didn't want it to stop. They wanted a sequel. And someone in the house had just promised them they would have it. Lina closed her eyes for a second. Then she whispered, for herself alone, like a prayer and a threat: "Not while I'm breathing." And in the silence that followed, somewhere on the floor, behind a partition too old to be honest, a small sound occurred. A click. Like a door being opened very slowly.

Chapter 10 — Night 5: A Clean Death Castel Pink was a house that knew how to erase. Erase traces on leather. Erase screams in velvet. Erase the line between a game and an accident. And now, it was trying to erase fear. After the climb upstairs, after the technical room, after that rustle of footsteps and that door slammed like a laugh, Carmen had imposed the protocol: everyone in their suite, armored doors locked from the inside, no movement without authorization, internal intercom in case of panic. Véra had called it a “break.” Mila had provided water, blankets, words. Lina had gritted her teeth, standing, refusing to fall. Sacha, for his part, had agreed. With that specific kind of calm. The calm of a man who breathes better when the room is burning. In the control room, Nassim’s throat was tight. Élodie watched the curves on the screens like omens. Tom, however, watched the data streams the way one watches an aquarium: without emotion, without panic, just a quiet fascination. On one screen, the counter displayed what no one should have tolerated: LIVE — 01:41 Connected: 15,308,900 JACKPOT: $16,980,000 “EPISODE 2” “STAYING” “PAYING” “THE KILLER IS WRITING” The crowd had decided it was a series. And when a crowd decides, it becomes a stupid God. Lina looked at the counter as if looking at a bite wound. — Cut it, she said. Nassim looked up, exhausted. — Lina… we tried to slow it down, but— — I don’t care, Lina cut him off. Cut the feed. Élodie replied, dry yet almost tender: — Cut what? The official feed? They’ll just move to the mirror sites. And they’ll say we’re erasing evidence. — Let them say whatever they want, Lina replied. I just want some air. Tom whispered softly: — Air… you’re going to need it. Lina turned her head toward him, icy. — Can you stop talking like an oracle? Tom smiled. — I’m talking like someone who understands the house. That sentence hung in the air a second too long. Lina turned away. She didn’t have the luxury of obsessing over Tom. Not yet. She had to hold the structure together, and tonight, the structure was held by fingernails. She left the control room. In the corridor, the silence was indecent. Luxury makes silence heavier, as if it has physical weight. And behind the armored doors, the survivors were doing what humans do when reality becomes too big: they were seeking refuge in warmth. Not a pornographic refuge. A refuge of skin, of breath, of a hand being squeezed. Because sensuality, here, was no longer a game: it was a medicine. 01:58 — The suites: Intimacy as anesthesia Benali Suite — Soraya and Mika Soraya was sitting on the edge of the bed, back straight, like a queen in exile. She had removed her mask: without it, her face appeared harder, truer. Mika was pacing like an animal in a cage that was far too beautiful. — I can’t breathe, he blurted out. Soraya looked at him, pitiless. — Breathe. You’re the one cutting off your own air. Mika stopped dead. — Don’t talk to me like that. Soraya stood up and approached him. Her perfume, in the air, was a dangerous sweetness. — Like what? she whispered. Like someone who knows you? Mika gritted his teeth. — You’re still playing. Soraya placed her fingers on Mika’s throat—just a symbolic pressure, a gesture that said: I’m in control. — Yes, she replied, her voice low. Because if I stop playing, I become a victim. And I will not be a victim. Mika trembled. His anger transformed into tension. In this place, an argument becomes electricity. A reproach becomes an invitation. Soraya brought her mouth to his ear, her breath hot. — Look at me, she whispered. Not the screens. Not the dead. Me. Mika closed his eyes for a second. When he reopened them, he was closer. And Soraya smiled, like a woman who knows exactly how to hold a man at the edge of a precipice. Vasseur Suite — Nina and Léo Nina was sitting on the floor, back against the sofa, knees tucked in. She looked small, but it wasn’t weakness: it was saturation. Léo looked at her as if looking at a treasure he believed he was already losing. — I don’t like this place, Nina whispered. Léo crouched in front of her. — We’re not going out, he said. We won’t go out. — That’s not a promise, Nina replied. It’s a prison. Léo placed his hand on her knee, too firmly. — I’m protecting you. Nina raised her head. — You’re holding me. Silence fell. Léo had a micro-movement of shame, quickly erased by pride. Nina softened, just a little. — Listen… We’re here. So let’s act as if we were at home. Okay? Léo nodded. But his eyes said something else: "at home" meant "mine." He didn’t dare admit it, and that was what was frightening. Nina stood up and pressed her cheek against his. A simple, tender, almost banal gesture. At Castel Pink, it was an act of resistance. Santini Suite — Kiara, Maël… and Sana Kiara stared at the armored window as if she could pass through it by sheer force of will. Maël sat, far too calm. Sana was still there, officially “to soothe,” unofficially because a house like this never lets a scene fully close. Sana approached Kiara. Not touching, but close enough for the air to change. — You’re shaking, Sana whispered. Kiara laughed nervously. — Because I’m locked in. Sana placed two fingers on the inside of Kiara’s wrist. The pulse was racing, betraying the body. — No. You’re shaking because someone, somewhere, can decide your fate. Maël finally stood up, his voice soft. — Sana, you’re going too far. Sana looked at him with a dark smile. — I go wherever I want, Maël. As long as no one says "Rose." Kiara whispered: — Stop it… Sana tilted her head. — You want me to stop? Kiara hesitated. A tiny hesitation. But in a closed-door setting, a hesitation is already an answer. Maël placed his hand on Kiara’s shoulder, gently, like a planted flag. — It’s me, he said. You’re with me. Sana smiled, satisfied. She had just gotten what she wanted: to see Maël reveal himself, possessive beneath the polish. And Kiara, caught between the two, was breathing too fast. From fear. And from something more blurred. Morel Suite — Hélène and Gabriel Gabriel paced, like the other men who could not accept the unknown. Hélène, meanwhile, was the only one doing what was necessary: calming, holding, preventing logic from turning into madness. — I shouldn't have mentioned the passage, Gabriel whispered. Hélène looked at him. — You did. Now, we live with it. Gabriel gritted his teeth. — And what if it gives the killer an idea? Hélène replied coldly: — The killer doesn't need your ideas. She approached him, placing her hands on his face. — Help me keep you alive. She kissed him, gently, like closing a door on a storm. Not a show. A gesture for survival. Gabriel closed his eyes. He let it happen. And in that moment, the house seemed to breathe a little less loudly. 02:11 — The crowd refuses the break In the lounge, Carmen was doing rounds. Mila slept in fragments on a sofa. Véra mentally rehearsed the rules like a prayer. Joan guarded the entrances like a ghost. Lina, however, couldn’t bring herself to sit down. She entered the control room. The chat was a waterfall. LIVE — 02:12 Connected: 16,220,400 JACKPOT: $18,100,000 “MISSION” “WE’RE PAYING 600K” “SOMETHING SOFT” “MIST SAUNA TANTRA” Nassim swallowed hard. — They’re already funding a mission on external channels. The big collectives. They’re proposing… “Mist.” Sauna. Breathing. Glamour. They say it’ll calm things down. Lina felt a chill. The word “breathing” had the taste of a crime now. — We refuse, Lina said. Tom whispered, almost innocently: — To refuse is to provoke. Lina stared at him. — And to accept is to offer the killer a stage. Élodie looked up. — Lina… it’s already a stage. Whatever we do. As if he had been waiting for the exact moment, Sacha entered, glass in hand, calm as a priest. — We accept, he said. Lina turned around. — No. Sacha approached, composed. — Lina. We frame it. We secure it. Carmen watches. And we avoid a mob. — You’re feeding the monster, Lina replied. Sacha smiled, looking almost tired. — The monster is here. Either we give it a shape… or it devours us. Carmen entered in turn, and Lina read everything in her face: she hated the idea, but she understood the risk of panic. — If we do a mission, Carmen said, I choose the setting. I choose the participants. And I stay nearby. Sacha agreed too quickly. — Perfect. Lina felt her stomach knot. — Who? Lina asked. Carmen thought for a moment, her expression cold: — Not the impulsive ones. Not Mika. Not Léo. Not Kiara with Sana. I want someone stable… or controlled. Her gaze slid naturally toward Ariane and Thomas. Ariane knew how to hold a room. Thomas was fragile, but specifically: he wouldn't do anything reckless. He would follow Ariane. Lina felt a shiver. — No, she whispered. Carmen stared at her. — Lina, I’m not putting people in who will explode. Ariane can handle Thomas. And it stays glamour. Lina wanted to protest, then realized: if she opposed this, Sacha would choose differently. And it would be worse. She nodded reluctantly. — Fine. But strict protocol. Carmen nodded. — I’ll go with them. I’ll control the ventilation, the door, the access. And at the slightest thing… I open up. Sacha smiled. — Let’s announce it. Lina felt like vomiting. 02:28 — Mission Mist Sacha took the microphone in the lounge. — A simple mission, he said. A mission of calm. On the screens, a pale pink slide appeared, stylized, almost beautiful: MISSION MIST — SAUNA Breathing ritual Tenderness Slowing down The crowd rejoiced. LIVE — 02:29 Connected: 17,104,900 JACKPOT: $19,740,000 “MIST” “THE LEMAÎTRES” “THIS IS GOING TO BE CINEMATIC” “CLEAN, NOT HARDCORE” Ariane and Thomas came down from their suite, accompanied by Carmen. Ariane was impeccable, as if she were going to a private dinner. Thomas had the worried look of a man who knows he no longer controls anything. Lina stayed back. She didn't want to be in the shot. Ariane caught her eye. — You think this is a mistake, Ariane said, without making it a question. Lina replied softly: — I think here, anything can become a mistake. Ariane smiled, almost tenderly. — Then I will be perfect. Thomas whispered: — Ariane… She took his hand. — Look at me, she said. Not the dead. Me. They walked through the corridor leading to the sauna. The cameras followed, of course: slow shots, glamorous, almost ceremonial. Carmen opened the sauna door, checked the interior, the angles, the exits. She glanced at the ventilation and the control panel out of reflex. Everything seemed normal. She turned to Ariane. — Safe-word: Rose. Intercom here. Three knocks if needed. Understood? Ariane nodded. — Understood. Thomas swallowed. Carmen let them inside. Then she closed the door but stayed outside, two meters away, like a guardian. In the control room, Lina stared at the sauna screen despite herself. The steam made the contours softer. Intimacy became abstract, elegant. And yet, Lina couldn't relax. 02:36 — Parallel montage: while the mist rises, the house starts to burn again Because a “game,” even a soft one, is an authorization. And at Castel Pink, an authorization is enough to restart the bodies. Bar — Soraya and Mika: A biting tension Soraya went down to the bar as if stepping onto a stage. Mika followed her, nervous. Soraya couldn't stand the attention being elsewhere. — Do you feel better? she asked, almost sweetly. Mika replied sharply: — I feel locked in. Soraya smiled. — Then use the prison. Mika stared at her. — You sound like Sana. Soraya stepped closer. — Sana sounds like me. She just has less finesse. She placed her hand on the back of Mika’s neck, a simple gesture that transformed his anger into nervous heat. — Do you want to live? she whispered. Then live. And Mika, despite himself, breathed harder. Cinema — Kiara, Sana, Maël: Incandescent triangle Kiara couldn't stay still. Sana followed her like a shadow. Maël observed, far too calm. — Do you even care? Kiara snapped at Maël. Maël smiled. — I care. I’m in control. Kiara laughed nervously. — Control of what? Maël approached, placing his hand on Kiara’s hip—gently, but with symbolic possession. — You. Sana smiled. — Until the day she refuses, she whispered. Kiara shivered. And that shiver wasn't just fear. The audience, even without obscenity, was paying for the electricity. Indoor Pool — Nina, Léo, Mila: Tenderness under threat Nina was by the water with Mila. Léo was pacing. — We should be in our suite, Léo muttered. Nina replied firmly: — I don’t want to live locked behind an armored door. — It’s for your safety. Mila intervened calmly: — Léo, your safety is just your control. Léo stared at her, ready to snap… then held back. Here, being violent is public proof. And shame is a trap. Corridor — Gabriel, Hélène: The blocked investigation Gabriel wanted to go up, search, understand. Hélène held him back. — Not now, she whispered. — And when? When we have another body? Hélène replied icily: — When Carmen allows it. Gabriel forced himself to stay visible. But his eyes were still searching for the seam in the wall. 02:44 — Sauna: The sweetness that puts one to sleep… too much In the sauna, Ariane guided Thomas through breathing exercises. No hardcore show, no vulgarity: just slowness, proximity, a shared breath. Ariane leaned her forehead against Thomas’s. — Look at me, she whispered. We’re here. Thomas inhaled, trembling. — I’m scared. Ariane smiled softly. — Then we’ll make your fear a place where we hold hands. She kissed him. A long, soft, almost therapeutic kiss. Thomas closed his eyes. He let himself descend into that heat, into that mist. And that was when something changed. Not a loud noise. Not an alarm. A breath in the ventilation. A slightly deeper breath. As if the house were swallowing more air than it was giving back. Thomas inhaled again. Then his shoulders slumped all at once, too quickly. Ariane pulled back an inch. — Thomas…? He smiled weakly. — I’m okay… I feel… light. Ariane felt a micro-panic. "Light" is not a reassuring word here. She placed her fingers on Thomas’s cheek. — Look at me. Thomas looked at her… and his pupils seemed to float. Ariane sat up straight. She turned her head toward the intercom, hesitated—because of the camera, because of the audience, because of the image. Then she forced herself: tonight, the image was not more important than life. She knocked three times on the door, hard. Bam. Bam. Bam. Outside, Carmen moved in immediately. — Everything okay? Carmen called out. Ariane replied, her voice cracked by the steam: — He’s acting strange. Open up. Carmen placed her hand on the handle. Inside, Thomas made a slow movement as if he were going to stand up… then he sat back down abruptly, and his head fell onto Ariane’s shoulder. Ariane caught him. — Thomas! Thomas, look at me! He opened his mouth as if to answer… but no words came out. He inhaled again, like a child gasping for air. Ariane shook him gently, then harder. — Rose! she screamed. ROSE! The word bounced off the steam. And yet… nothing changed. No cut-off. No alert. No automatic “safe protocol.” Just the mist. And Thomas slipping away. 02:49 — A death without a struggle Carmen opened the door. The steam escaped into the corridor like the breath of a beast. Carmen entered and froze. Thomas was slumped over, head heavy, eyes half-closed, like a man falling asleep. Ariane was holding him, drenched in sweat, hands trembling, her face furious with panic. — He’s not breathing right, Ariane blurted out. Carmen knelt, placing two fingers on Thomas’s neck. Then on his wrist. She looked at his chest: weak, irregular. — Get him out, Carmen said. Ariane, without thinking, tried to pull him. Thomas slid to the floor, heavy. Carmen half-carried him, moving him out of the sauna and into the corridor. Ariane followed, barefoot, her breathing ragged. Lina watched on a screen, unable to move. On the tablet, a signal flashed: VENTILATION — OVERCONSUMPTION Lina felt the blood drain from her face. She screamed into her earpiece: — Cut the sauna ventilation! Nassim replied, panicking: — I… I’m looking for the module! Élodie yelled: — It’s not on my panel! Tom whispered calmly: — Because it’s not on her panel. Lina turned to him, icy. — What do you mean? Tom smiled. — I mean… the house has layers. Lina felt an absolute chill. In the corridor, Carmen began CPR. Ariane held Thomas’s head, calling his name like a prayer. Mila, awakened by the noise, ran over, pale. — What’s happening?! Carmen didn’t answer. She counted, she pumped, she fought against a death that made no noise. And that was the horror of it: no blood, no screams… just a body turning off like a light that was too soft. Thomas had one last spasm. Then nothing. Carmen stopped. Ariane looked at him, and in her eyes, there was that impossible moment: the one where a woman understands that life has just left, and she didn't have the time to stop it. — No… Ariane breathed. Downstairs, the lounge froze. Because they had heard something in the corridor: not a scream, but an absence. Even without the official feed, the pirate mirrors were still capturing angles. And the world outside understood. 02:53 — The survivor: Ariane remains Ariane was sitting on the floor, back against the wall, drenched, her hands over her face. She was breathing too fast, as if she had swallowed the same air as Thomas. Mila knelt beside her. — Ariane… look at me. Breathe. Ariane looked up. — I said Rose, she whispered. I said Rose… Her voice broke. — It didn't stop anything. Lina arrived, out of breath, followed by Joan. Carmen stood up, her face closed. — He’s dead, Carmen said simply. The sentence fell like a stone. Ariane, in a jolt, grabbed Lina’s arm. — It’s not possible. It’s not possible! We were… we were breathing… it was soft… he just… he— Lina placed both hands on Ariane’s shoulders. — Ariane. Look at me. Ariane obeyed, and her eyes were those of a woman who had just been ripped away from her own control. — We’re going to understand, Lina said. Ariane gave a joyless laugh. — You don’t understand anything, Lina. Nobody understands anything. That’s what the house is. Joan whispered from behind: — The house allows it. Lina turned around, furious. — Joan, shut up. Joan didn't answer. His silence was a confession without an admission. Carmen placed a hand on the handle of the sauna door. — Cut everything. Ventilation. Access. Lock it down. Lina nodded. — And let's go to the technical room. Ariane sat up suddenly, like a woman being electrified. — I’m coming. Carmen stared at her. — No. Ariane replied, her voice hard: — I’m coming. You’re not locking me in a suite like a child. Carmen hesitated. Then nodded. — One minute. No more. 03:07 — Technical room: Proof of a hand In the technical corridor, the air smelled of oil and dust. The skeleton of the old inn sweated beneath the luxury. Carmen opened the maintenance room. Lina entered and scanned. The box she had seen “moved” the day before… was open. Not wide open. Just enough. A cable had been repositioned. A switch had changed angle. It was clean. Precise. Intelligent. Carmen placed her fingers on the box. — Warm, she said. Lina felt a cold rage. — So it’s not an accident. Ariane looked at the cables as if she were looking at the face of the killer. — He killed Thomas… by pressing a button. Lina nodded, and her throat burned. Joan whispered, tired: — Here, you kill without getting dirty. Ariane turned to him, her eyes bloodshot. — You knew we could do that? Joan stared at her for a long time. — I worked in an inn, he said softly. You learn where the conduits go. Where the air goes. Where the secrets go. Ariane trembled. — Then who else knows? Joan didn't answer. Because the answer was too big. At that moment, in the control room, Nassim screamed into Lina’s earpiece: — Lina! The screens! Someone injected a banner! Lina felt her heart stop. — What?! Nassim replied, panicking: — An internal message. Not the chat. It’s coming from the system. Lina ran toward the lounge. 03:12 — The message: The signature The screens, even without the “OFFICIAL LIVE,” were still powered by the house’s internal system: mosaics, angles, menus. And there, on a pale pink background with the same perfect aesthetic as the day before, white text appeared: “ROSE DOES NOT STOP DEATH.” Then, underneath: “VOTE FOR WHAT’S NEXT.” The lounge froze. The silence was total for a fraction of a second. Then the house exploded in voices. — It’s the killer! — It’s a setup! — It’s in the control room! — It’s Sacha! Kiara brought her hand to her mouth, trembling. Maël stood up, calm—too calm. Nina wept silently. Léo moved closer to her as a reflex of possession. Hélène closed her eyes. Gabriel cursed under his breath. Sana, however, smiled. A micro-smile. Something tiny. Lina saw it, and that smile chilled her. Sacha, in the center, stared at the screen as if staring at a work of art. He looked… fascinated. Lina walked up to him. — Look at me, she said, her voice like ice. Sacha slowly turned his eyes. — You see? he whispered. He wants to be seen. Lina slapped him. The sound cracked like a gunshot. Silence fell again, thick. Sacha put his hand to his cheek, stunned… then a slow smile spread. — You just gave me a scene, he whispered. Lina trembled with rage. — I just reminded you that you are human. Not a god. Carmen stepped in immediately. — Stop. Both of you. Mila approached, white as a sheet. — We have to calm them down, Mila whispered. Otherwise, it’ll explode. Soraya stepped forward, her voice frozen. — A dead couple, she said. One. And tomorrow? Another “episode”? Lina stared at her. — This is no longer a game. Soraya gave a hard smile. — It never was. Gabriel approached Lina. — Do you understand now? he whispered. It’s not just a murderer. It’s a screenwriter. Lina gritted her teeth. — Yes. And tonight, the screenwriter had just done one vital thing: He had turned the safe-word into a joke. Rose does not stop death. Therefore, nothing stops. 03:25 — The shift: Fear becomes violence Carmen imposed a perimeter. — Everyone in the lounge. Seated. No one touches anyone. Mika stood up abruptly. — Thomas is dead! he screamed. What are we doing? Just waiting again?! Soraya grabbed his wrist. — Sit down. Mika pushed her away. — Don’t touch me! Léo stood up as well, stiff. — We have to get out. We have to break a door, a shutter, something. Carmen took a step. — You’re not breaking anything. Léo stared at her. — What are you going to do? Kill me too? Carmen didn't move. — I’m going to stop you from killing someone else. Silence fell. Because Carmen had just said out loud what everyone had just realized: The danger now wasn't just the killer. It was also them. Kiara was sobbing. Sana stroked her shoulder gently, like a friend… or like someone tasting fragility. Maël watched Sana, a hard light in his eyes. Nina collapsed, and Hélène sat near her, hand on her neck. — Breathe, Hélène whispered. Nina replied between two sobs: — It’s not… it’s not possible… Mila knelt down, gentle. — It is possible. And we’re going to hold on. Sacha took the microphone, calmer than everyone else—and that was the obscenity of it. — We’re stopping the missions. No more games. Nobody believed him. Carmen took over: — Suites locked. No one sleeps alone outside of the lounge. Guard shifts. And the control room: double checks. No one alone at a console. Lina nodded. She understood. The killer had access to the system. Therefore, the killer was close to the control room… or the technical core. She looked at Tom, who didn't seem shocked. Just… attentive. And she felt a cold certainty: This message, someone injected it from the inside. Therefore, someone has privileges. Therefore, someone is erasing. 03:41 — Inventory: One living person missing, not a couple Carmen gathered everyone. She counted. Soraya. Mika. Kiara. Maël. Nina. Léo. Hélène. Gabriel. Sana. Elliot. Lina. Véra. Mila. Joan. Nassim. Élodie. Tom. Sacha. One name was missing. Just one. Thomas. Ariane was there. Standing. Maskless. With a look that no longer forgave anything. — Don’t look at me like that, Ariane said in a hollow voice. I’m not dead. Not yet. Nobody answered. Because everyone, in that moment, wondered the same thing: Why him? Why Thomas? Why not Ariane? And if the killer was choosing… then he had a message. 04:20 — Dawn: Beauty continues, as does the evil The daylight eventually ate away at the night. The terrace took on a pink glow. The countryside seemed innocent. The pools shone like promises. And yet, a man had just died without blood, without noise, without a struggle. A man had been snuffed out in the mist. Lina, sitting on a step, felt fatigue biting at her. Mila sat down beside her. — You’re holding on, Mila whispered. Lina replied: — I’m holding on because I refuse to let him write us. Mila looked at her. — He’s already writing us, she said softly. Lina thought of the message. Vote for what’s next. The killer wanted the crowd to participate. The killer wanted the house to become a work of art. Lina stood up. — Carmen. Carmen approached. — What? Lina whispered, like a painful intuition: — He’s not just going to kill. Carmen stared at her. — What are you thinking? Lina replied: — A disappearance. Carmen turned slightly pale. Lina added, lower: — Secure the wells. Carmen inhaled. — Now. Lina nodded. And at that precise moment, in the control room, Nassim screamed: — Lina! We have a signal! Lina ran. On a secondary screen, a pirate feed had just resumed—a stable exterior camera, as if someone had reactivated an angle despite everything. It showed the garden, the damp grass, the outdoor bar near the tennis courts, the garden pool… calm. Then the camera pivoted slowly. As if guided. It stopped on the exterior well. A white banner on pink appeared, the same aesthetic, the same signature: “THE NEXT ONE WILL NOT BE FOUND.” Lina felt the blood leave her face. Carmen cursed under her breath. Sacha, from behind, whispered: — He’s announcing it. Lina turned around, icy. — No. He’s threatening us. And in the silence that followed, Lina understood the final horror: Even cut off, even “secured,” Castel Pink still had an active eye somewhere. Someone was choosing what was seen. Someone was choosing who disappears. And the world outside was going to pay for it.

