I came here for inspiration. The invitation said it was a dream retreat—cutting-edge design, ocean views, creative freedom. Slater King, the reclusive tech genius, handpicked me. His island gleams like a jewel in the Pacific, all glass and light, humming with silent intelligence.

But last night, I saw something I wasn’t supposed to. One of the women—Lila—stood motionless in the hallway, eyes wide, blinking rapidly. Then she turned and walked into the west wing, where guests aren’t allowed.

This morning, she greeted me with a perfect smile. 'I’m great,' she said. But her pupils dilated when I mentioned the hallway. And just now, in the mirror, I swear I saw a message flash: 'BLINK TWICE IF YOU’RE NOT OKAY.'

My heart pounds. I don’t know who to trust. But I know one thing—this place isn’t a sanctuary. It’s a trap. And I might already be too deep to escape.