Chapter 11 — The Well Yields Nothing The morning had the light of a postcard. A light that should have smelled of coffee, fresh sheets, and skin still warm from a night too long. A light that should have belonged to the countryside, to birds, to trees, to innocence. At Castel Pink, it illuminated something else. It illuminated a damp hallway where steam clung to the walls. It illuminated a doorknob that was still lukewarm. It illuminated a woman — Ariane — sitting on a rug, her back against a wall, her gaze fixed, as if her brain refused to translate what her body already knew. Thomas was dead. And since that "clean," almost elegant death, a sensation worse than shock remained in the air: the impression that the house could kill without a fuss. Without blood. Without screams. Without a struggle. Like a technical decision. In the living room, no one was really talking. Voices were low, the whispers of people afraid of waking something up. Carmen paced with the rigidity of a guard dog. Mila handed out cups of water as if water could glue a soul back together. Véra, pale, mentally noted the conflicts, the angles, the faces. And Lina, at the center, held a certainty like a knife: The killer hadn't just killed. He had signed. PINK DOES NOT STOP DEATH. VOTE FOR WHAT’S NEXT. It wasn't a crime. It was a language. And when a killer speaks, he is always announcing the next sentence. 06:12 — The "Anti-Disappearance" Protocol Carmen gathered everyone in the living room. She didn’t ask; she commanded. Her voice no longer sought to reassure: it sought to hold. — Listen to me. New protocol. Effective immediately. Soraya, standing near the bar, gave a hard smile. — Another protocol? she said. How many rules are you counting before we all croak? Carmen stared at her. — The number of rules doesn't prevent death. But it reduces the chances of being taken. The word "taken" felt like a slap. Even Sana, leaning against a wall, straightened her head slightly. Even Maël blinked. Even Sacha, sitting like a tired king, seemed to savor the intensity. Lina intervened. — We’re securing the wells. Now. A silence. Gabriel frowned. — The wells? he repeated. Lina nodded. — The killer doesn't just want to kill. He wants to make people disappear. And if he makes them disappear, we lose everything: the evidence, the truth, the body. Hélène placed a hand on Gabriel’s forearm, gently, to stop him from speaking too quickly. Carmen agreed. — Yes. We secure the wells. And we secure the exterior access points. Mika, who until then had been pacing the room like a caged animal, snapped. — Secure?! We’re already locked in! What are we going to do, put padlocks on padlocks? Soraya shot him a look, a mixture of shame and anger. — Shut up, Mika. Mika turned to her. — No. I’m not shutting up anymore. I’m tired of being an extra in their thing! He pointed to the screens, even those officially turned off, as if the idea of cameras was enough to drive him mad. — They pay to see us die, don’t you get it?! Soraya stepped closer, her voice too soft. — I understand perfectly. Mika stared at her. — And it excites you, doesn't it? The idea of being seen. The idea of being the queen even in the middle of this shit. Soraya slapped him. Not hard. Just enough for the sound to cut through the air. Mika stepped back, stunned. Then a nervous laugh escaped him. — There it is. There’s your true face. Soraya leaned in, her voice low. — My true face, Mika, is that of a woman who survives. And if you want to survive, you calm down. Carmen cut them off. — That’s enough. Mika, you no longer move alone. From now on: pairs. Always. Mika shrugged, like a punished child. — Yes, mother. Carmen stared him down. — Test me. Mika fell silent. Lina looked at Ariane. Ariane had hardly moved since Thomas's death. She was there, but not present. Her body was alive, but her gaze was elsewhere. And that was the injustice: she had survived, but she didn’t yet have the right to exist. Mila approached her, crouching down. — Ariane… can you hear me? Ariane blinked. — I held him, she whispered. I held him and… he slipped. Mila put a hand on the back of her neck. — You aren't guilty. Ariane gave a hollow laugh. — Everyone here is guilty of something, aren't they? Mila didn’t answer. Because it was true. 06:38 — The Inspection: The House Has Holes Carmen left with Joan for the exterior. Lina wanted to follow them. Carmen refused. — You stay visible. I’m not losing you. Lina grit her teeth. — I’m not a contestant. — You’re a target, Carmen replied. And you know it. Joan, for his part, said nothing. He walked like a man who knew the terrain. Too well. Sacha stood up, languidly. — I’m coming, he said. Carmen stared at him. — No. Sacha smiled. — Carmen… it’s my house. Carmen replied, cuttingly: — It’s my security. They left anyway, all three of them: Carmen in front, Joan beside her, Sacha behind, like an owner who can’t stand not seeing. Lina stayed in the living room with Véra, Mila, the couples, Sana, and Elliot. Elliot had positioned himself in a discreet corner, as always. He observed without being observed, or at least he thought so. Lina approached him. — Did you sleep? Elliot answered calmly: — A little. — Did you see anything last night? Lina asked. Elliot smiled slightly. — Are you looking for a killer or are you looking for someone to blame? Lina felt a shiver. — I’m looking for the difference. Elliot stared at her, calm. — Here… there isn't always one. Lina lingered for a moment. Then she walked away. She didn’t like his calmness. But she also didn’t like the fact that he was right. 07:02 — The House Starts Heating Up Again Fear, at Castel Pink, never remained pure. It always mixed with something else. With pride. With desire. With jealousy. Because when you can’t run, your body looks for an exit. And the closest exit is often another body. Soraya, at the bar, had become a statue. A cold beauty. She drank slowly, as if each sip were a vote for her survival. Mika paced around her, nervous. He felt like moving. Going out. Breaking something. Nina stayed near Mila, fragile. Léo stayed near Nina, possessive. Kiara spoke too loudly, and Sana answered her too quietly. Maël watched Sana with a patience that looked like a threat. Hélène kept Gabriel calm, but Gabriel had that look in his eyes of a man who wants to understand despite everything. Ariane, sitting down, was trembling now. Thomas's death was starting to seep into her nerves, and not just her brain. Véra approached Lina. — Do you see what it’s doing? Véra whispered. Lina nodded. — Desire as a safety valve. Véra replied, soft but lucid: — And the valve can explode. Lina looked at the black screens. The official live feed had been cut since the previous night, but pirate mirrors existed, she knew it. You don’t cut the world off anymore. You just move it. And in the corners, somewhere, an eye was still watching. 07:19 — Carmen Returns: "The Wells Are Dangerous" When Carmen returned, her face had changed. She had the look of people who have just realized they don’t have enough hands. Joan followed, calm. Sacha walked behind, quieter than usual. Carmen entered the living room. — The wells are dangerous, she said simply. Lina felt her stomach knot. — Explain, Lina said. Carmen took a breath. — The exterior well: accessible opening, low rim, damp ground. The interior well: more secure, but access is inside the house, so if someone wants to… they can. — So what do we do? Gabriel asked. Carmen answered: — We lock them. We put up barriers. And above all: no one goes out alone. No one goes near a well without me. Mika burst out laughing, nervously. — You’re going to be the police, the security, the justice? You’re going to be everywhere? Carmen stared at him. — Yes. Mika shook his head. — It doesn't work like that. Carmen stepped closer, a meter away from him. — Here, it works exactly like that. Mika wanted to answer, but Soraya placed her hand on his arm. — Mika… stop. Mika looked at her. There was deep resentment in his eyes. The resentment of a man who feels humiliated by fear. And a humiliated man is dangerous. Sacha spoke up, softly. — We’re going to take an inventory, he said. Everyone visible. We group up. We breathe. Lina stared at him. — Don’t play the protective father. Sacha smiled, hurt just enough to seem human. — Lina… you can hate me. But you need a center. Lina replied: — Carmen is the center. Carmen didn’t even flinch. She knew. And it was already exhausting her. Joan, meanwhile, was looking at the floor. As if he were looking for invisible traces. 07:42 — The First Hole: "Where Is Mika?" Chaos doesn't always start with a scream. Sometimes, it starts with an absence. Carmen announced: — Roll call. Now. One by one. Stay in the living room. They answered. Soraya. Kiara. Maël. Nina. Léo. Hélène. Gabriel. Ariane. Sana. Elliot. Lina. Véra. Mila. Joan. Nassim. Élodie. Tom. Sacha. Carmen. Lina felt a chill. — Mika? Carmen asked, without raising her voice. Silence. Soraya froze. — Mika? Carmen repeated. Soraya turned her head sharply. Her eyes swept the room. Mika wasn't there. — He was right here, Soraya whispered. Her voice broke on the last word. Lina felt panic rising in her like a wave. — When did he move? Lina asked. Soraya answered, too fast: — He… he was right next to me. Kiara whispered: — I saw him two minutes ago. Léo added, curtly: — He was pacing like a madman. Carmen immediately set a rule. — Nobody move. Joan, lock all internal doors. Lina, check the hallway cameras. Véra, you stay with them. Lina nodded and left. Soraya, however, took a step. Carmen stared at her. — Soraya. Stay. Soraya replied, glacial: — That’s my husband. — And if you go out, you become the second disappearance, Carmen replied. Soraya trembled. Then she forced herself to stay. But Lina saw something terrifying in her eyes: Soraya wasn’t just worried. She was furious. And Soraya’s anger, once awakened, is a storm. 07:50 — Search: Hallways, Doors, Angles Lina ran through the hallways. The smell of the house seemed different this morning: more metallic, more nervous. As if the place itself knew it was playing. She entered the control room. Nassim jumped. — What is it? — Mika is gone, Lina said. The word "gone" hurt more than "dead." Because a dead person, at least, is proof. Nassim tapped panickedly to open the internal cameras. Élodie approached, cold and efficient. — We’re cutting by zones, she said. Living room, bar, hallway, stairs, exterior. Tom stood behind them, silent. Too calm. Lina didn’t take her eyes off him. — Show me, Lina said. The screens displayed the feeds. Living room: Soraya standing, motionless, hands clenched. Bar: empty. Cinema: Kiara sitting, Sana standing behind her, Maël at a distance. Indoor pool: Nina near Mila, Léo too close. Main hallway: empty. Stairs: empty. — Where did he go out? Lina asked. Élodie scrolled through the previous minutes. They saw Mika at the bar, nervous. He rubbed his face. He leaned toward Soraya, said something (no sound). Soraya looked away. Mika took a step back, offended. Then he turned and walked away. The hallway camera followed him. Then… a micro-bug. Not a total cut. Just a tiny skip in the image, half a second. Something a system glitch could justify. When the image returned, the hallway was empty. Lina felt a chill. — That’s it, she said. That’s what he’s doing. He’s creating microscopic holes. Élodie nodded. — He doesn’t need fourteen minutes. He needs a second. Tom whispered, almost gently: — A second is long, if you know where to look. Lina turned to him. — Do you know where to look, Tom? Tom stared at her, calm. — I know where a house hides its flaws. Lina felt her neck stiffen. — Don’t play the poet. Where is Mika? Tom shrugged. — Not here. Lina wanted to lunge at his throat. Nassim shouted: — Exterior! I’m putting up the exterior! The outside cameras appeared: terrace, garden pool, tennis court, outdoor bar, driveway. Nothing. Then the screen for the exterior well froze for a second. Just one second. And Lina thought she saw… a silhouette. She leaned in. — Go back, she said. Go back. Élodie rewound. Frame by frame. A dark shape at the edge of the frame. A sudden movement. Then… nothing. Lina felt her stomach turn. — Carmen, in the earpiece. Exterior well. Now. 08:03 — The Well: The Rim and the Void Carmen arrived at the exterior well at a run, followed by Joan. Lina followed them via the cameras and ran through the hallways herself to get outside. When Lina stepped out, the morning air hit her like a slap: cool, damp, innocent. The well, however, was not innocent. It was a mouth of stone. Carmen knelt, looking at the rim. Joan inspected the ground. There was crushed grass. A damp footprint. Nothing spectacular. Just enough to say: someone had passed through. Soraya burst out behind them, despite the order. She had forced her way through. Carmen turned. — Soraya, no! Soraya didn’t stop. — Mika! she screamed. Her voice was lost in the garden. She leaned toward the well. — Mika! No sound answered. The silence of a well is a different kind of silence. Heavier. A silence that swallows. Lina approached and grabbed Soraya by the arm. — Step back. Soraya turned, her eyes wild. — Do you think he’s in there? Lina grit her teeth. — I don't know. Soraya trembled. — I hate him, she whispered. I hate him… but I— Her voice broke. She didn’t finish. Carmen approached the well with a flashlight. She shone it downward. Black. Joan whispered: — Twenty meters, that one. Lina swallowed hard. Carmen looked around. — Something’s missing. Joan looked down and picked up an object. A watch. Mika’s watch. Soraya recognized it and let out a small cry that wasn't pure pain: it was a cry of shame, of anger, of panic. — No… Lina took the watch. It was damp. Carmen grit her teeth. — Nobody gets close. We secure it. We put up a barrier. Joan, bring a rope. Joan nodded, but his face was… too calm. Lina saw it, and her instinct screamed. — Joan… do you know something? Joan looked at her. — I know that stone keeps what it is given. Lina felt a cold rage. — I’m not talking to you in proverbs. I’m talking about Mika. Joan didn’t answer. And that silence, once again, was an answer. 08:14 — The Crowd Outside Smells Blood… Even Without the Feed Even without the official live stream, the information had already leaked. A blurry video of the well was circulating. Screenshots. Pirate clips. Messages. The whole world didn’t need a feed to become a monster. In the control room, Nassim shouted: — Social media is exploding. They have the well. They have "a disappearance." They’re already making edits. Élodie, white-faced, looked at Lina. — Do you see? Cutting the live feed… it just makes them nastier. Tom whispered: — They’re more creative when they’re frustrated. Lina grit her teeth. Sacha arrived behind them, calm, as always when horror took a shape. — It’s perfect, he whispered. Lina turned around, ready to kill him with a look. — Say that again. Sacha blinked, like a man surprised to be understood. — I mean… it’s the worst. Therefore, it’s powerful. Lina stepped toward him, threateningly. — If you say one more word like that… Carmen burst into the control room. — We have Mika’s watch at the well. We have tracks. And we have no body. Lina felt her stomach tighten. — We search the house, Lina said. Secret passages. Technical corridors. Everything. Carmen nodded. — Yes. And we lock Soraya down. She’s going to explode. Lina glanced toward the living room: Soraya was standing still, her eyes dry. No more tears. Just a cold intensity. It was worse. 08:28 — The Solitary Woman Soraya didn’t cry for long. Soraya wasn’t made to cry in front of cameras, even invisible ones. She sat at the bar, alone. And she stayed there. Mila approached her gently. — Soraya… Soraya didn’t turn her head. — If you tell me "it’s going to be okay," I will bite you. Mila nodded. — I’m not going to tell you that. Soraya placed her fingers on the empty glass in front of her. — Is he alive? she asked. The question was almost childlike. And that made it unbearable. Mila answered softly: — I don't know. Soraya gave a joyless laugh. — Nobody knows anything here. She finally turned her head toward Mila. Her eyes were dry, but burning. — Do you know what this is, Mila? Soraya whispered. This place… it takes what you love, and it turns it into content. Mila remained silent. Because Soraya had just spoken the simplest truth. Soraya continued, lower: — What are they going to make of me now? The widow? The "solitary woman"? The "fallen queen"? Mila placed a hand on her wrist. Soraya didn’t pull away. This detail made Lina, who was watching from a distance, shiver. Because Soraya accepting a hand… was rare. But behind them, Sana appeared with a discreet smile. — They’re going to adore you, Sana whispered. The solitary woman… she’s the icon. Soraya turned slowly toward Sana. — Get lost. Sana smiled. — See? Even your anger is beautiful. Soraya stood up abruptly. Mila stood too, ready to intervene. Carmen already had a hand on her belt, a reflex. Soraya stepped up to Sana, twenty centimeters away. — If you play with this, Sana, Soraya whispered, I will destroy you. Sana tilted her head, amused. — You don’t destroy anyone, Soraya. You seduce. Soraya trembled. And that trembling wasn’t just from rage. It was the trembling of a woman who had just lost her partner, and who discovered that even in pain, the world’s desire would not let her go. Sana walked away, satisfied. And Soraya remained standing, alone, like a statue bleeding on the inside. 08:46 — The Real Investigation: Passages, Logs, the House’s Nerves Lina left with Carmen and Gabriel. Hélène insisted on coming too, not out of curiosity, but intelligence: she knew how to calm Gabriel, and the house needed people who knew how to stay calm. — We’re going to the passage, Lina said. Carmen nodded. They went upstairs toward the technical corridor, toward the dead skin of the old inn. Lina felt her throat tighten as she passed Suite 5, sealed. The Delcourts slept behind that door like a curse. Gabriel placed his hand on the wall, like the day before. — There’s a rhythm, he whispered. The house has a rhythm. Cut. Death. Message. And now, disappearance. Hélène answered: — Rhythm is what reassures monsters. Carmen opened the maintenance room. Nothing obvious, but Lina was starting to see like a killer: not "where," but "how." She looked at the boxes, the cables, the conduits. She thought of the sauna. The breath. The ventilation. Then she thought of a detail: the micro-skip in the image at the moment Mika disappeared from the hallway. — Élodie, in the earpiece, Lina asked. The micro-cut in the hallway, can you trace it? Élodie answered curtly: — I can try. But if someone erases it… Tom whispered in the background, audible: — If someone erases it, you trace nothing. Lina grit her teeth. — Then we do it another way. We look for the physical access. Joan appeared behind them, like a ghost. — You won’t find it if you’re looking for "a door," he said. Lina turned around, furious. — Then tell me. Joan looked at the wall. — The old building… has breaths. Conduits. Hatches. The inn was full of passages for stock, wine, deliveries. Gabriel stared at him. — You know all about that? Joan answered softly: — I know what I maintain. Carmen stepped closer, cold. — And what exactly do you maintain? Joan remained silent. Lina felt a certainty forming, icy: Joan knew more than he was saying. Maybe not the killer. But a keeper of secrets. 09:15 — The Trap: A False Lead Offered to the Public Back in the living room, Lina realized the killer had just gained a major advantage. A missing person is a void. And the public fills a void with stories. Already, on the internal screens, despite the cut feed, "pirate polls" redistributed by external mirrors were appearing. Edits, accusations. "Mika fled." "Mika is the killer." "Soraya pushed him." "Carmen has an accomplice." "Control room is erasing evidence." The crowd was looking for a narrative. The killer was giving them one. Sacha approached Lina, his voice low. — We have to reopen the live feed. Lina stared at him. — No. Sacha insisted. — Lina… if they don't see, they invent. And if they invent, they’re going to come here. They’re going to hunt us for real. Lina felt a wave of vertigo: Sacha was right on one dirty point. The outside world could become a physical threat. Drones, the curious, buzz-seekers. — And if we reopen, Lina replied, we feed the monster that pays for our fear. Sacha smiled. — The monster is already paying. Lina turned away. She looked at Soraya, alone. She looked at Ariane, the survivor. She looked at Kiara, trembling, Sana too close, Maël too calm. She looked at Nina, fragile, Léo dangerous. She looked at Hélène, stable, Gabriel too lucid. And she understood: The killer didn’t just want to take someone. He wanted to break the couples. Because a broken couple is infinite content. It’s jealousy. Betrayal. Panic-driven sex. It was exactly what he wanted. 09:42 — The Brutal Truth: Three Couples, One Solitary Woman… and the Rest Carmen did a roll call. Couples still whole (for now): Kiara & Maël Nina & Léo Hélène & Gabriel Broken couples: Soraya (Mika missing) Ariane (Thomas dead) The guests: Sana Elliot (present, but silent) Lina froze. — Elliot? Lina asked. Elliot looked up, calm. — Yes. Lina stared at him. — Where were you when Mika disappeared? Elliot answered without emotion: — Near the wall. As usual. Lina grit her teeth. Carmen intervened, dryly: — Elliot, stay visible. Don’t move anymore. Elliot smiled slightly. — I never move as much as you think I do. That sentence made Lina shiver. Carmen too. Sana looked at Elliot, curious, as if she had just seen a new angle in the story. 10:18 — The House Heats Up Again: Desire on the Edge of the Abyss The disappearance didn’t extinguish desire. It made it filthier. Because a missing person is a looming threat. And when a threat looms, some look for armor. Others look for a drug. At Castel Pink, the drug was called: the gaze. Kiara, in the cinema room, was still trembling. Sana sat next to her, this time without provocation, almost gently. — Are you afraid? Sana whispered. Kiara answered honestly: — Yes. Sana placed her hand on Kiara’s. — Then look at me. Nothing else exists. Maël walked in, saw them, and his face hardened. — Sana, he said calmly. Let her breathe. Sana looked up, a slow smile spreading. — I’m helping her breathe. Maël approached and placed his hand on the armrest, near Kiara, like a lock. — You aren't helping her. You’re feeding. Kiara shivered. Between them, she had become a prize. And the public, even off the official feed, always found a way to watch. At the edge of the indoor pool, Nina rested her head against Mila’s shoulder. — I want to go home, Nina whispered. Mila replied: — Me too. Léo watched them, jealous of the tenderness that wasn't for him. — You don’t need her, Léo told Nina. Nina turned to him, exhausted. — I need whoever calms me down. Léo clenched his jaw. — I can calm you down. Nina answered coldly: — No. You possess me. Léo trembled. And Lina, who was watching, noted: Léo was becoming a danger. Not because he was the killer. But because he could become the killer’s weapon. Hélène, meanwhile, stayed near Gabriel. Gabriel wanted to run everywhere. Hélène held him like one holds a torch near a dry forest. Finally, Ariane stood up. She walked to the bar. She sat across from Soraya. The two women looked at each other. Two queens. Two women of control. Two broken women. Soraya spoke first. — You still have his body, Soraya said. Ariane replied, pale: — I lost my husband. Soraya nodded. — I lost mine… without knowing if he is dead. Ariane grit her teeth. — He is dead, Soraya. Soraya stared at Ariane, and in her gaze there was cold violence. — Until I have a body, I refuse to believe it. Ariane whispered: — And what if he’s still breathing? Soraya froze. That sentence was a blade. Because it opened another hell: hope. 11:06 — The Signal: The Well Speaks Nassim screamed from the control room. — Carmen! Lina! Come here! Lina ran. Carmen followed. On a pirate external screen (one of those no one should have been able to reactivate), the exterior well camera was active again. Stable. Too stable. The image shook slightly. Then, for a second, a sound came through. Not clear. Not sharp. But a noise. A scuffing sound. A dull thud. As if something had touched the stone. Lina felt her legs go weak. — Play it again, she said. Replay it. Élodie rewound. The sound came back. A thud. Then… a breath. A breath or the illusion of a breath. Carmen went white. — I’m going down, she said simply. Lina stared at her. — You can’t. Carmen answered coldly: — I can. Sacha entered the control room, fascinated. — Do you see? he whispered. He’s giving us a scene. Lina turned around, pure rage. — It’s not a scene. It’s someone dying. Sacha shrugged, almost sadly. — Then save him. Lina felt hatred rising. Carmen, for her part, didn’t argue. She grabbed a rope, a harness, a lamp. — No one follows me, Carmen said. Joan, you’re with me. Lina, stay here. Lina protested. — I’m coming. Carmen answered, without softness: — If you come, I have to protect you. And if I’m protecting you, I can’t go down. Stay. Lina grit her teeth. She obeyed. Joan took the rope, calm. Too calm. They went out. In the living room, everyone understood something was happening. Soraya stood up. — I’m coming, she said. Carmen turned to her. — No. Soraya replied, icy: — That’s my husband. Carmen stared at her. — And if you run, you fall with him. Soraya trembled. Then she forced herself to stay. But her eyes were burning. And Lina, in the control room, watched the screen as one watches a precipice. Because she understood what the killer was doing. He hadn't made him "disappear" to erase evidence. He made him disappear to hold the house hostage. If they go down, they risk falling into the trap. If they don't go down, they become cowards. It was brilliant. And monstrous. 11:34 — The Rope, the Stone, and the Trap On the screen, the exterior camera showed Carmen and Joan at the edge of the well. Carmen was securing the harness, testing the knots. Joan held the rope like a man who had done this before. Like a man who had already lowered things into holes. Lina felt a chill: why was Joan so comfortable? Carmen shone her light into the well. Black. Joan whispered something to Carmen (no sound on this camera). Carmen nodded. Then Carmen sat on the rim, ready to descend. At that precise moment, the screen began displaying a pale pink banner. The same aesthetic. The same signature. "IF YOU GO DOWN, YOU JOIN THE OTHERS." The outside world screamed on the mirrors. You couldn’t see it in the house, but Lina imagined the tide. Carmen looked up at the camera, as if she were looking the killer in the eye. Then she went down anyway. Lina felt her heart stop. The rope slid slowly. Carmen disappeared into the black. Joan held on. The shot remained fixed. There was a rubbing sound. Then a dull thud, lower down. Then… silence. Lina clenched her fists until it hurt. In the living room, Soraya turned white. — Carmen is going to die, Soraya whispered. Ariane stared at her, hard. — Or Carmen is going to understand. 12:05 — The End of the Chapter: An Impossible Choice The camera shook. Joan tilted his head toward the well, as if listening. Then there was a sound. A muffled scream. Very brief. Impossible to identify. Lina screamed: — Carmen! No response. Joan pulled slightly on the rope, as if to test it. The rope gave back. Then… nothing more. Lina felt fear bite at her stomach. Not a vague fear. A precise one: the fear of losing Carmen. The fear of losing the only human wall. And if Carmen falls, Castel Pink becomes a hunt. A true massacre. Sacha, behind Lina, whispered: — That’s what comes next. Lina turned around, and in her eyes was a cold decision. — If you touch a single thing, Sacha… I will destroy you. Sacha smiled, almost in love with the threat. — You say that like you could. Lina stared at him. — I can. She turned to Élodie. — Cut this pirate feed. Now. Élodie hesitated. — Lina… it might be the only link we have to what’s happening out there. Lina replied, cuttingly: — Or it’s the killer’s eye. And I refuse to let him choose what we see. Élodie nodded, her fingers trembling. She cut it. The screen went black. And in that darkness, Lina felt something worse than the absence of an image: The void. A void like a well. And Castel Pink, behind its walls, seemed to smile. Because it had just gotten exactly what it wanted: Living people who no longer know where to look. A solitary woman about to go mad. And a house where the next scene could surge from any angle. In the living room, Soraya stood up suddenly, her voice finally tearing through the cage: — MIKA! Her cry was lost in the countryside. And no one answered.

Chapter 12 — The Pact of the Void The worst part isn’t the blood. The worst part is the silence afterward. That moment when even the house seems to hold its breath, as if waiting to see what the living will do with their fear. Castel Pink had known screams, laughter, moans, clinking glasses, and bass that made leather and velvet vibrate. It had known glances, games, pacts, the small humiliations that excite and the great ones that destroy. That morning, it knew something else: A void. A void that didn’t feel like a pause. A void that felt like a hole. In the control room, the screens had been black since Lina cut the pirate feed. But the absence of images soothed nothing. On the contrary. It amplified everything. Because the imagination always fills the gaps, and at Castel Pink, the gaps were chasms where everyone fell without a sound. Soraya, in the lounge, no longer moved. She had screamed. She had howled "MIKA" until she felt her throat tear. She had wanted to run, to grab the ledge, to climb down with her bare hands like an animal. Carmen had stopped her. Then Carmen had vanished into the stone, swallowed by the well. And now Soraya was there, standing, motionless, her eyes dry. No tears. No complaints. Just a cold presence. A queen without a kingdom. Ariane, sitting on a step, stared at the floor. Thomas’s death had robbed her of the ability to pretend. Her mask was broken. And a woman whose mask is broken becomes dangerous: either to herself or to others. Kiara bit the inside of her cheek, repeating useless phrases like one recites prayers. Maël hardly spoke, but his eyes were calculating. Nina was still trembling in fits and starts. Léo stayed glued to her, not like a lover—like a bolt. Hélène had that sharp calm of women who know that panic is a luxury. Gabriel wouldn't stop staring at the walls, as if the walls were eventually going to confess. Sana floated among them with a strange, almost indecent tranquility. Elliot stood in a corner, discreet, and discretion here had become a provocation. Lina, at the center, held one certainty like a knife: The killer hadn't just killed. He had signed his work. *PINK DOESN’T STOP DEATH.* *VOTE FOR THE SEQUEL.* It wasn't a crime. It was a language. And when a killer speaks, he is always announcing the next sentence. **06:17 — The Return** The back door slammed. A sharp noise, not a glamorous entry. The sound of reality. Everyone turned. The first thing Lina saw were the shoes. Covered in mud. Then the silhouette. Carmen entered, her face hard, a flashlight in her hand, her t-shirt stuck to her skin by the humidity. She was breathing heavily. A thin scratch lined her cheek, almost elegant—an involuntary signature. Behind her, Joan followed. Out of breath, yes, but… too clean for a man who had just been holding a rope at the edge of a well. Too clean, or too used to it. Soraya took a step, like an animal finding a scent. "Where is Mika?" she blurted out. Carmen raised a hand. A simple gesture. A law. "No. You listen to me first." Soraya trembled, but she stayed. Because Carmen's voice that morning admitted no negotiation. It was no longer the security of a club. It was the security of a besieged camp. Lina rushed over. "You’re alive…" Carmen stared at her. Her look said: *Don't waste a second of my time.* "I’m alive. But it’s a trap." The word fell like a stone in water. And everyone felt, even without saying it, the depth of the pool. Gabriel approached. "Is he at the bottom?" he asked. Carmen shook her head. "There is no body at the bottom." Soraya froze. Hope shot through her like a blade. "So he’s alive," she said too quickly. Carmen looked at her, and that look hurt. "I didn't say that." Soraya swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Then where is he?" Carmen placed the flashlight on the coffee table. Her hands were shaking slightly, but she was in control. She controlled herself the way one controls a tremor of rage. Then she spoke, slowly, so that every word was a puzzle piece. "The exterior well isn't just a well. It communicates." A shiver ran through the room. "Communicates… how?" Lina asked. Carmen inhaled, and the air seemed too thin. "A lateral duct, halfway down. A stone mouth behind a recess. An exit. Or an entrance." Sacha, sitting like a tired king, murmured almost with admiration: "The inn… it had a network then." Carmen turned her head toward him, cold. "You knew?" Sacha raised his hands, like a man feigning surprise. "I knew there were passages. I didn't know they were going to be used for this." Lina gritted her teeth. She knew that kind of lie: the lie of the owner who thinks he controls the tool while the tool is already controlling the story. Carmen turned to Soraya, cold and fair. "I found this." She placed a damp object on the table. A black zip-tie, cut clean. The same kind of tie Lina had seen the day before in the technical room. Élodie, arriving from the control room, turned pale. "That’s… technical." Carmen nodded. "Someone tinkered. Someone prepared. The well isn't an accident. It’s a stage." Soraya stared at the tie as if it were the killer's face. She didn't even blink. "I want to go down," she said. Carmen replied, cutting her off: "No." Soraya took a step forward. "He’s my husband." Carmen stepped within inches of her. Their gazes were two blades. "And I’m telling you that if you go down, you die. Do you want a dead husband or do you want a chance?" Soraya trembled. Her gaze wavered, just barely. Then she backed away. But the hatred remained. And Lina felt that hatred searching for a target. Because a woman like Soraya cannot stand helplessness. So she transforms helplessness into anger. Joan, behind them, said nothing. He looked at the floor. As if the floor were telling a story that only he could read. **06:46 — Debrief from the well: What Carmen didn't say right away** Carmen resumed, her voice low, more intimate. She didn't like to talk. She did it because it was necessary. "When I went down," she said, "I smelled it." Lina leaned in. "Smelled what?" Carmen hesitated. "Not the smell of stone. A smell of… grease. Metal. Like a mechanism." Lina felt a chill. "A winch?" Carmen shook her head. "No visible winch. But something that was used. And the rope… it rubbed in a specific spot, always the same point. That means we have an angle. A passage." Gabriel whispered: "So… if Mika went through there…" Carmen cut in: "If Mika went through there, someone helped him. Or someone forced him." Soraya inhaled sharply. For the first time, true emotion cracked her mask. "Forced how?" Carmen stared at her. "Soraya… I’m not going to lie to you just to calm you down." Soraya grit her teeth. "Then tell me." Carmen answered: "I didn't find your husband. I found an opening. And I found proof that they wanted me to go down. That they wanted me to take a risk." Lina remembered the ticker: *“IF YOU GO DOWN, YOU JOIN THE OTHERS.”* "Why?" Lina asked. Carmen answered: "To take me out of the game. Or to make it look like I had left. Or to divide us. Anything that weakens us." Sacha smiled, almost sadly. "So he’s intelligent." Carmen turned to him. "Or he knows the house." The sentence stung. Because it pointed to a truth: to do this, you need access, yes… but also intimacy. The house was a body. Someone knew its arteries. And Lina, internally, made a list. Tom. Joan. Sacha. Elliot. And maybe someone she hadn't seen that way yet. **07:10 — Protocol: Pairs, visibility, no solitude allowed** Carmen took charge again. Her role was no longer "security." Her role was "survival." "New protocol. Now." She looked at each person, one by one, like an inspector marking faces. "You don't move alone anymore. Never. Pairs. Always. And every pair announces their movements in the lounge. Not to ask permission. To leave a trail." Léo looked up, annoyed. "Are we becoming children?" Carmen stared him down. "Would you rather become a statistic?" Léo fell silent. Mika's disappearance had created a new kind of terror: the terror of not knowing where someone had gone. So Carmen did what was necessary: she turned the house into a camp. "No one goes out. No one goes to the wells. No one goes to the technical zones. No one goes upstairs alone. The suites stay locked. And stop believing that closing a door protects you." Ariane raised her head slowly. "Then what does protect us?" she asked in a hollow voice. Carmen looked at her. "Witnesses." That answer echoed strangely in a house made to be seen. Because at Castel Pink, a witness had never been human. It was a camera. But now, the cameras were lying. The only reliable witness… was another person's breath. Sana, leaning against a wall, smiled. "Witnesses lie too," she whispered. Maël turned toward her, icy. "Shut up." Sana’s smile widened. "See? You finally have a voice." Kiara shuddered. Lina noted this detail: the tension never faded. It only changed form. Desire, jealousy, fear… everything intertwined in a dangerous soup. **07:28 — Desire returns: Dirty, nervous, useful** Fear, at Castel Pink, never remained pure. It always mixed with something else. With pride. With desire. With jealousy. Because when you cannot flee, your body searches for an exit. And the closest exit is often another body. But that morning, desire was not a party. It was a way of saying: *I am alive.* Soraya, at the bar, had become a statue. A cold beauty. She drank water as if water could wash away the stone of the well. Ariane had taken off her shoes. Her bare feet on the floor gave an intimate air to her pain. She trembled in waves. Thomas’s death was beginning to set into her nerves. Kiara was talking too loudly, as if to fill the silence. Sana answered her too quietly, as if to suck it in. Maël looked at Sana the way one looks at a threat they want to touch. Nina stayed near Mila, fragile. Léo stayed near Nina, possessive—and that word took on a darker color with every passing hour. Hélène kept Gabriel calm, but Gabriel had already tipped over into the investigation, and the investigation here could become a suicide. Elliot observed all of it. And Lina thought to herself: a man who observes without trembling in a house where people are dying is either an idiot… or dangerous. **07:52 — Control Room: The outside world scratches at the door** Even with the official feed cut, the control room hummed. The technical uplink allowed them to receive alerts, fragments, proof that the world hadn't disappeared. It had just changed channels. Élodie showed her screen to Lina. "They’ve launched bounties," she whispered. "Collectives are paying for our location. They’re talking about drones. They’re talking about a 'Castel Pink hunt'." Nassim added, trembling: "They say they’re going to 'find the villa' by cross-referencing the morning light, the trees, the shadows…" Lina felt a wave of nausea. "They’re going to come here." Carmen nodded. "Yes. And if people come, the killer will have what he wants: real chaos." Sacha, from behind, murmured: "Real chaos… that’s worth even more." Lina spun around, icy. "You are going to shut up." Sacha smiled softly. "You think it’s me, don't you?" Lina answered without hesitation: "I think you are capable of anything." Sacha bowed his head, almost flattered. "Capable… yes. But am I doing it? That is the question." Carmen cut in sharply: "That’s enough. We have one priority: preventing a second disappearance." Lina stared at her. "How?" Carmen answered: "Visibility. Control. And we turn the house into a cage. For him too." Élodie, pragmatic, pointed out a detail. "And what if the cage is already his?" Silence. Tom, in a corner, said softly: "Then we need a key." Lina turned toward him, an electric tension in her throat. "And do you know where it is?" Tom smiled, almost amused. "I know where a house hides its flaws." That phrase, again. Always this poetry. Always this way of speaking like a man who knows. Lina didn't answer. She tucked that detail away in a drawer. She would have time to open it later. If she survived. **08:11 — Inventory: Every presence becomes proof** Carmen imposed an inventory. Not to reassure, but to lock down reality. "One by one. Say your name. Stay visible." The names fell. Soraya. Kiara. Maël. Nina. Léo. Hélène. Gabriel. Ariane. Sana. Elliot. Lina. Véra. Mila. Joan. Nassim. Élodie. Tom. Sacha. Carmen. It was a ritual now. A ritual of the living. Soraya gritted her teeth. "And Mika," she said. "Do we say his name too?" Carmen looked at her. "Yes." Soraya inhaled. "Mika Benali," she said. Her own husband's name on her tongue tasted like ash. Ariane, without looking at her, whispered: "Thomas Lemaître." Two names that were no longer there. Two absences that changed the shape of everything. Sana smiled, as if the scene were beautiful. Lina saw her. She made a note of it. **08:39 — The visibility pact: Carmen’s law turns into a human pact** Véra approached Lina, her voice low. "We have to give them an emotional structure," she whispered. Lina stared at her. "The emotional structure is: don't die." Véra shook her head. "It’s not enough. They’re going to tear each other apart. You know it." Lina knew. Fear breaks couples. And breaking a couple, here, was the killer's dream: a broken couple meant infinite scenes. Jealousy. Betrayal. Panic sex. "What do you propose?" Lina asked. Véra answered: "A pact. Not a mission. A pact. A glamorous, controlled ritual that fixes positions and creates alibis." Carmen listened, then nodded. "It can work if I frame it." Lina inhaled. She hated feeding the system. But she understood: if you don't channel it, it explodes. In the lounge, Véra announced: "SKIN PACT. Not for the crowd. For you. One couple chooses another couple: a vow of protection. One minute. One gesture. One sentence." Sacha watched, fascinated. Sana smiled. Even without the official live feed, the house knew the world was watching from somewhere. The pirate mirrors would capture it. The crowd would pay. But at least this pact would create a human network. The alliances were drawn. **Hélène & Gabriel → Nina** Hélène took Nina gently, like a sister. She placed her hand on the back of her neck, a simple gesture that calmed her. Gabriel, meanwhile, looked at Léo the way one looks at a dog ready to bite. "We stay close," Hélène whispered. Nina nodded, almost in tears. Léo clenched his jaw. He didn't like being "second" in protecting Nina. He didn't like another couple taking a place. **Kiara & Maël → Ariane** Kiara, trembling, turned toward Ariane. "I… I don't want to be alone," she said. Ariane looked up. "You think I have company?" she whispered. Kiara blushed, ashamed. Maël placed a hand on Kiara’s shoulder. "We choose Ariane," he said calmly. Ariane stared at him, surprised. Then she smiled, a very thin, almost sad smile. "Very well," she said. "Then what are you protecting me from?" Maël answered without hesitation: "From yourself." Ariane gave a hollow laugh. Sana, in a corner, had a glint in her eyes. She loved that sentence. **Soraya** Soraya, however, refused. "I am under no one's protection," she said. "I am my own pact." The refusal electrified the room. Because a woman alone who refuses protection is either a queen… or a future victim. And the killer, somewhere, must have been smiling. Elliot observed Soraya for a long time. Soraya felt it. She turned to him, sharp: "Don't look at me like that." Elliot answered calmly: "I am looking at a woman who just lost her axis." Soraya took a step closer. "I haven't lost my axis. I lost a man." Elliot didn't back down. "Sometimes, the two are the same." Soraya trembled. Then she turned away. Because she felt like hitting him. And because a woman who feels like hitting often feels like feeling something else right after. Desire, here, was a snake. **10:12 — Montage: The house begins to live again, and that is when it becomes dangerous** The morning slipped into late afternoon without anyone noticing. They ate little. They drank too much. They breathed poorly. Carmen organized guard shifts. Joan had the keys. Lina refused to let Joan have the keys alone: double control. Carmen kept one set, Joan another. Power here had to be fractured. Otherwise, it rots. In different spaces, micro-scenes were born. **Cinema — Kiara / Sana / Maël** Kiara took refuge in the cinema. Sana followed her. Maël watched them. Sana sat next to Kiara, this time without apparent provocation. A dangerous softness. A finger touching the armrest, two centimeters from Kiara’s hand, just enough for her to feel the presence. "Are you afraid?" Sana whispered. Kiara answered honestly: "Yes." Sana placed her hand over Kiara's, gently. Nothing explicit. Just a gesture that makes heat rise in the back of the neck. "Then look at me," Sana said. "Nothing else exists." Maël stepped forward, and his shadow cut the light. "She isn't alone," he said. "She’s with me." Sana looked up, a slow smile spreading. "You mean: she belongs to you." Maël didn't answer. His silence was a confirmation. Kiara shuddered. Between them, she had become a stake. And a stake is pure tension. Maël placed his hand on the backrest behind Kiara. A territorial gesture. Sana watched the gesture, amused. "See?" Sana whispered to Kiara. "He needs to close you in to reassure himself." Kiara swallowed. "Stop…" Sana whispered, too close: "I’m not stopping. I’m just slowing down." And Kiara, despite herself, breathed harder. **Indoor Pool — Nina / Léo / Mila** Nina stayed near the water. Léo stayed near Nina. Mila stayed near them, like an antidote. "I want us to go back up," Léo said. Nina replied, weary: "I want us to breathe." "In the suite, then." Nina stared at her. "In the suite, you shut me in." Léo clenched his jaw. "I’m protecting you." Nina answered coldly: "You’re protecting yourself." Mila placed a hand on Nina’s shoulder. Léo saw the gesture, and his eyes hardened. Lina, passing by, noted: Léo was becoming a weapon. Not necessarily the killer. But a lever. And a killer loves levers. **Bar — Soraya alone, the icon despite herself** Soraya sat at the bar alone, glass empty, gaze fixed. A woman alone in a place of couples is a signal. Even here. Elliot approached, discreet. "You holding up?" he asked. Soraya looked at him as if the question were an insult. "I’m holding up because I have no choice." Elliot nodded. "Choice… that’s a luxury." Soraya gave a dry laugh. "You talk like someone who has lived that kind of luxury before." Elliot didn't answer. And that silence sounded like a secret. Soraya tilted her head. "You know where he is." It wasn't a question. It was a soft accusation. Elliot answered calmly: "I don't know where your husband is." Soraya leaned in closer. "Then why do I feel like you’re lying?" Elliot smiled slightly. "Because you need someone to be lying. It gives you an enemy." Soraya trembled. Her eyes filled with a cold rage. "I’ll find one," she whispered. Elliot replied without moving: "You just invented one." Soraya backed away a step, as if stung. Then she turned away, her body tense. Lina watched the scene and understood: Soraya was on the verge of snapping. And a Soraya who snaps is a storm in a locked house. **14:44 — Technical Proof: The killer writes with sensors** In the control room, Élodie worked like a surgeon. She had no patience for theater, only for systems. "I found a pattern," she said to Lina. Lina leaned in. Élodie showed the logs: micro-jumps in the image, alerts sent from an internal console, reactivation of certain "impossible" cameras despite the cuts, and above all… a regularity. Not the regularity of a machine. The regularity of a human who knows exactly when to strike. "This isn't a bug," Élodie whispered. "This is piloting." Nassim added: "And it’s done cleanly. As if… someone knew the layers." Tom, from behind, said softly: "Layers… that’s the word." Lina turned toward him. "Speak clearly." Tom smiled. "I am speaking clearly. I’m saying there is an interface you aren't looking at. A 'maintenance' interface. Old. Hidden. And someone is using it." Élodie went pale. "It’s possible," she whispered. Lina felt a chill. "Can you find it?" Élodie hesitated. "I can… feel it. But if someone is erasing their tracks… I’ll only see what they want me to." Lina set a rule. "Then we aren't just looking for logs anymore. We’re looking for a gesture." Carmen entered, still hard-edged. "We won't beat him by looking for him like a murderer," Carmen said. "We’ll beat him by forcing him to move." Lina nodded. "We create a hunger in him." Sacha, in a corner, smiled. "You’re starting to speak my language." Lina stared at him. "No. We’re starting to speak *his* language." And that was worse. **17:30 — Ariane rises: The survivor becomes a threat** As evening fell, Ariane changed her dress. A small detail. But in a house like this, a detail is a manifesto. A black dress, simple, sleek. Not a mourning dress. A war dress. She came down to the lounge as if refusing to let Thomas take away her verticality. Lina saw her, and a shiver ran through her. "Ariane… what are you doing?" Ariane smiled very softly. "I’m breathing, Lina." "You don't have to prove anything." Ariane answered, her voice a blade: "Yes, I do. I have to prove that I didn't die with him." Then she walked past Elliot, and their gazes locked for a second too long. A silent exchange. A recognition or a war. Sana watched the scene like an art critic. "Oh," she whispered. "That… that is alive." Maël, passing by, shot a look at Sana. A look that said: *Stop feeding the fire.* Sana answered with a smile. She wasn't feeding the fire. She *was* the fire. **19:02 — Night returns: And Castel Pink wants to start again** Night approached, and with it returned the most perverse instinct: Night gives the impression that one can start over. Carmen locked the access points. Joan did his rounds. Lina doubled the controls in the booth: Élodie and Nassim on the panels, Tom limited, Sacha kept at a distance—at least officially. But the killer didn't need to be official. He needed a hole. And the house was full of holes. In the lounge, tension rose like invisible heat. Soraya walked alone from one wall to the other. She refused to be touched, but she also refused to be ignored. She was a living contradiction, and contradictions create sparks. Kiara no longer took her eyes off Maël, as if she feared he would disappear too. Maël, meanwhile, no longer took his eyes off Sana, as if he feared she was taking up too much space. Nina was exhausted. Léo was nervous. Hélène was stable. Gabriel was ready to do something heroically stupid. And Lina, in the middle of it all, felt that something was about to happen. Not because the house was "cursed." Because the killer loved the night. **22:11 — The Ticker: The killer wants prey** The control room console began to vibrate. Élodie froze. "Lina… we have a ping." "Where?" Élodie pointed to the screen. An internal console had just activated briefly. A tiny trigger. Too clean. Then, on a screen in the lounge, a ticker appeared—pale pink, white, perfect: *“THE PACT DOES NOT PROTECT.”* A second line followed: *“CHOOSE WHO LOSES.”* And, like a modern insult, a counter flashed at the bottom: *VOTES OPEN.* The lounge froze. Then bodies stiffened. Because the crowd—even invisible—had just been invited to do the one thing they love most: Designate a prey. Kiara put her hand to her mouth. Nina went pale. Léo moved toward Nina, too fast. Maël clenched his jaw. Sana had a glint in her eyes. Soraya snapped her head up, as if the ticker had just given her an official enemy. Ariane, however, smiled. A tiny, terrifying smile. "He wants us to tear each other apart," Carmen whispered. Sacha, behind her, smiled like a man seeing a work of art come together. "The sequel," he said softly. "Here it is." Lina turned to Élodie. "Can you trace it?" Élodie shook her head. "It’s been wiped." Tom, from behind, whispered: "Of course it’s been wiped." Lina closed her eyes for a second. Then she opened them, and her voice became cold, sharp. "Very well. Then we’ll do what he wants." Carmen stared at her. "Lina…" Lina answered: "We’re going to give him a scene. But our scene. And in that scene… he’s going to betray himself." Carmen understood. She nodded slowly. "A trap." Lina agreed. "Yes. And we’re going to bait him with what he loves: the crowd… and desire." The lounge around them was already vibrating. Soraya looked at the ticker like one looks at a death sentence. Kiara was trembling. Maël was calculating. Sana was savoring it. Léo was boiling. Hélène held Nina’s hand to keep her from falling. Gabriel felt like running. Ariane stood up slowly and placed her hand on the table, like a promise. "You want a scene?" Ariane said in a low voice. "Fine. But we control it." Sacha looked at her, fascinated. "Ariane… you are incredible," he whispered. Ariane turned toward him. "Don't compliment me, Sacha. Give me a weapon." Silence fell. Even Sana seemed impressed. Lina felt the chapter closing like a jaw. Because now, the next step was clear. They were going to organize a scene. A steamy, glamorous scene, perfectly framed, with positions, witnesses, and alibis. And in that scene, the killer—who thinks he controls the votes and the tickers—was going to have to move. And if he moves… He will leave a trace. Lina moved closer to Carmen and whispered: "Chapter 13, we trap him." Carmen replied, almost inaudibly: "Chapter 13… we make him bleed without blood." Lina looked at the screens. *VOTES OPEN.* Somewhere outside, a million hands were already ready to point out a victim. And somewhere within the walls, a passage was waiting to be opened.

Chapter 13 — The Black Gala The ticker had been enough. One sentence, two lines, a blinking timer… and the entire house changed its tune. THE PACT DOES NOT PROTECT. CHOOSE WHO LOSES. VOTES OPEN. It wasn't a threat; it was an instruction. An order sent to an invisible crowd that, outside, was already paying to execute it. In the living room, no one breathed the way they did before. Even bodies, even gestures, even glances had stiffened. Because in a place where everything is filmed, a vote becomes a rope. And when you are asked to choose "who loses," you are being asked to be an accomplice. Carmen had looked up at the screen the way one looks up at a blade. "There it is," she whispered. "He wants us to tear each other apart." Sacha, in the shadows, smiled like a man seeing a concept come to fruition. "The sequel..." he breathed. "Here it is." And Lina, her hands cold, replied with a voice that only trembles afterward: "Very well. Then we give him a sequel. But the sequel is ours to write." She felt Carmen turn toward her. A quick look, heavy with everything that didn't need to be said: *you're playing with fire.* Lina nodded. "He feeds on scenes. We’re going to offer him one. A scene where everything is framed, everything is seen… and where he, to act, will have to come out of his hole." Carmen grit her teeth. "A trap." "A trap," Lina confirmed. Around them, the survivors couldn't yet hear the strategy. They only heard the word "lose." They looked at each other as if, in every gaze, there was already a verdict. Soraya, alone, raised her head. Her face was beautiful and hard, like a polished knife. Ariane, survivor, rose slowly. And in her movement, there was something almost insulting: she was standing tall. Kiara was trembling near Maël. Sana observed the scene like one observes a play, a smirk on her face. Nina clung to a glass of water like a lifebuoy. Léo wouldn't let go of her shoulder. Hélène held Gabriel by his fingertips, calibrating him. And in the control room, behind the doors, a machine waited to be turned on or allowed to lie. The Castel Pink was no longer a club. It was an arena. **22:26 — The Control Room: The Hunger of the World** Élodie already had her fingers on the logs. Nassim’s breathing was shallow. Tom, however, stood like a luxury spectator: calm, almost curious. Lina entered and slammed the door. "Did you see the ping?" she asked. Élodie nodded. "Internal console. Brief activation. Clean erase afterward. It’s become a signature." "Where is it coming from?" Carmen asked as she entered in turn. Élodie slid a diagram across. "If I tell you 'from here,' I’m lying. It could be injected from several points. But… there’s a logic." She placed a finger on a line. "Every ticker comes out after a technical action. A trigger. He doesn't write 'with the chat.' He writes with the house." Nassim whispered: "It’s as if he’s playing an instrument..." Tom smiled slightly. "He is playing, yes. And you are beginning to understand the score." Lina turned to him, icy. "You understand too much." Tom shrugged. "I understand because I watch. You, you want to save. Saving makes you blind." Carmen cut in sharply. "That’s enough. We don’t have time for your word games." Sacha entered, without permission, as if the control room still belonged to him. "We’re reopening the live feed," he said. Lina froze. "No." Sacha smiled, patient, almost pedagogical. "Lina… you can't cut off the world. You’ve already seen it. Mirrors exist. Hackers exist. Rumors exist. And now there are bounties. People are looking for the house. Things are going to get physical." Élodie, pale, whispered: "He’s not wrong. There’s talk of drones. Cross-referencing. 'The hunt.'" Lina grit her teeth. She knew it. The crowd, frustrated, was becoming filthier. More inventive. More dangerous. Sacha insisted, his voice low. "If we reopen, we regain some control. We frame it. We choose the image. We reduce the panic. We channel it." Carmen fixed her eyes on Lina. "If we reopen… we feed it." Lina closed her eyes for a second. She thought of Mika, gone. Of Thomas, dead in the fog. Of the Delcourts, locked behind a visible key. Of Carmen, down in the stone. Then she thought of the other threat: the world outside, drawn by the scent of scandal, capable of showing up, filming, breaking things, transforming the countryside into a festival of scavengers. She opened her eyes. "Fine," she said. "But on my conditions." Sacha smiled like a man who had just won, even though the game was only beginning. "Speak." Lina leaned toward Élodie. "Secure Mode. We don’t put back a hundred and twenty cameras. We put… twelve. And we cut every technical angle. We choose." Élodie hesitated. "Twelve is a lot." "It’s enough," Lina replied. "To give the crowd its bone. Not enough for them to control the house." Carmen added, cuttingly: "And we lock down movement. If we make a scene, everyone is assigned. Fixed positions. Witnesses. Alibis." Lina nodded. "Exactly." Sacha whispered, almost admiringly: "You want a show." Lina replied: "I want a cage. A shining cage. And in that cage, I want to see who trembles." Tom, behind them, smiled. "He won't tremble. He’ll dance." Lina turned around, her eyes hard. "Then we’ll make him dance in the right place." **22:41 — The Plan: The Black Gala** It was Véra who found the form. Véra had lived through production. The whims. The tensions. The bodies that ignite and hate each other at the same time. She knew humans. And she knew a simple truth: You don't hold back a pack by telling them "calm down." You hold them back by giving them a ritual. "A gala," Véra said. Lina stared at her. "Are you serious?" Véra answered without blinking. "Yes. A Black Gala. A night of masks. Elegant. Glamorous. Controlled. We give them a scene… but a scene where every movement is evidence." Carmen frowned. "And the eroticism?" Véra gave a brief, almost sad smile. "Eroticism, Carmen… is what keeps them from going insane. And it’s what makes them guilty. So we use it. But we frame it." Lina breathed in. "Twelve cameras. Twelve angles. A central lounge. Three 'play' zones: bar, cinema, dungeon. Each zone has a rule. Each zone has a human witness. No movement without an announcement. And… a fake weak point." Élodie looked up. "A lure." Lina nodded. "Yes. A dummy 'maintenance' console. A mirror interface. If someone uses it, we know." Nassim swallowed hard. "Will he bite?" Tom whispered: "He always bites." Carmen set a rule. "The fake weak point must be accessible from a place where we can intervene. Not in the bowels. I want the killer within reach." Lina agreed. "We place the lure in the secondary technical corridor. The one leading to the maintenance room. We let them believe it’s 'open.' But we trap it." Élodie nodded. "I can put a tracer on it. A software 'fingerprint.' And a silent alarm." Lina fixed her gaze on Carmen. "And you take him if it rings." Carmen replied, coldly: "I’ll take him." In a corner, Sacha watched all this with a perverse sweetness. "You are turning survival… into a concept," he murmured. Lina turned toward him. "And you, you’re going to announce the Black Gala. You’re going to excite the crowd. You’re going to drive up the money. And you’re going to obey." Sacha smiled. "That, I know how to do." Carmen stared him down. "And if you play against us..." Sacha raised his hands. "Carmen. I want this to stop. I just want… for it to remain grand." Lina thought: *he doesn't want it to stop. He wants it to transcend.* She didn't answer. She no longer had the luxury of judging. She had the luxury of surviving. **23:02 — Return of the Live: The Explosion** Lina felt the house vibrate even before the screen displayed anything. Because, outside, millions of eyes were waiting. And as soon as they realized something was resuming, they rushed like a wave against a dike. Élodie activated "Secure Mode." A minimal logo appeared. Pale pink. White. CASTEL PINK — SECURE MODE 12 CAMS — BLACK GALA LIMITED VOTES — FRAMED CHALLENGES A second later, the counter exploded. CONNECTED: 9,800,000 10,600,000 12,300,000 14,900,000 Nassim turned pale. "Fuck..." Élodie grit her teeth. "It’s not stopping." In the living room, the screens came back to life, but in a controlled mosaic: no technical angles, no sensitive corridors, no maintenance room. The crowd was already screaming, via donations. JACKPOT: $27,400,000 $28,050,000 $28,900,000 Lina felt her throat tighten. It was obscene. Sacha took the microphone in the lounge, impeccable in a black suit, shirt open just enough, a velvet mask in his hand. "Welcome to the Black Gala," he said, his voice low and sensual. "Tonight, we do not run. We transform. Tonight, you do not vote for 'who loses.' Tonight, you vote for what resists." The chat was exploding, but in the house, they only saw a filtered summary to avoid raw panic. Despite that, the energy permeated everything. Sacha continued: "The rules are simple. Glamorous. Elegant. You propose challenges. We validate them. The participants accept or refuse. And every accepted challenge… raises the jackpot." He paused. A smile. "You wanted the sequel. Here it is." In a corner of the lounge, Carmen clenched her jaw. She hated every word. But she knew: a channeled crowd was less dangerous than a frustrated one. Véra distributed the masks. Black, gold, silver masks. An aesthetic choice, but also a strategic one: a mask changes gestures. It makes gazes more violent. It makes kisses slower. And Lina knew this: slowness is a trap. **23:24 — Set Up: Positions, Witnesses, Zones** Carmen took the floor. Not with the microphone. Her real voice. The one that cuts. "Listen up. Every zone has a witness. Every movement is announced. No one leaves their zone without authorization. If someone steps out of frame… I take them out of the game." Sacha smiled at the camera. "You see? Tonight, danger is… framed." The crowd paid for that sentence. In the house, the zones were mapped out: Zone 1 — The Bar: Soraya, alone, with Elliot (voluntarily). Zone 2 — The Cinema: Kiara and Maël, with Sana "as a framed guest." Zone 3 — The Dungeon: Ariane, volunteer, with a "soft" setup: velvet rope, leather gloves, no violence, only symbolic. Zone 4 — Central Lounge: Nina and Léo under the eyes of Hélène and Gabriel, and under Mila (calming witness). Zone 5 — Control Room: Lina, Élodie, Nassim… and Tom, restricted. Zone 6 — Secondary Technical Corridor: the lure, invisible to the crowd, under Carmen’s surveillance as soon as the alarm sounds. Everything was in place. And yet, Lina had the sensation of performing theater in a house that lies. **23:37 — Challenges: The Money Returns Like a Tide** The first challenge went up on the screen: filtered, stylized. CHALLENGE #1 — "OATH" Two people choose each other. A sentence spoken to the mask. A gesture. Stake: $300,000 Sacha turned to the room. "Who starts?" Soraya raised her head. "Me." The lounge froze. The crowd exploded. Soraya stepped forward to the bar, black mask, bare lips, dry gaze. "I choose Elliot," she said. A shiver ran through the room. Even Lina felt a tension: Soraya and Elliot, that was pure danger. A woman alone and a silent man. An alliance that looked like a threat. Elliot approached, without a smile. "Why me?" he asked. Soraya tilted her head. "Because you don't tremble. And I want to see if your calm is real." Elliot replied softly: "And if I don't tremble… what do you do?" Soraya moved closer until she could feel his breath. "Then I break you." The sentence was cold, but the proximity was warm. That was the alchemy of Castel Pink: saying something violent with a mouth that invited desire. Sacha, on the mic, whispered: "Oath." Soraya placed her hand on the back of Elliot’s neck, slowly. No obscenity. Just a gesture that said: *I am in control.* Elliot didn't move. Soraya brought her mouth to his ear. "Swear," she said. Elliot replied, almost inaudibly: "I swear… to remain visible." Soraya smiled. "And I swear… to never be anyone’s prey again." The challenge was validated. The jackpot climbed. JACKPOT: $29,600,000 In the control room, Élodie whispered: "They love Soraya." Lina replied, cold: "They love women alone." And that sentence hurt. Because it was true. **23:49 — Cinema: Triangle, Jealousy, Contained Fire** The next challenge appeared. CHALLENGE #2 — "TRIANGLE" One mask falls. Another stays. A kiss. Stake: $600,000 Sana smiled even before Sacha spoke. As if she had been waiting for that word. In the cinema, the light was low. Kiara wore a gold mask. Maël a simple black mask. Sana a dark red mask, almost a provocation. Sacha announced: "The cinema… the triangle." Kiara inhaled. She was trembling, but not only from fear. She was trembling because, in this room, she was no longer a woman: she was a story. Sana approached her, slowly. "You can refuse," Sana whispered. Kiara swallowed hard. "I… I don't want to..." Maël placed his hand on Kiara’s shoulder. A protective gesture, but also a possessive one. "We refuse," he said. The crowd roared, but the rule was there: refusal was possible. Sana tilted her head. "You’re refusing because you’re afraid, Maël. Not because she’s afraid." Maël stared at her, cold. "I’m refusing because I see you." Sana smiled. A sentence like a perfume. "Then watch me." She removed her mask. Her face, unprotected, was a soft blade. Her mouth was calm, her eyes burning. Kiara shuddered. Maël clenched his jaw. Sacha, on the mic, whispered: "The challenge can be modified. A kiss… between those who choose it." Kiara, suddenly, turned toward Maël. She placed her hand on his neck. "I… I want you," she whispered. It wasn't a whim. It was an anchor. A way to remind herself that she still had a choice. Maël looked at her, then moved closer. The kiss was slow. Long. A kiss that showed nothing but made everything rise. A kiss that looked like a promise, and was above all a way of saying: *I am still alive.* Behind them, Sana watched, motionless. And in her eyes, there was something terrible: satisfaction. Because she had just forced Maël to reveal himself in public. She had just made his control emerge. The crowd paid for that. JACKPOT: $31,200,000 In the control room, Lina whispered: "The killer doesn't even need to kill to cause pain." Élodie replied: "He just needs to watch." Tom, behind them, said softly: "He just needs to write." **00:08 — Dungeon: Ariane, the Black Dress, Survival as Art** The next challenge rose, more expensive, more violent in its intention, but framed in its form. CHALLENGE #3 — "THE KNOT" A gesture of symbolic constraint. A sentence of truth. Stake: $900,000 Ariane entered the dungeon as if it were a theater stage. Black dress. Silver mask. Fine leather gloves. Nothing grotesque, nothing filthy: elegance. And that elegance, in a house of murders, became insolent. Carmen had validated the setup: velvet rope, quick-release fasteners, no strangulation, no violence. A game, not a real seizure of power. Ariane sat on a low armchair under red lights. "Who’s coming?" she asked, her voice calm. The crowd screamed names. The filtered system allowed three proposals through. Sana. Elliot. Gabriel. Lina felt a surge of anger: the public always wanted to test the limits. Ariane smiled. "Sana," she said. Sana entered, her red mask already removed, like a woman who refused to be protected by a symbol. "Why me?" Sana asked. Ariane replied simply: "Because you love the fire. And I want to see if you burn when someone holds you." Silence fell in the house. Even Sacha went quiet. Ariane stood up, approached Sana, and placed the velvet rope on her wrists, gently, almost tenderly. Sana did not step back. She did not tremble. Ariane stared at her. "Truth," Ariane whispered. "Why are you here?" Sana smiled. "Because it’s alive." Ariane slightly tightened the rope—symbolic, but enough to send a shiver up the spine. "No," Ariane said. "Not that. Why you, Sana?" Sana looked at her. For an instant, her smile wavered. For an instant, she seemed human. "Because..." Sana whispered, choosing her words, "because I hate the silence." Ariane nodded. "Me too." Then she brought her mouth to Sana’s ear and said, low enough for it to be a secret even while filmed: "Thomas died in the fog. And me… I’m still breathing." Sana shuddered. A real shudder. The crowd paid. JACKPOT: $33,800,000 And Lina noted something: Ariane had just transformed. She was no longer a surviving victim. She was becoming an actress on the stage. A woman transforming her pain into power. The killer, if he was watching, must have been gloating. Or feeling threatened. **00:31 — Lounge: Nina, Léo, the Tension that Bites** The next challenge appeared, and Lina had a bad feeling from the title alone. CHALLENGE #4 — "THE HAND" A couple must let go… for ten seconds. Stake: $700,000 In the lounge, Nina had turned pale. She wasn't ready. She didn't have the strength to become a stake. Léo already had his jaw clenched. He hated the idea of letting go. He hated the very idea of being asked to let go. Hélène approached Nina. "We can refuse if you want," she whispered. Nina shook her head, almost ashamed. "If I refuse… they’ll eat me." Gabriel, behind her, said softly: "They’re already eating you." Léo turned toward them, aggressive. "No one eats Nina." Hélène stared him down, calm. "Léo… you don't own her." Léo trembled. His fingers tightened on Nina’s hand. Nina felt the pressure and inhaled, a small breath of panic. Mila placed a hand on Nina’s shoulder, stabilizing her. "Ten seconds," Mila whispered. "You can do it." Nina nodded, weakly. Sacha announced on the mic: "Ten seconds. A hand released. A gaze." Léo stared at Nina. "You stay with me," he said. Nina looked at him, and in her eyes, there was a profound exhaustion. "I stay… if you let me breathe." The sentence hit like a blow. Because it said everything. Léo hesitated. Then he let go of her hand, slowly. Ten seconds. Nina placed her hand on her own chest as if to feel that she still belonged to herself. Hélène looked at her encouragingly. Mila whispered "breathe." Gabriel observed everything, lucidly. At the end of ten seconds, Léo grabbed Nina’s hand again. Too hard. Nina winced. Lina, in the control room, felt her anger rising. "He’s going to explode," she whispered. Carmen replied, curtly, from the lounge: "I’m watching him." And in that moment, Lina understood a dirty truth: The killer didn't need to strike to cause harm. All he had to do was open a door in Léo’s relationship, and Léo would do the rest. **00:47 — The Lure: The Console Awaiting** Élodie gave a discreet sign to Lina. "The lure is active." Lina nodded. The fake weak point was in place: a mirror "maintenance" interface, accessible via a tablet hidden in the secondary technical corridor, just behind a door they had voluntarily left "improperly closed." A clean trap. If someone tried to touch it, a silent alarm would trigger in the control room, with a software fingerprint and a point of presence. Not absolute proof, but a trace. Finally. Carmen, in the earpiece, whispered: "I’m near the corridor. I’m not moving. I’m covering." Lina inhaled. "He’s going to bite," she whispered. Tom, behind them, said softly: "He’ll bite when the scene reaches its peak." Lina turned to him. "Why do you talk like you know?" Tom replied without being flustered: "Because I know how to write a crescendo." That sentence, coming from a technician, was an alert. Lina didn't answer. She tucked the alert away. And she waited. **01:03 — Challenge "Confession": The Crowd Becomes Priest** The next challenge shook the house. CHALLENGE #5 — "CONFESSION" A secret to the mask. A true sentence. A reward. Stake: $1,200,000 Sacha smiled like a merchant who could smell gold. "A secret. A sentence. Who dares?" Ariane raised her hand without hesitation. "Me." Soraya looked at her. A brief exchange: two lone women, two forces. Ariane took the microphone. This gesture was a shock: she had become central. "You want a confession?" she said. "Very well." She slid her mask down a millimeter, just enough to show a mouth, not enough to give everything. "I said 'Rose.' I said 'Rose' and it stopped nothing." Silence. The crowd outside exploded. Because the sentence was perfect: dramatic, intimate, viral. Ariane continued, her voice calm but her words sharp. "And I understood something. Here, words do not protect. Doors do not protect. Cameras do not protect." She turned her head toward the mosaic of screens. "The only thing that protects… is knowing who holds the key." Lina felt a shiver. Ariane had said exactly what needed to be said. And at the same time, she had just provoked the killer. Sacha whispered into the mic: "Magnificent." Lina thought: *he’s enjoying the chaos.* Soraya, at the bar, spoke up in turn, without a mic, but loud enough to be captured. "My confession? I’m afraid he’s still breathing." The silence was even more violent. Because hope is crueler than death. The jackpot rose. JACKPOT: $36,500,000 And then, Lina felt the peak approaching. The scene was too good. Too rich. Too perfect. It was exactly the moment when a writer-killer decides to write a turning point. **01:14 — The Silent Alarm** A silent beep appeared on Élodie’s screen. Red. Élodie froze. Lina leaned in. ALERT — MAINTENANCE MIRROR — ACCESS ATTEMPTED Lina’s heart tightened. "Carmen," she breathed into the earpiece. "Now." Carmen replied immediately: "Received." Élodie whispered: "I have a point of presence. Secondary technical corridor. And… a fingerprint. A device signature." Lina felt her skin go cold. "Which one?" Élodie looked, then turned pale. "It’s… it’s an internal device. A service device." Nassim whispered: "So someone from the staff." Tom, from behind, said softly: "Of course." Lina turned back to Tom. "Back away." Tom smiled. "You want me to back away… because you finally have a trace?" Lina didn't answer. She wouldn't take her eyes off the screen. Élodie added: "Access is in progress. He’s trying to inject something." Lina inhaled. "Cut the interface." Élodie hesitated. "If I cut it, he’ll know we’re watching." Lina replied: "Let him know. I want him to panic." Élodie cut it. The red beep turned black. And immediately, in the house, a door slammed. Not in the lounge. Not on stage. In the bowels. Carmen, in the earpiece, whispered: "He’s running." **01:18 — The Hunt Within the Walls** Carmen moved through the technical corridor like a blade. She had no microphone, no audience, no glamour. Just the sound of her footsteps and the smell of oil. The "improperly closed" door was ajar. Carmen pushed it with her fingertips. She entered. A small room, cold, with a tablet fixed to the wall. The dummy interface still showed a frozen screen, like a dead face. Carmen shone her light. And she saw something that made her blood boil: A hand had touched the screen. There was a fingerprint, a light condensation, as if someone had been in a hurry. Carmen moved forward. At the back, a hatch was slightly open. A hatch she had checked before. Her heart tightened. *He knows the house.* Carmen knelt, passing her flashlight through the opening. A low tunnel. The smell of damp stone. The belly of the old inn. She heard a rustle. A quick movement, far off. She went down. And there, in the control room, Lina, who was watching the internal "technical" camera (not broadcast), felt panic rising: Carmen had just entered the labyrinth. Carmen whispered into the earpiece: "I’m following him." Lina replied: "Don’t follow him alone." Carmen replied, coldly: "Too late." And in the lounge, the Black Gala continued. Because that was the power of Castel Pink: While a predator ran through the walls, the party outside fed itself. **01:21 — Montage: Eroticism on the Surface, the Beast Below** *Bar: Soraya and Elliot — The Dangerous Alliance* Soraya had felt something. A tension in the air. A quiver. Elliot looked at her. "Do you feel it?" he asked. Soraya replied, curtly: "I feel everything." She moved toward him, too close. Their masks had been removed for the oath, but the proximity remained masked by luxury. "You’re going to tell me the truth," Soraya whispered. "You know things." Elliot replied calmly: "I know your anger is looking for a face." Soraya placed her hand on his shirt, just to feel the heartbeat. "And if I choose yours?" Elliot didn't move. "Then you become like them." Soraya gave a short laugh. "Them?" "The crowd," Elliot whispered. "The killer. The ones who vote for 'who loses.'" Soraya grit her teeth. Then, against all expectations, she lowered her voice slightly. "I don't want to be like them." Elliot stared at her. For an instant, his calm seemed to crack. "Then don't become like them," he said. Soraya stayed there, her hand still on him. A tension, not an act. A thread. And the crowd paid for that thread. *Cinema: Kiara, Maël, Sana — Jealousy Becomes a Weapon* Kiara was pale. Maël was holding her. Sana was watching them. Sana whispered: "You are beautiful when you are afraid." Maël replied, cold: "You shouldn't be here." Sana smiled. "And yet, you aren't making me leave." Kiara shuddered. Sana approached her, gently. A gesture, a breath, nothing explicit. Just the poison of proximity. "Do you want to be protected?" Sana whispered. "Or do you want to be desired?" Kiara didn't answer. Because the question was indecent and true. Maël grit his teeth. He placed his hand on Kiara’s waist, a territorial gesture. Sana watched this gesture with quiet satisfaction. "There it is," she whispered. "That’s what’s killing you, Maël. You think you’re saving… while you’re imprisoning." Maël was about to reply, but a sound of footsteps in the corridor made Kiara jump. "What was that?" she whispered. Sana smiled. "The sequel." *Lounge: Nina and Léo — The Fracture* Nina was trembling. Léo was pacing. Hélène was monitoring. Mila was soothing. Gabriel was staring at the walls. And in this little theater, the danger wasn't the killer. It was Léo. "We have to stop," Nina said to Léo, her voice weak. "Stop what?" Léo asked, too quickly. "The challenges. The votes. Everything." Léo stared at her. "We can't stop." "Yes," Nina replied. "We can say no." Léo clenched his jaw. "Saying no… makes you feel strong, doesn't it?" Nina looked at him, wounded. "I just want to breathe." Léo leaned toward her. "Then breathe with me." He placed his hand on the back of her neck, a gesture that, elsewhere, might have been tender. Here, it was a padlock. Hélène approached. "Léo, step back." Léo glared at her, dangerous. "Don't give me orders." Gabriel took a step forward. "Léo… calm down." Léo trembled. And Lina, in the control room, felt it: this could slip even without the killer. And that was exactly what the killer wanted. **01:29 — In the Bowels: The Evidence** Carmen moved through the low corridor. She heard friction in the distance. A breath. She sped up. The passage widened, and she reached a fork. The old inn had veins. Directions. A silhouette passed, barely visible, at the end. Carmen ran. The silhouette vanished. Carmen arrived too late… but not empty-handed. On the ground, in the dust, there was an object. Small. Metallic. A badge. A service badge, black, smooth, with a chip. Carmen picked it up and felt her heart tighten. Because a badge didn't belong to "a guest." It belonged to someone who had rights. Someone who could open, close, trigger, erase. Carmen whispered into the earpiece: "Lina. I have something." "What?" "A badge. Service." Silence. Then Lina, icy: "Bring it back. Right now." Carmen turned back. But the moment she turned around, a door slammed further off. Another exit. An escape. The killer had just gotten away. But he had left a trace. Finally. **01:36 — The Scene Cracks: The Killer Retaliates Live** No sooner had Carmen left the passage than the screens in the lounge flickered. Élodie cursed in the control room. "He found another channel." Lina felt her blood freeze. A ticker appeared. Pale pink. White. Perfect. "YOU WANTED CONTROL." "THEN WATCH." Then a counter, cruel: BONUS CHALLENGE — $2,000,000 "THE LONE QUEEN" In the lounge, all eyes turned toward Soraya. Soraya froze. "No," she breathed. The crowd outside was already paying. BONUS: $2,000,000 VALIDATED $3,100,000 $4,000,000 Sacha, on the mic, tried to regain control. "We validate… or we don't," he reminded. But the damage was done: the killer had pointed to Soraya like a spotlight. Soraya raised her head slowly. Her eyes swept the room. She understood immediately: if she refused, she became the prey. If she accepted, she became a tool. She looked at Lina from afar. Lina gave a slight shake of her head: *no.* Soraya smiled, and that smile was a decision. She took the microphone. "I validate," she said. A violent silence fell. Even Carmen, returning from the corridor, froze. Lina felt a surge of rage: "Soraya..." Soraya spoke, her voice clear, mask still on her face, queen intact. "I validate… in my own way." She turned toward the screen. "You want 'the lone queen'? Then you are going to see a woman alone… who chooses." She put down the mic. And she looked at Elliot. "Come here." Elliot didn't move right away. His calm, for an instant, wavered. Then he stepped forward. "Are you sure?" he whispered. Soraya replied, softly, as if she were caressing a blade. "I’m not sure of anything anymore. But I prefer to choose my danger… rather than suffer it." The crowd exploded. The money rose like a fever. JACKPOT: $41,700,000 Lina felt dizzy. That was the power of Castel Pink: even on the edge of a massacre, people paid to see a woman decide her own solitude. **01:51 — Bar: Soraya Reclaims the Narrative** Soraya and Elliot found themselves at the bar, under a warm light. Sacha announced, very quickly, to frame it: "Bonus challenge: 'The lone queen.' Limit: glamorous. No imposed gestures. Soraya decides." Soraya placed her hands on the counter, then turned toward Elliot. "You know what?" Soraya whispered. Elliot looked at her. "What." Soraya approached, very slowly. "The killer wants me to lose." Elliot replied, almost tenderly: "He wants you to break." Soraya smiled. "Then I’m going to do the opposite." She removed her mask. Her face, without a filter, was magnificent and terrible. Her eyes were dry. Her breath steady. She moved closer to Elliot, placing her hand on his jaw. Just a contact. A contact that makes the heat rise without showing anything. "You’re going to be my witness," she said. "Of what?" Elliot asked. Soraya replied, her voice low: "Of my anger. Of my desire. Of my truth." She brought her mouth close to his, without kissing him right away. Just close enough for the air to mix. Elliot closed his eyes for a second. "Soraya..." She whispered: "If you lie… I’ll know." Elliot replied, without opening his eyes: "I’m not lying." Soraya planted a kiss, brief, controlled, but intense enough to make the room tremble. Nothing explicit. Everything was in the decision. Then she stepped back and smiled at the camera. "You want to see me lose?" she said. "Watch me win." The crowd paid like a tidal wave. And Lina, in the control room, understood one thing: Soraya had just taken the narrative back from the killer. And for a writer-killer, that was unbearable. **02:04 — Return of Carmen: The Trace in the Hand** Carmen entered the control room, her face hard, her breathing shallow. She placed the badge on the table. Lina leaned over it as if it were a weapon. "What does this open?" she asked. Élodie took a reader, scanned it. A beep. The badge was active. "Fuck..." Nassim breathed. "It’s an internal badge, maintenance level. Not guest. Not prop." Lina felt her throat tighten. "Who has these?" Élodie replied, cold: "Staff. Control room. Concierge. Owner." Carmen fixed her eyes on Tom. Tom stared back, perfectly calm. "What?" he whispered. Carmen replied: "You know exactly what." Tom smiled slightly. "You want a culprit. You want it to stop. So you look at the calm people." Lina grit her teeth. "Calm doesn't mean innocent." Tom replied, untroubled: "And panic doesn't mean victim." Lina breathed in, then set the rule that changed everything. "From now on," she said, "no one on staff keeps solo access. Élodie, you lock down rights. Carmen, you collect all the badges. Joan, give me yours. Sacha, give me yours. Tom… give me yours." Tom raised an eyebrow. "You want to disarm me?" Lina replied: "I want to reduce miracles." Tom pulled a badge from his pocket, slowly, as if he were playing a game. He set it down. Carmen picked it up. Lina looked at the pile of badges and felt a shiver: if the killer has a badge, he might have a duplicate. Or he knows how to make them. Élodie, suddenly, raised her head. "Lina… listen." On the screen, the filtered chat showed a new word returning, again and again: "BLOOD" "BLOOD" "BLOOD" The crowd wanted an escalation. So did the killer. **02:13 — The Killer Attempts to Seize Control** The lounge screens flickered once more. A ticker appeared, again, pale pink: "YOU HAVE EVIDENCE?" "THEN SHOW IT." Sacha took the mic, trying to maintain the theater. "We have nothing to show," he said, his voice calm. "We have rules. We have a frame." The ticker changed. "THE FRAME… IS BREAKING." And then, a camera from Secure Mode, which was supposed to be locked, switched. Not to a corridor. Not to a technical room. To an area Lina hadn't selected. A forbidden zone. The screen showed, for two seconds: The door to Suite 5. The door to the Sanctuary. The door of the Delcourts. Then the image cut. In the house, a deathly silence fell. In the control room, Élodie turned white. "He has access to our selections," she whispered. "He can steal our angles." Lina felt an absolute cold. Carmen whispered: "He wants to make us rise. He wants us to break protocol." Lina nodded. "He wants us to lose." And Soraya, at the bar, had heard. She raised her head like a wolf. Ariane, in the dungeon, smiled, dangerous. Kiara, at the cinema, trembled. Maël held Kiara too tight. Sana brought her mouth to Kiara’s ear: "You see? He makes you beautiful… because he makes you fragile." Kiara sobbed, silently. Nina, in the lounge, stepped back. Léo moved closer. Hélène placed herself between them, without even thinking about it. Gabriel stared at the walls, as if he could hear the house breathing. The Castel Pink was one step away from tipping over. And Lina, in the middle of it, understood that the trap had worked… halfway. They had a trace. But the killer still had his hand on the image. He still had the capacity to choose what was seen. Therefore, the next chapter would not be "a game." It would be a war. **02:27 — End of the Night: Lina’s Decision** Lina took the microphone. Not to seduce. Not to sell. To command. "Listen to me," she said. "We are stopping the challenges. Now." The crowd roared. The donation counter exploded. Sacha looked at her, furious. "Lina..." She cut him off. "Sacha, shut up." An incredulous silence crossed the lounge. Even the crowd, for a moment, seemed to hesitate. Lina continued, her voice cold: "You wanted to choose 'who loses.' So listen: you won't choose anymore. Here, we are the ones who decide." She turned toward Carmen. "Lock it down. Seal the accesses. Keep everyone visible. And tomorrow… we put the killer’s back against the wall." Carmen nodded, sternly. "Tomorrow, we flush him out." Lina looked at Élodie. "Rebuild the logs. Compare the badges. Look for the duplicate." Élodie acquiesced, already thinking. Lina looked at Soraya, the lone woman, the queen standing tall. "Soraya… you don't move without a witness." Soraya smiled, a mix of fatigue and fire. "I’ll move when I want to, Lina. But I promise you one thing: I won't lose." Lina looked at Ariane. Ariane replied with a smile that was too calm. "He wanted a survivor," Ariane whispered. "He has one." Lina felt a shiver: Ariane was becoming dangerous in a different way. She was the pain that learns to love power. Sana, in a corner, murmured like a caress: "We’re approaching the truth." Elliot remained calm, but his eyes had changed. As if something, finally, had cracked. And Tom, in the back, watched Lina as one watches a player who has just entered the real game. "You have a trace," he said softly. "Do you think that’s enough?" Lina replied, without trembling: "No. But it’s the beginning." She took the badge found by Carmen and slid it into her pocket like a weapon. Then she turned toward the house, toward the walls, toward the passages, toward the blind spots. *Listen to me,* she thought. *You wanted a scene? Fine. Tomorrow, I’ll give you one… where you won’t be able to cut away.* And in the silence that followed, the Castel Pink seemed to breathe more slowly, like a beast waiting for the next fight. The counter, meanwhile, continued to climb, even after Lina had cut the mic. Because the world outside didn't need words. It needed blood. And Lina understood, brutally, the final horror of this place: The closer they got to the truth, the richer the crowd became. And the richer the crowd became, the more powerful the killer grew.

Chapter 14 — The Dark Room The night hadn’t truly ended. It had simply cracked, like a mask pulled off too quickly: you think you’re breathing, but you can still smell the velvet, the sweat, the danger. In the Castel Pink, the end of an evening always felt like the morning after a party. Except here, the morning after had bodies and missing persons. The screens in the lounge had gone back to black. Not all of them: some still displayed frozen mosaics, empty frames, like windows onto a world that refused to close. “Safe Mode” had held. Halfway. The trap had bitten. Halfway. They had a lead: a badge. An access footprint. An alert on a decoy. But the killer had responded with the ultimate humiliation: he had proven he could still steal the image, that he could force a forbidden angle, that he could write on the pale pink like an author signing his name on skin. And Lina, standing in the middle of the control room, no longer felt like she was organizing survival: she felt like she was trapped inside a monster's head. Carmen, however, had only one obsession: narrowing the field. Reduce the doors. Reduce the rights. Reduce the miracles. Because a “technical” killer isn't a knife. He’s a key. And that key, somewhere, existed. 02:41 — The badge: the cold truth of a beep In the control room, the air was dry. Too dry. As if the machines had drunk all the oxygen. Élodie placed the badge on the table. A black rectangle, smooth, almost elegant. The beauty of an object is sometimes its most cruel insult. “Again,” Lina said. Élodie nodded, took out the reader, and scanned. A beep. Then a line on the screen. Numbers. Letters. A string of identifiers that meant nothing to anyone… except those who knew. Élodie scrolled, her eyes hardening with every second. “This badge isn’t just ‘a badge’,” she whispered. “It’s an identity. And this identity… it has a family.” Nassim leaned in. “A family?” Élodie opened another window: the list of badges registered in the maintenance system. “There,” she said. Names. Roles. Levels. SACHA — ADMIN CARMEN — SECURITY JOAN — CONCIERGE TOM — TECH ÉLODIE — CONTROL ROOM NASSIM — CONTROL ROOM And others, “temporary” badges given to contractors, deliveries, and interventions. Élodie placed her finger on a line. “The badge we found has the same profile as… Joan’s.” Lina felt a jolt. “The same profile?” Élodie nodded. “Yes. Identical rights. Identical zones. And yet… a different identifier. As if…” She stopped, swallowing hard. “As if someone had cloned Joan’s badge.” Silence. Nassim whispered: “Can you do that?” Tom, standing behind them, answered with an almost irritating calmness: “Yes.” Lina turned to him, icy. “So you’re confirming it.” Tom shrugged. “I’m confirming it’s possible. Not that I did it.” Carmen, who had just walked in, stared at Tom like a target. “And how is it done?” Tom replied, without moving: “With an encoder. A small box. Costs less than a watch. You copy the UID, you replicate it. If the system doesn’t check the encrypted signature… it’s a master key.” Élodie whispered: “It does check… but not everywhere. Not on the older ‘layers.’” Tom smiled, as if he had just heard the exact sentence he was waiting for. “There you go.” Lina felt her stomach tighten. “So he cloned Joan.” Carmen turned toward the door. “Then Joan is coming with me. Now.” Lina hesitated for a fraction of a second. Joan could be the killer. Or he could be a useful victim. Or he could be a man who knows too much. But one thing was certain: they could no longer let him circulate like a ghost in a house full of trapdoors. Carmen walked out. Lina followed. 02:53 — Joan: the concierge and the heart of the inn Joan was in the hallway, near the lounge, as if he were waiting. He always had that way of being present without taking up space. The presence of a servant… but with the solidity of a secret owner. When Carmen arrived, he didn’t flinch. “You’re coming,” Carmen said. Joan looked at her. “Where?” “With us. Control room.” Joan looked down for a moment, then nodded. “Alright.” Soraya, at the bar, saw them pass. She immediately stood up, nervous. “What are you doing?” she asked sharply. Carmen replied without stopping: “We’re working.” Soraya took a step forward. “You’re working while my husband—” Carmen turned around, cutting her off clean. “Soraya. I understand. But if you get in the way, you become a problem. And I can’t afford problems anymore.” Soraya remained frozen. Her eyes burned. Ariane, further away, watched in silence, her black dress still on her, like armor. Sana, leaning against a pillar, smiled like a spectator watching the strings tighten. Elliot looked at Soraya, calmly, and said in a low voice: “Breathe. You’re not alone.” Soraya stared at him as if the sentence insulted her… then she looked away, unable to choose between rejection and need. Carmen set off again, Joan behind her, Lina at her side. And the Castel Pink, within its walls, seemed to be listening to their footsteps. 03:07 — Lina’s decision: using eroticism as a curtain In the control room, Élodie turned her screen toward Lina. “The votes are still active on external channels,” she said. “Even if we cut them off, they start again elsewhere. And the chat… it’s a war.” Lina looked at the filtered words. It was a tide of violence and desire. People demanding the “truth.” Others demanding “punishment.” Others asking for “more Soraya.” “More Ariane.” “More Sana.” “More danger.” And a number that kept rising regardless. Lina thought: they pay even when we say no. Sacha entered, silent, and placed a hand on the back of a chair. “If you don’t give them something,” he whispered, “they’re going to take it.” Lina stared at him. “You’re talking about the drones.” Sacha nodded. “Drones. People tracking us. Leaks. Maps. Shadows. It’s a pack. And a frustrated pack becomes physical.” Carmen, curtly: “So we feed them?” Sacha replied, almost sincerely: “We channel them. We give them a bone. Not a body.” Lina closed her eyes for a second. She hated this logic. But she understood it: the world outside no longer calmed down with rules. It calmed down with scenes. She opened her eyes. “Alright,” she said. “We open back up.” Carmen stiffened. “Lina—” Lina raised her hand. “Safe Mode. Twelve cameras. And this time, we’re not doing a gala. We’re doing… a short ritual. A curtain.” Élodie whispered: “A curtain?” Lina nodded. “Yes. While the curtain holds the crowd… we go down. We find the dark room. The real one.” Carmen understood immediately. “You want to go into the passages.” Lina replied: “I want to go where he writes.” Joan, in a corner, was listening to them. His face barely moved, but Lina felt it: he was reacting to certain words. Passages. Dark room. Writes. Lina turned to him. “Joan. Your badge was cloned.” Joan didn’t flinch. He didn’t pretend to be surprised. He just gave the micro-sigh of a tired man. “I suspected as much,” he said. Carmen stepped forward, harsh. “You suspected it and you said nothing?” Joan looked up. “I said what I could say.” Lina felt a cold anger. “You’re going to say everything you know. Now.” Joan remained silent for one second too long, then answered: “There are places in this house… that don’t belong to you.” Sacha sneered. “It’s my house.” Joan looked at him, calmly. “No, Sacha. It’s your set. The inn, however, was here before you. And it kept its secrets.” A shiver ran through Lina. “You guide us,” Carmen said. Joan nodded. “I’ll guide you.” Carmen clenched her jaw. “And if you lie… I’ll break you.” Joan acquiesced. “I know.” Lina inhaled. “Élodie, reopen the live stream. Curtain: ‘The Ritual of White Masks.’ Sacha… you announce it. Véra… you frame the shots. Mila… stay with the survivors, keep them steady. Carmen and I… we’re going down.” Carmen nodded, already ready. Sacha smiled, a spark in his eyes. “The White Masks…” he murmured. “It’s beautiful. It’s going to explode.” Lina stared at him. “I don’t care if it explodes. I want him to come out.” And in that word, “him,” everyone understood: it was no longer a concept. It was a man. 03:22 — The Ritual of White Masks The live stream resumed like artificial respiration. Pale pink logo. White. Minimal. CASTEL PINK — RITUAL OF WHITE MASKS DURATION: 22 MIN CHALLENGES: LIMITED VOTES: SUSPENDED OBJECTIVE: “ALIBIS” The counter exploded immediately. CONNECTED: 18,600,000 19,900,000 21,400,000 It was obscene. It was unreal. And yet, it was there. Sacha took the microphone in the lounge, impeccable, a white mask in his hand. “You wanted to choose ‘who loses,’” he whispered. “Tonight, you don’t choose anymore. Tonight, you watch… what holds.” He spoke like a high-end priest. And the crowd loved it. PRIZE POOL: $45,900,000 $46,700,000 Sacha continued: “White masks. A gesture. A promise. No hardcore. No violence. Just… the truth of desire.” Véra distributed the white masks: light porcelain, smooth, almost fragile. White, in this house, was a provocation. Because white is what you soil. Soraya took one and put it on with a calculated slowness. Ariane did too. Kiara trembled as she tied hers. Maël pretended not to look at Sana, but he was looking. Nina hesitated, and Hélène helped her without a word. Léo grit his teeth. Gabriel observed everything like an investigator refusing to become a character. Sana, for her part, put on the white mask and smiled. “It’s funny,” she whispered to Kiara. “It makes me want to bite you.” Kiara shuddered, and Maël stiffened. Mila stood near Nina, her hand discreetly on her forearm, like an infusion of calm. “Breathe,” Mila whispered. Nina nodded. Sacha announced the unique “challenge.” CHALLENGE — “ALIBI” Each duo stands in their frame. One hand placed. One sentence. Stake: $1,000,000 The crowd paid immediately. + $1,000,000 VALIDATED PRIZE POOL: $47,900,000 The lounge transformed into a tableau. Soraya at the bar with Elliot: hand on the counter, controlled proximity, the white mask making her gaze even more violent. Ariane near the dungeon: standing, white mask, black dress, the posture of a queen. Kiara between Maël and Sana: a silent triangle, like a tightened rope. Nina in the center, with Hélène and Gabriel nearby: a small island of calm in a sea of stares. Léo just behind, too close. Sacha on the mic, Véra framing, Mila soothing. And while the world swallowed this tense beauty… Lina and Carmen slipped out of the shot. 03:31 — Descending: The belly of the inn Joan led them through a secondary hallway, far from the broadcasted mosaics. The armored shutters filtered a cold light. The air smelled of waxed wood and damp stone at the same time: luxury above, the past below. “Here,” Joan whispered, opening a door that bore no distinguishing marks. Behind it, a narrow staircase descended. Not a villa staircase. An inn staircase. Carmen switched on her flashlight. “You never told us about this,” Lina said. Joan replied, calm: “Because it wasn't asked for.” Lina grit her teeth. “Or because it had to stay hidden.” Joan didn't answer. They went down. The temperature dropped suddenly. Humidity rose. The noise from the lounge became distant, like a memory. In the walls, pipes ran—ancient ones, sometimes covered by modern casing. Conduits. Veins. Lina felt her heart tighten: this was where the killer breathed. Carmen asked sharply: “Where does this network lead?” Joan replied: “To the old cellar. To the storage. To a service room. And… to a dark room.” Lina stopped dead. “You call it that?” Joan nodded. “The old-timers called it that. Because that’s where you turned everything off. To listen. To hide. To wait.” Carmen looked at Lina: *we're here.* They moved forward. A fork in the path. Then another. Joan walked with an assurance that made one want to scare him. Carmen kept him in front, but close enough to break his neck if necessary. “You know this too well,” Carmen said. Joan replied simply: “I maintain it.” Lina thought: *or he uses it.* They reached a low door, made of metal, almost invisible behind a wooden panel. Joan placed his hand on it. “It’s here.” Carmen pushed him away with a gesture. “Not you.” She opened it. The air that came out was cold, dry, almost electric. The air of a machine. And Lina understood even before seeing: It was a control room within the control room. A room designed to be invisible. 03:44 — The Dark Room The room was larger than she would have thought. Racks. Cables. Batteries. A massive UPS. Relay boxes. A console. A central screen, switched off. And on a table, things that should never have been there: gloves, a box cutter, zip ties, black tape, filters, tubes. A room that smelled of technology… and staging. Élodie had spoken of a “hidden maintenance interface.” Lina had just found it. Carmen illuminated a corner: metal cylinders, lined up. “What are those?” Lina asked. Joan lowered his eyes. “Gases.” Carmen turned toward him, dangerous. “What gases?” Joan swallowed. “I don’t know exactly. They were here when Sacha bought the place. He kept them. He added things.” Lina stepped closer, reading a label. She felt her stomach knot. “CO2.” Carmen said nothing. Her face hardened, but her eyes understood. CO2. Mist. Respiration. Silent death. Lina backed away, as if she had just been struck. “Thomas…” Carmen whispered: “Hypoxia. You raise the CO2 in a warm, humid space. The body thinks it’s breathing. It falls asleep.” Lina felt nauseous. “And the Delcourts?” Carmen looked at the conduits. “You have vents everywhere. You can saturate a suite. You can put people to sleep. You can stage it. And if you have a passage… you enter, you leave, you lock the key inside.” The room seemed to tighten around them. Lina placed her hand on the central console. It was lukewarm. “Someone was here recently.” Carmen circled the room and found a drawer. Inside: blank badges. An encoder. A tiny electronic box. The proof of cloning. Carmen looked at Joan. Her voice was a knife. “You’ve been lying to me from the start.” Joan trembled slightly. “I didn't know it was being used to kill.” Carmen stepped closer. “You knew it was being used to hide.” Joan bowed his head. “Yes.” Lina, cold: “And Mika?” Joan looked back up. For an instant, there was real fear in his eyes. “The well communicates with… a gallery. And the gallery leads here.” Carmen cursed. “So he could have brought him here.” Joan nodded, almost imperceptibly. Lina felt a cold rage. “We find him. Now.” Carmen placed a hand on Lina’s shoulder. “We don’t separate.” Lina nodded. She turned to the central screen. She pressed a button. The screen flickered to life. A pale pink interface appeared. The same aesthetic. The same white. The same signature. Lina felt the blood drain from her face. In the center: one word. **CASTELMASTER** Carmen whispered: “It’s him.” Lina stared at the screen. Menus. Access points. Cameras. Relays. Cuts. Triggers. The “blind spots” weren't accidents. They were programmed. And the power cuts? A line displayed: *OFFGRID LOAD — DROP SIMULATION.* Drop simulation. A “fake failure” to create minutes without a feed, without evidence. Lina felt a hatred rising. They had built a hell… and someone had turned that hell into a murder theater. Carmen took a capture on a local drive, photographed the screen. “We have the *how*,” she whispered. Lina replied, her voice low: “We’re missing the *who*.” A sound, behind them. A rustle. Carmen spun around, flashlight ready. But it was only a draft, a breath of air passing through a vent. And Lina understood something else: this room breathed like an animal. And someone, somewhere, could close its mouth. 03:58 — The proof: a list On one side of the interface, a tab was flashing. **SCRIPT** Lina clicked. A list appeared. Titles. Timings. Words. EP1 — “CUT 01:20–01:34 — SANCTUARY” EP2 — “MIST — SAUNA” EP3 — “WELL — DISAPPEARANCE” EP4 — “BLACK GALA — FRAGMENTATION” EP5 — “FINALE” Lina felt her hands shake. It wasn't an improvised crime. It was a season. Carmen grit her teeth, ready to smash anything that looked like a screen. Lina, meanwhile, stared at the line “FINALE.” “He planned the ending,” she whispered. Joan, behind them, murmured: “He always planned it.” Lina turned around. “Who is ‘he,’ Joan?” Joan swallowed hard. “The one who writes.” Carmen grabbed Joan by the collar. “A name.” Joan trembled. “I… I don’t know.” Carmen shook him. “You’re lying.” Joan grit his teeth, his eyes damp. “I only know… that the one who writes has access to the layers. And those who have access to the layers… there are few.” Lina thought: *Sacha. Tom. Joan. Élodie. Carmen. Me.* But she had never known this room existed. So someone had kept her out of the circle. And that thought chilled her: the killer was perhaps closer to Sacha than to Lina. Or closer to Tom. Or closer to Joan than he was letting on. Carmen released Joan, but her gaze remained violent. “We keep going. Where is Mika?” Joan pointed to a hallway. “That way. A low door. A… prison.” The word “prison” made a specific sound in this place. A dirty sound. Because the Castel Pink had a “prison” for the game. But here, it wasn't a game. They moved forward. 04:06 — Upstairs, the curtain holds… barely While Lina and Carmen descended even lower, the Ritual of White Masks held the world at arm’s length. Soraya, at the bar, had her hand placed on Elliot’s. Just a hand. Nothing obscene. But everything was there: the pressure, the slowness, the decision. Sacha, at the mic, whispered: “A hand placed… is an alibi. A hand placed… is a promise.” The crowd paid for that word: *promise.* Kiara, in the cinema room, trembled between Maël and Sana. Sana had placed a finger on Kiara’s cheek—a light gesture, almost tender, but loaded like a threat. Maël had clenched his jaw without moving. He wanted to rip that finger away. He didn't. Because of the camera. And because Kiara, in a breath, had said: “Leave it… it’s nothing.” But it wasn't nothing. It was a crack in the couple. A crack that the killer could widen without even being there. Nina, in the lounge, breathed under Hélène’s hand. Hélène whispered simple phrases: “here,” “now,” “you are here.” Mila complemented her, soft and stable. Léo, behind them, watched all of this like a humiliation. His need for control was becoming a hunger. Gabriel observed the house. He saw the people. He saw the scene. But he couldn't stop his brain from thinking: *where are Carmen and Lina?* Sana smiled. Ariane, near the dungeon, was motionless, white mask on, like a statue. She had chosen calm. And that calm, in a house of chaos, was terrifying. The crowd outside didn't know that beneath them… a dark room had just confessed. 04:12 — The prison The low hallway ended at a heavy metal door, with no visible external handle. Carmen set down her light and inspected it. “This is new,” she whispered. Joan replied: “It was reinforced. After the renovation. When Sacha wanted to… secure it.” Carmen gave a joyless laugh. “Secure it.” Lina placed her hand on the lock. No key. A reader. She brought the found badge close. *Bip.* The door opened with a hiss of cold air. They entered. The room was smaller, but more violent. Bare walls. A cage. A chair. Straps. A camera in the corner—not from the “secure” network: a raw camera, without elegance, like a garage security cam. And on the chair… something living. A body. Lina froze. Carmen took two steps, her flashlight trembling. “Mika.” Soraya wasn't there to see it. But Lina suddenly felt the weight of Soraya on her chest, as if the absence of that screaming woman made the scene even more cruel. Mika’s wrists were marked. No blood. Red traces. His eyes were half-closed. His mouth dry. He was breathing. Slowly. Like a man who had been drained of his energy. Carmen knelt and checked him. “Alive.” Lina felt a wave of relief so violent she wanted to cry. She held it back. She didn't have the right, not now. “Mika,” Lina whispered. “Mika, can you hear me?” Mika’s eyes barely moved. A breath. A word, almost inaudible. “Soraya…” Lina closed her eyes for a second, swallowing. “We’re getting you out.” Carmen began to undo the straps. Joan, behind them, was shaking. “I… I didn't know…” Carmen shot him a look that could have killed. “You knew he could disappear. And you kept doing your rounds.” Joan lowered his head. Carmen unfastened the last strap. Mika slumped slightly, too weak. Lina caught him. His body was warm, but empty. He smelled of cold sweat and… something else: a chemical odor, light, almost sweet. “He drugged him,” Lina whispered. Carmen nodded. “So he wouldn't scream. So he wouldn't fight.” Lina felt a surge of rage. This wasn't a spectacular murder. It was a crime of control. And suddenly… a *clack.* The door behind them closed. Without any of them touching it. The reader beeped… then a second beep, longer. And a voice came out of a speaker—soft, almost intimate. “Bravo.” Lina froze. Carmen stood up, flashlight in hand, ready to strike a ghost. The voice resumed: “You found the dark room. You found the ‘how.’ You even found… the missing man.” A pause. A breath. “But you didn't understand the rule.” Lina felt her throat tighten. “What rule?” she snapped. The voice smiled. You could hear it. “The rule, Lina… is that the house is a set. And on a set, everything that is found… becomes a scene.” Carmen screamed: “Open this door!” The voice replied softly: “Not yet.” Then, on the wall, a screen lit up. A raw screen. It showed… the lounge. The Ritual of White Masks. Soraya at the bar. Sacha at the mic. The couples. And a pale pink banner appeared over the image, like a slap. **“THEY FOUND THE MISSING MAN.”** **“DO YOU WANT HIS RETURN?”** **“BONUS: $10,000,000”** The counter climbed instantly. **BONUS: $10,000,000 VALIDATED** **PRIZE POOL: $58,400,000** **$59,100,000** Lina felt her legs weaken. The killer had just done the unthinkable: He was transforming Mika’s survival… into a product. Carmen pounded the door with her palm. “Open up!” The voice replied, calm: “You wanted to retake control of the image. So look: I’m giving you a choice.” Lina inhaled, trembling. “What choice?” The voice resumed, soft and terrible: “You walk out with Mika… and you give me a scene. Or you stay… and I give the world… what it pays to see.” Carmen looked at Lina. Her eyes said: *he has us.* Lina looked at the screen. Soraya, upstairs, had just seen the banner. She froze, her eyes widening. And Lina understood: if Soraya learned that Mika was alive… Soraya would explode. She would break the ritual. She would break the frame. She would throw herself at the doors, the walls, the passages. Exactly what the killer wanted. And Lina, in that dark room, saw a truth that burned her throat: The killer wasn't just looking to kill. He was looking to rule. Through the image. Through the money. Through the hunger of the world. Carmen whispered: “It’s Sacha.” Lina didn't answer. Because the voice… The voice wasn't Sacha’s. It wasn't Tom’s either. It had a particular sweetness. A way of smiling within the words. And Lina, suddenly, remembered a tiny detail—a detail she had ignored for too long: The way someone in the house always spoke as if they were narrating. As if they were writing. Lina raised her head. “It’s you,” she whispered. The voice replied, almost tenderly: “Finally.” And in the lounge, on the screen, Soraya had just removed her white mask, her breath on fire. The crowd screamed through the money. The Castel Pink was about to tip over one last time. And Lina, trapped in the dark room with a half-conscious Mika, understood that Chapter 15 would not be a quiet revelation. It would be a confrontation. Live. With no possibility of cutting the feed.

Chapter 15 — Live Murder The dark room smelled of warm metal and electricity. It was a scent that didn’t resemble fear, but rather its manufacturing. As if someone here had learned to distill anguish in the same way one distills a perfume: dose, temperature, timing. Mika was alive. That was the only good news. And it had the acidic taste of good news in the middle of a trap: you rejoice, and you immediately understand that your joy has become currency. Mika breathed slowly, his gaze vacant, his mouth dry. He could barely stay seated. His body was that of a man who had been kept in the dark, deprived of water, fed just enough so that he wouldn't die. The killer hadn't locked him up to kill him. He had locked him up to use him. Carmen supported him, her arm firm, her movements quick. She wasn't tender, Carmen. She was indispensable. You could almost feel in her clenched jaw that she had just understood something terrible: here, violence was not an impulse. It was a strategy. Lina, standing before the glowing screen, stared at the CASTELMASTER interface as if staring at a face. The menus, the scripts, the simulated "drops," the conduits, the relays… it was all there. And it hurt, because it made evil rational. The door had closed behind them. A long beep confirmed: locked. Then the voice returned. A soft voice. A voice that smiles. — Bravo. There was something almost intimate about that "bravo," as if the killer were applauding a scene he had rehearsed. On the raw screen, the salon appeared. The Ritual of the White Masks was still holding, but you could feel the crack: the bodies were too tense, the gazes too heavy, the crowd too hungry. And over the image, the pale pink banner: THEY HAVE FOUND THE MISSING MAN. DO YOU WANT HIS RETURN? BONUS: $10,000,000 The counter had leaped like a beast. Lina felt her legs give way. Not from fear. From disgust. Mika’s survival had just been sold. Carmen struck the door with her palm. — Open up! The voice replied, poised, amused: — Not yet. And now, in this dark room, Lina understood that they had entered the final page of the script. On the interface, the FINALE tab was flashing, like an invitation. Lina inhaled slowly, then spoke, her voice stable like a blade being drawn from a scabbard. — You want a scene. You’ll have it. But you’re going to show yourself. Silence. Then a little laugh. — Lina… the voice whispered. You are magnificent when you still believe you can overturn history. Carmen turned to Lina, a hard look in her eyes: don't play with him. But Lina knew a simple truth: A screenwriter cannot stand having their final act stolen. So, if she wanted to make him come out, she had to offer him what he loved: a choice. Lina placed her hand on the interface keyboard. — You wrote the episodes, she said. You wrote the timings, the "drops," the "scripts." You wrote the death of the Delcourts, Thomas’s mist, Mika’s disappearance… and you want to write the end. She paused. — So write it. Tell me what you want. The silence grew longer. Then the voice spoke again, soft, almost tender: — I want… the world to get what it deserves. Carmen growled: — The world doesn't deserve this. The voice smiled through the words. — The world pays. Therefore, the world decides. Lina forced herself not to tremble. — You want Soraya to know. — Obviously, the voice replied. I want to see what a queen does when her king is returned to her… at the cost of a sacrifice. Lina felt a chill. — What sacrifice? A pause. — You. The word fell. Clean. Sharp. Like a stage direction. Carmen took a step, ready to tear the door off with her bare hands. — You touch Lina, I— — Carmen, the voice whispered, almost sweet, almost sad. You’re always the same. You think force is enough. Then the voice added, lower: — I don’t touch. I frame. And then, the screen of the salon zoomed in—a discrete zoom. Soraya had just removed her white mask. Her face was bare, magnificent, burning. She looked at the screen as if she understood that somewhere in this house, a truth had opened up. Sacha, at the microphone, was trying to maintain the ritual. — Stay calm… he whispered. We are verifying. We are framing this. But the crowd was already screaming through the money. And Lina understood: the house was no longer a place. It was a cable stretched between two worlds. A cable they were all walking on. 04:19 — The Salon: The Mask Cracks Upstairs, the announcement had hit like a slap. *They have found the missing man.* Soraya had frozen at first. Then her body moved before her brain. A pure impulse: find him. She had turned toward Carmen… and Carmen wasn't there. Toward Lina… and Lina wasn't there. Her gaze swept the salon, looking for a wall to break, a door to force, a human to shake. Elliot stepped forward, instinctively. He saw the storm in her eyes. — Soraya, he whispered, look at me. Soraya wasn't listening. — Where are they? she spat. Sana, in a corner, observed with a dangerous tranquility. Maël looked at her like one looks at a match near a curtain. Kiara was trembling, crushed between fear and the world’s desire that still pushed her to "perform." Nina clung to Hélène like a handrail. Sacha tried to regain control of the narrative. — We said "curtain," he said, his voice firm. A ritual. Not a hunt. Soraya turned toward him, and in her gaze, there was a brutal accusation: — It’s you. Sacha remained motionless, but his smile tightened. — Soraya… — It’s you, she repeated. You built this monster. Sacha replied, more sharply: — I didn't lock up your husband. Soraya burst into a joyless laugh. — No. You just sold the key. Silence fell. Because she had just spoken the simplest truth. Hélène stepped forward, calm, and placed her hand in front of Soraya like a discrete stop sign. — Soraya… if Mika is alive, we’ll get him out. But if you break everything now, you condemn him. Soraya stared at her. — You’re lecturing me? Hélène replied without trembling: — I’m saving you. Because you’re becoming exactly what he wants. That sentence hurt. Soraya inhaled, and for the first time, her breath hitched. Not from weakness. From struggle. Elliot approached even closer, low, intimate: — I swear to you we’re going to find him. But listen to me: you are not alone. Soraya turned her head toward him, slowly. — I am alone, she said. I am alone because he took my husband from me, and he made my loneliness a ten-million-dollar bonus. Then, lower, like a confession she didn’t want to make: — And I am alone because I want to kill someone. Elliot didn't back down. — Then you wait. You choose the right person. Soraya grit her teeth. Her anger was searching for a face. And when anger searches for a face, it always ends up finding one. Sana smiled, almost imperceptibly. 04:27 — The Control Room: Élodie Understands the Unthinkable In the control room, Élodie’s heart was in her throat. She saw the feeds, the permissions, the menus. She saw how the "CASTELMASTER" interface grafted itself onto the old layers like a root. She saw a reality that humiliated her: The killer had a control room deeper than her own. Nassim was whispering useless prayers. Tom, meanwhile, was looking at the screen like a man looking at a painting. Élodie turned toward Tom. — You knew, she whispered. Tom stared at her, calmly. — I know many things. — Too many, Élodie spat. Tom smiled. — "Too many" doesn't exist. There is only "useful" and "useless." Élodie felt a shiver. That sentence… that tone… that way of speaking in concepts, in scores. She thought of the killer: "episode," "finale," "scene." Then she remembered the day before, when Tom had said: *a second is a long time if you know where to look.* She looked at the log screen. An identifier kept appearing—masked, but regular: a software signature she hadn't seen because she hadn't wanted to see it. Élodie inhaled. Then said, very low: — It’s you. Nassim froze. Tom didn't even blink. — No, he replied softly. Élodie trembled. — Don’t do this. Tom leaned in slightly, his voice low, almost tender: — Élodie… if I were him, do you really think you would be alive? Élodie felt her skin go cold. Because the question was excellent. And that was exactly what terrified her: an intelligent killer knows how to ask questions that sound like excuses. Élodie forced herself to think differently. If the killer wasn't Tom… then Tom knew. And if Tom knew… he was covering. And if he was covering… he was participating. She straightened up. — I’m cutting everything that isn't vital, she said. Tom smiled. — You can't. — I can, she replied. And if I’m wrong, I’d rather lose comfort than lose lives. She placed her hands on the panel. She cut the layers. She locked the relays. And, at that moment, the "Secure Mode" live feed crackled. The counter outside screamed. And somewhere in the house, a soft voice laughed. 04:31 — The Dark Room: The Proposal The voice returned through the speaker, closer, as if pressed against their necks. — Élodie is cutting. That’s cute. Lina froze. Carmen too. The voice continued: — But she’s cutting curtains. Not the theater. Lina gripped the keyboard. — What do you want? she repeated. The voice replied: — I want a live broadcast. A real one. Lina felt the cold rising. — The live feed is already— — No, the voice cut in. The live feed is a mask. I want… the face. On the screen, the FINALE menu opened by itself. Like an invisible hand. Then a list appeared: FINALE — “LIVE MURDER” SEQUENCE 1: REVELATION SEQUENCE 2: CHOICE SEQUENCE 3: FALL Lina swallowed hard. — You want to kill me, she whispered. The voice smiled. — I want you to choose. Carmen exploded: — Stop your games! Open the door! — Carmen, the voice whispered. You’ve already struck. You’ve already threatened. You’ve already understood that it doesn't work. Then, lower: — You want an open door? I’ll open one for you. A beep. The prison door… creaked open. Not the exit door. Another one, at the back, a small hatch they hadn't noticed. A low hatch, almost invisible in the wall. A cold draft came out of it. Carmen approached, her flashlight aimed. — What is it? Joan, who was shaking in a corner, whispered: — An exit toward… the service corridor. And toward the salon, if you turn right. Lina understood. The killer was offering them a route. But a written route. — You’re letting us out… on the condition that we give you a scene, Lina said. The voice replied: — Exactly. Lina looked at Mika. Mika blinked, weak, but conscious of one word: Soraya. Carmen tightened the improvised harness on Mika. — We’re leaving, she said. Lina froze. — Wait. Carmen stared at her. — Lina, we aren't staying here. Lina replied, slow, precise: — If we leave like this, we play his scene. We bring Mika to the salon… we trigger Soraya… and he strikes during the chaos. Or he pins a murder on us. Carmen grit her teeth. — What do you suggest? Lina raised her head toward the screen. — We flip the broadcast. She took a breath that burned her throat. — You want a face? Fine. I’ll give you… yours. A small laugh. — Lina… you don't have access to— — Yes, I do, Lina cut in. She placed her hand on the interface, searched for a menu. OUTPUT. Then she saw it: an internal broadcast option. A "raw" output. Unfiltered. She whispered: — Élodie… The speaker cut her off. — Élodie can't hear you. Lina smiled, very softly. — I don't need her to hear me. I need her to see. She activated a feed: the central screen connected to a local network channel. A request appeared in the control room, automatically, as a "priority" alert. And Lina knew that Élodie, by reflex, would open it. Because Élodie was a technician: when it flashes, you look. The voice, for the first time, tensed. — What are you doing? Lina replied, without trembling: — I’m making you visible. 04:38 — The Control Room: The Image No One Was Meant to See Élodie’s panel flashed. LOCAL INPUT — PRIORITY Élodie hesitated for a second. Then she opened it. The screen displayed the dark room. The racks. The CO₂ tanks. The badge encoder. The scripts. And Lina, face pale, gaze hard, standing before CASTELMASTER. Élodie inhaled sharply. — Fuck… Nassim backed away, panicked. Tom froze. A micro-gesture. Infinitesimal. But real. Élodie saw it. And that micro-gesture screamed louder than a thousand words. — Tom… she whispered. Tom stared at her, calmly, but this time, his calm had a crack. Élodie understood. Not "proof." Not "legal certainty." But the emotional truth: the body that reacts when its secret is seen. Élodie turned toward Nassim. — Patch it. Now. I’m switching this feed to the live broadcast. Nassim went white. — Élodie… it’s forbidden, it’s— — Now, Élodie screamed. Or we all die. She typed. She injected the feed. And in a second, the outside world received what it had been paying for from the beginning without ever truly getting it: the back of the stage. On the live stream, millions of screens saw the dark room. They saw the tanks. They saw the encoder. They saw the scripts. The counter exploded. CONNECTED: 32,800,000 JACKPOT: $61,900,000 CHAT: “WHAT IS THAT?!” “CO2?!” “THERE IS A SECRET ROOM” “POLICE!!!” “IT’S HIM” “IT’S HER” “IT’S A SET-UP” And above all: Thousands of people called the authorities at the same time, but this time with images. Clues. An architecture. A raw feed. The world was no longer just a crowd. It was becoming a radar. Tom looked at the screen, and for the first time, his face lost its elegance. — Élodie… he breathed. Élodie stared at him. — It’s you. Tom smiled, but the smile was empty. — You want a culprit, he said softly. You want the story to close. So you choose me, is that it? Élodie replied, icy: — I choose you because you just trembled. Tom looked at her for a long time. Then he whispered: — Then watch closely, Élodie. He placed his hand on the keyboard. A sequence. The screen in the salon changed. 04:43 — The Salon: Soraya Sees Mika Alive… and the Crowd Goes Wild On the giant screens in the salon, the image flipped. The dark room. Mika tied to a chair, alive. Lina standing. Carmen. The hatch half-open. Soraya froze. Her face drained of color, then filled again. A tsunami. — Mika… she breathed. The word came out like a prayer. Then her body moved. She took one step, then another. She was going to run. Hélène stepped in front of her, instinctively. — Soraya, no! Soraya pushed her back with a brutal gesture. — Let me go! Elliot grabbed Soraya’s wrist, hard. — Soraya, listen to me! Soraya turned around, eyes wild. — Did you see him?! Did you see him?! Elliot nodded, but he didn't let go. — Yes. And that’s exactly why: if you run now, he uses you. Soraya trembled. Her eyes shone. She was on the edge of something greater than herself. Ariane, in a corner, watched the scene, motionless. Then she whispered, almost to herself: — There it is… the true live broadcast. Sana smiled, fascinated. Maël, meanwhile, held Kiara like a shield. Kiara was crying silently. Nina was trembling. Léo, behind her, had that dangerous glint: the glint of a man who wants to become a hero to regain mastery. Sacha, at the microphone, had no more words. For the first time, his theater was collapsing before a reality he didn't control. And the outside world, through donations, did what it always does when given a button: it pressed harder. BONUS: “FREE MIKA” — $12,000,000 “SACRIFICE” — $9,000,000 “SORAYA VS KILLER” — $15,000,000 The killer had succeeded: he had transformed the liberation into a challenge. But Lina had just done something even more dangerous: she had transformed the killer into content. And that, he would not stand. 04:47 — The Dark Room: The Voice Cracks The speaker crackled. The soft voice returned, but less stable. — You are… brilliant, Lina. Lina smiled, but her smile was cold. — Thank you. Carmen held Mika against her, ready to carry him. Lina stared at the screen. — Now, you are no longer a ghost. Now, you are a man with a keyboard. A silence. Then the voice, lower: — And you… you are a woman with a stage. Lina replied: — Yes. And I have one rule: no more cuts. She leaned toward the raw camera in the corner, the one the killer had installed. She took it, aimed it at the interface, at the scripts. — Look, she said to the world. Look at how he writes your emotions. Look at how he slices your morality into pieces. The counter exploded again. But suddenly, a noise in the corridor behind the hatch. A quick rustle. Carmen turned, her flashlight raised. — He’s coming. Lina felt her heart pounding. Joan, pale, whispered: — He’s going to lock us in. He’s going to— A sharp click. The hatch slammed shut. A bolt slid into place. And a new door opened on the opposite side, a hidden panel that slid open like a mouth. The voice whispered, almost sweet: — You want the face? Very well. And the silhouette entered. 04:52 — Revelation: Tom Tom entered as one enters a stage: without running, without hesitating. No mask. No smile. Just that thick calm, the calm that suddenly was no longer a mystery: it was a weapon. He held a tablet in one hand. In the other, a small box: the encoder. Lina stared at him. Carmen stepped in front of Mika, instinctively. — Tom, Lina said. It’s you. Tom inclined his head. — Yes. The word fell without a tremor. And that was the horror of it: He wasn't ashamed. He had… consistency. Carmen took a step. — You move, and I’ll— Tom raised a hand, calm. — Carmen. If you jump on me, I cut the oxygen to the salon. Lina froze. Tom showed the screen of his tablet: sliders, relays, conduits. He could do it. He added, softly: — This isn't a threat. It’s a demonstration. Carmen grit her teeth, motionless, pure rage. Lina spoke, slowly. — Why? Tom looked at her like one looks at someone asking the most naive question. — Because you built a place where desire is a product. Because you put one hundred and twenty eyes in bedrooms. Because you sold shame. And because the world paid for it. Lina replied, icy: — So you decided to kill? Tom nodded. — No. I decided to write the truth. Lina felt a burning anger. — The truth?! You call this the truth? Tom replied, perfectly calm: — Yes. The truth, Lina, is that the crowd wanted reality. So I gave them reality. Carmen growled: — You killed people. Tom stared at her. — I moved a cursor. The house did the rest. Lina felt a surge of nausea. — The Delcourts? Tom replied directly: — They were perfect. The favorites. The couple that sells. A shock was needed. An episode. A lock. A key. A mystery. — Thomas? Lina whispered. Tom lowered his head for a moment, almost as a gesture of respect. — Useful collateral damage. A soft death. A mist. A survivor. He looked at Ariane on the salon screen—frozen, fascinating. — Ariane is the best thing that ever happened to this season. Lina trembled with rage. — Mika? Tom smiled slightly. — A king in a cage. A queen alone. A bonus. Lina clenched her fists. — You are sick. Tom replied, calm: — No. I am lucid. Carmen, in a low, animalistic voice: — You’re going to die. Tom smiled. — Perhaps. But not without the final scene. He raised the tablet, clicked. On the salon screen, a banner appeared. FINALE — “CHOICE” SORAYA MUST DECIDE. ALIVE OR REVENGE. Soraya screamed, upstairs. A cry that tore through everything. — MIKA!!!! Tom looked at Lina. — You see? The world is addicted. And I… am the dealer. 05:01 — The Choice: Soraya Descends Upstairs, Soraya had no more skin, no more mask, no more rules. She saw Mika alive. She saw Lina facing Tom. She saw Carmen. And she heard that phrase: *Soraya must decide.* Hélène tried to hold her back. Elliot too. But Soraya was a storm that had found its eye: Mika. Soraya pushed through. She ran. Sacha yelled: — Soraya! No! Gabriel followed her, the instinct of an idiot hero. Hélène screamed for Gabriel to stay, but Gabriel was already gone. Léo, behind them, seized the opportunity: to be the one who "saves," to be the one who regains control. He moved too. Carmen, via earpiece, couldn't hear anything anymore. Lina, in the dark room, only saw the silhouettes on a feed: people breaking protocol. Tom smiled. — There it is. Human chaos. The most beautiful kind. Lina felt a new fear: not for herself. For them. For the house upstairs, full of conduits, full of CO₂, full of levers. — Tom, Lina said, you’re going to kill them. Tom replied, without emotion: — No. I’m going to watch them choose. And suddenly, Lina understood Tom’s only weak point: He needed to be God. And a God is overthrown by stealing his prayers. 05:07 — Lina Steals the Final Act Lina approached the console slowly. Tom followed her with his eyes. — Don't try, he whispered. Lina smiled. — I’m not trying. I’m doing. She typed a command. Tom took a step. Carmen moved a millimeter, ready to spring. Tom raised his tablet, threateningly. — I’m cutting the salon. Lina replied, calm: — Cut it. Tom hesitated. That hesitation was the first real crack. Lina continued, her fingers fast: She opened SCRIPT. Then she dragged the FINALE window to full screen. And she clicked an option Tom had left there—because he loved feeling invincible: AUTO-NARRATION — ON A synthetic voice appeared. An automatic reading of the scripts. An "assistance" designed to feed the banner. Lina modified a line. Then she validated. On the live stream, in place of the banners controlled by Tom, a text appeared. Not pale pink. Not elegant white. A brutal black. THE KILLER’S NAME IS TOM. HE CONTROLS THE CONDUITS AND THE CUTS. WATCH THE DARK ROOM. THIS IS NOT A GAME. The chat exploded. The counter exploded. But above all: the world outside shifted its angle. The crowd, fascinated by violence, had just received a new kind of violence: shame. Tom froze. His calm finally broke. — No… Lina looked at him. — You wanted the world to decide? Fine. Now the world is watching you. Tom raised his hand as if to strike Lina. Carmen pounced. But Tom was faster than he looked: he backed away, grabbed a tank, made a gesture toward a valve. — Carmen! Lina screamed. Carmen stopped dead, because she understood: one valve, and the salon becomes a tomb. Tom smiled, panting. — You see? I still hold the power. Lina stared at the valve. — You hold it… as long as you can cut off the air. Tom replied, lower: — Then don't move. 05:12 — Soraya Arrives: The Queen and the Monster The metal door vibrated. Bangs. Screams. Soraya. The lone queen had descended into the belly of the beast. Tom smiled, almost satisfied. — Perfect. Carmen whispered to Lina: — If Soraya enters… she’ll kill him. And if she kills him… he’ll cut everything before he goes. Lina understood: Soraya was a bomb. And Tom knew it. He had called her here. The door gave way. Soraya entered, her hair disheveled, the white mask broken in her hand like a piece of porcelain. Her eyes were flames. She saw Mika. Time froze for a second. Then she ran to him, fell to her knees, placed her hands on his face. — Mika… my love… Mika opened his eyes, weakly. — Soraya… The word made the whole room tremble. And in that trembling, Soraya shifted: from queen to woman. She kissed his forehead. No spectacle. A gesture of survival. Then she stood up abruptly and turned toward Tom. — It’s you, she said. It wasn't a question. Tom looked at her like one looks at an actress one has written. — Yes, he replied. Soraya took a step. Carmen intervened. — Soraya, no— Soraya pushed her aside, without violence, just with certainty. — Carmen… I respect you. But if you get between me and him… you’ll fall. Tom smiled. — There it is. Soraya approached further. Lina felt the valve, the air, the danger. — Tom, Lina said quickly. Don't provoke her. Tom replied, low, almost joyful: — I’m not provoking her. I’m liberating her. Soraya was trembling. Her hands searched for a weapon. Her voice was calm, but too calm. — Where are the Delcourts? she whispered. Tom replied: — Dead. Soraya closed her eyes for a second. Then: — And Thomas? — Dead. Soraya inhaled. Her eyes opened. She turned toward Ariane… whom she only saw on the screen. — Ariane… Soraya whispered. Ariane, on the feed, stared at the scene, motionless. She understood. Soraya turned back to Tom. — You turned us into a program. Tom nodded. — You were already a program. I just made it honest. Soraya smiled. A terrible smile. — Then I’m going to make your end honest. She made a sudden move. Tom grabbed the valve. Carmen screamed: — No! And Lina, in a reflex of pure survival, threw her hand onto the keyboard and activated a command she had seen in the menus: VENTILATION — OVERRIDE LOCAL — LOCK A software lock. Tom turned the valve. Nothing happened. His face froze. Then, for the first time, he felt fear. Lina stared at him, cold: — You no longer have the air. Tom backed away, panting. Soraya didn't give him time to understand. She lunged. Carmen tried to catch her, but it was too late. Soraya hit Tom—not with a fist, but with her whole body. She pinned him against the racks. The tablet fell and shattered. Tom screamed—not in pain, but in rage. — You’re destroying the work! Soraya spat: — I’m destroying your god. Tom pushed her back, tried to grab the encoder like a ridiculous weapon. Soraya snatched it away and threw it. Mika, in the chair, watched the scene, helpless. Lina felt her heart break: he was alive, but a prisoner of his own weakness. Carmen placed herself between Tom and the console, ready to prevent him from reclaiming the air. Lina, meanwhile, typed, typed, typed: locking, isolating, cutting the old relays. Tom turned toward Lina, eyes wild. — You think you can close a house?! Lina replied, icy: — Yes. Because you’re the one who opened it. 05:19 — Ariane Arrives: The Survivor Finishes the Sentence Another silhouette entered the dark room. Ariane. She had found a passage. She had followed Soraya, not out of jealousy, but out of instinct: the finale is played out below. And Ariane wasn't letting anyone write her ending anymore. She entered, black dress, white face, burning gaze. Tom saw her and gave a laugh, a real laugh, almost insane. — Ariane… finally. You are my best survivor. Ariane approached slowly. — I am your worst mistake, she whispered. Tom took a step back. — You should thank me. Without me… you’d be a silent widow. Ariane smiled, but her smile was no longer sweet. — Without you… Thomas would be breathing. The sentence fell like a guillotine. Soraya turned toward Ariane. The two women looked at each other. Two forces. Two pains. And in that gaze, Lina understood: the killer thought he controlled the women. He had only awakened something he didn't know how to manage: an alliance of queens. Tom backed away further. He looked for an exit. A panel. A hatch. Carmen saw him. — Not you, she spat. Tom tried to force his way through. Ariane blocked his path, calmly. — You want to disappear? Ariane whispered. Like Mika? Like your "episodes"? Tom growled: — Let me go! Ariane replied, icy: — No. And Soraya, behind her, said a simple, terrible sentence: — You are going to stay. You are going to watch Mika live. And you are going to hear the world hate you. Tom trembled. For the first time, he felt what his victims had felt: the absence of an exit. Lina, on the keyboard, saw an alert: OFFGRID LOAD — DROP SIMULATION READY. Tom, despite everything, had one last button: a fake failure, a blackout, chaos to escape. Lina screamed: — Élodie! If there’s a cut, keep the live feed going! Élodie’s voice crackled in the earpiece, finally reconnected: — I’m on it! I’m holding it! I— The power sputtered. For an instant, the light flickered. Tom was already smiling. But the light came back. Because Élodie, upstairs, had just done what was necessary: isolated the UPS, forced the source, maintained the feed. And the world outside saw everything. Tom understood. His breathing changed. He was no longer the master. He was being seen. 05:27 — The Fall: Not a Murder, an Ending In the distance, an impossible sound was heard: sirens. Not in the house. In the countryside. The drones, the calls, the images… had finally done what they always do: materialize the State. The police had found a direction. Tom understood this too. His face tightened. — No… he whispered. Lina stared at him. — You wanted to be immortal. You’re going to be arrested. Tom laughed, but his laugh was broken. — Arrested… and then what? They’ll judge me. They’ll forget me. And the world will want another. Ariane approached, very close. — You’re wrong, she whispered. You won't be forgotten. Tom stared at her. — You hate me… and yet you are alive because of me. Ariane replied: — I am alive despite you. Soraya leaned toward Tom, her voice low, intimate: — You want an ending? You’re going to get one. Tom trembled, and for the first time, he searched for only one thing: an exit. He backed toward the hatch he had opened earlier. He tried to slip into it. Carmen lunged, grabbed him by the collar, and pinned him to the floor with a clean, controlled violence. Tom screamed. Not in pain. In humiliation. — Let go of me! Carmen, her face hard: — You’ve written enough. She put a zip-tie on him… not around his neck, but around his wrists. A lock. An irony. Tom breathed quickly, like a cornered animal. And it was then that Lina, looking at Mika, looking at Soraya, looking at Ariane, understood the final necessity: the story had to be closed differently. Not just by arresting Tom. By killing the myth. Lina turned toward the raw camera. — Listen, she said to the world. The crowd outside was suspended. Millions. Silence seemed possible for a second. Lina spoke, slow, clear. — What you have been watching… was not a game. It is not a series. It is not a "concept." She pointed to Tom on the floor. — Here is the man who wrote your "episodes." Here is the man who used your money like a knife. Then she looked at the counter, and her voice grew harder. — And here is the truth that hurts: If he was able to do it… it’s because you paid for it. The chat exploded. Anger. Defense. Denial. But Lina continued. — Today, you can choose one last time. Not "who loses." But who you are. She paused. — You wanted live reality. You have it. And in that dark room, where fear had been manufactured, Lina made a simple gesture: she cut the live feed. Not the network. Not the system. She cut the image. Black screen. Silence. The world screamed. But in the house, for the first time, a purer silence was born: the silence of those reclaiming their lives from a crowd. Soraya placed her hand on Mika. Ariane closed her eyes for a second. Carmen held Tom on the ground, motionless. And above, the heavy footsteps of men in uniform drew near. 05:41 — After When the police entered, it wasn't heroic. It was messy. Orders. Flashlights. Weapons. "Don't move." Gazes that didn't know if they were in a movie or a nightmare. Tom was handcuffed. Carmen didn't let go of him until a gendarme placed a hand on her arm. Soraya collapsed near Mika, but it wasn't weakness: it was a return. As if her body, finally, had the right to fall. Mika was taken into care. Water, blankets, questions. He only answered one word: — Soraya. Ariane remained standing, straight, her face closed. She looked at Tom one last time. Tom looked at her too. He whispered, low: — You will always be my survivor. Ariane replied, calm, terrible: — No. I am the proof that you were wrong. And she turned away. In the salon, Sacha was sitting, pale, the microphone still in his hand like a man holding an object that had become useless. Véra was crying silently. Mila held Nina close. Hélène held Gabriel, who was shaking with rage and fatigue. Kiara had curled up. Maël looked at Sana as if, finally, he understood he had flirted with fire. Sana, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling. — It’s over, Kiara whispered, her voice broken. Sana replied softly: — Nothing truly ends. It just changes form. Lina, meanwhile, climbed from the belly of the inn up to the salon like one climbing out of a well. Every step was a regained breath. Carmen joined her. — You cut the feed, Carmen said. Lina nodded. — Yes. Carmen stared at her. — Do you know what that costs? Lina replied, without a smile: — I know what it’s worth. Carmen gave a micro-smile. The kind of rare smile that looks like approval. Soraya, sitting near Mika, raised her eyes toward Lina. Her gaze was no longer that of a lone queen. It was that of a woman who had survived her own script. — Thank you, she said simply. Lina nodded, unable to answer. Because she knew: thank you is never enough. But sometimes, it’s all one can offer. 06:10 — The Final Image Outside, the day was breaking. The countryside was becoming countryside again. The trees, the hills, the empty road. And yet, Castel Pink would never again be an "isolated" house. The crowd had localized it in its mind. The journalists would come. The questions, too. The legends. Lina stood on the terrace, the fresh air on her face. She thought of the Delcourts. Of Thomas. Of the minutes of mist. Of the seconds without an image. Of that word that had contaminated everything: *episode.* Carmen approached. — You think it stops here? Carmen asked. Lina looked at the horizon for a long time. — No, she said. But it changes. Carmen nodded. Lina added, lower: — We learned the only rule: If you give your desire to a crowd… it gives it back to you as a bite. Carmen stared at her. — And you? What are you going to do now? Lina replied, her voice calm, her ending sharp: — I am going to build a place where pleasure no longer needs to be seen to exist. She turned toward the villa—immense, beautiful, dangerous. Castel Pink was a masterpiece, yes. But never again a stage.