For our graduation trip, I spent weeks planning a cozy, rustic getaway to the Silverwood cabin retreat. But Chloe, the class princess, mocked me in front of everyone, calling me a pathetic, uncultured loser who had never seen the real world. Then, she dropped a bombshell in our Snapchat group: she was taking the entire class to "The Velvet Mirage"—a ultra-exclusive, private estate hidden deep in the mountains. Private helicopter transfers, Victoria's Secret models as personal hosts, Michelin-starred chefs serving custom French dinners, and best of all, completely free! The group chat instantly exploded into a frenzy. Even Mr. Miller, our notoriously strict and cheap academic advisor, approved this ridiculously lavish trip. I watched silently as they went wild over this free lunch, offering a word of warning. Instead of listening, the entire class turned on me, calling me jealous, a buzzkill, and kicked me out of the group. They had no idea that there was no paradise in those dark, isolated woods. It was a dark web slaughterhouse that devoured people alive. Since sweet words couldn’t save idiots bent on dying, I decided to take a front-row seat and watch exactly how they would walk themselves straight to hell.
"Amber, did you drop your brain in a toilet or what?" Chloe’s voice message exploded in the quiet Snapchat group, dripping with blatant contempt and mockery. Right after, as if flaunting her war trophies, she began spamming the chat. Dozens of high-definition panoramic photos and an incredibly lavish aerial Vlog instantly took over everyone's screens. In the video, nestled deep within an untouched forest, stood a massive Gothic-style mansion. Its luxurious European-style domes reflected golden light, and a heated infinity pool featured giant pink flamingo floats. Senior English-style butlers in tuxedos and white gloves stood in perfect lines, while a long circular table covered in hand-woven Caucasian rugs was filled with expensive liquors that normal people couldn't even name. "Open your eyes and look closely! This is The Velvet Mirage! This isn't some cheap farmhouse Airbnb you guys are thinking of. This is a top-tier private estate that is absolutely closed to the public!" Chloe’s voice message came again, her tone oozing with superiority. "They have Michelin three-star French chefs, a private Dolby Atmos cinema, and even the water for washing your hands is imported Evian! The best part? The estate has professional models and private maids providing round-the-clock butler service!" "If it weren't for my stepbrother being the Executive Director for East Coast Operations there, a bunch of broke, fresh graduates like you wouldn't even know which way the front gate opens in this lifetime! And you want to go to Silverwood? Amber, what is there to do in that trashy place besides looking at some old rocks and drinking well water? We’ve worked ourselves to the bone studying for four years. Now that we're graduating, what’s wrong with letting loose and experiencing the high life?" The moment the photos and videos dropped. The group chat, which had just been discussing how to split the gas money for the Silverwood rental, fell dead silent before completely exploding. Several guys who usually came from average backgrounds and had to save up for weeks just to buy a pair of Nikes started spamming rows of bowing and drooling emojis. "Oh my god! Holy shit! Chloe, your stepbrother is a literal god! This is insane!" "If I post these on my Instagram and TikTok, my high school friends will die of jealousy!" "Queen Chloe, please accept my worship! From today on, you are my one and only savior!" Even a few of the most introverted girls in class, who usually didn’t dare to speak up, shyly started asking what kind of designer dresses they should wear to a place like this so they wouldn't look cheap, and if they should rent one from Rent the Runway right now. I sat in front of my laptop, staring at the rapidly scrolling, crazed messages on my screen, my brows furrowing tightly. The Velvet Mirage. Not only had I heard of this name, but it had also left a deep impression on me. It was located in a lawless border zone between three states, hidden deep in the mountains. It branded itself as an ultra-private, high-end sanctuary, luxurious to the extreme. But its prices were ridiculously high. Rumor had it in my social circle that even multi-millionaires who went there would have to pay an arm and a leg to get out. As for Chloe's so-called "stepbrother," I had seen him once at the campus gate. He wore a thick gold chain, had yellow teeth, and his eyes lingered filthily on the college girls' legs. He was the textbook definition of a shady, fast-talking street thug. A guy like that was the Executive Director for East Coast Operations? And he could sponsor a free wild party for over forty broke college kids at a high-end money trap like that? "But... will Mr. Miller agree to us going to a place like this? It sounds a bit too extravagant," the class treasurer typed hesitantly. Mr. Miller was our class advisor, nearing retirement age. He was usually extremely rigid, stingy, and always preaching about morality. He hated extravagance. If we spent a few extra dollars on bottled water for a class event, he would lecture us for hours. If he found out our graduation trip was to a private club filled with "maids" and "models," he should, by all accounts, blow his top and tear Chloe to shreds. "Put your heart at ease," Chloe sent a smug, winking emoji. "I’ve already spoken to Mr. Miller privately." Right then, Mr. Miller, who had been silently lurking in the chat, actually popped up. "Class, Chloe just had a long phone call with me and detailed the itinerary." "She said her stepbrother secured a free slot for our class under the 'International High Society Etiquette and European Classical Culture Study Seminar.' This will not only broaden your horizons but also won't put any financial burden on anyone. I believe this is a rare social practice opportunity. We should go." "Everyone should be grateful and thank Chloe for her thoughtfulness." Mr. Miller's high-sounding endorsement was the final straw that crushed all remaining logic. The group chat was instantly flooded with "Thank you, Goddess Chloe," "Mr. Miller is the best," and endless praise. I stared at Mr. Miller's righteous words on the screen, a bizarre sense of unease creeping up my spine like a poisonous snake. In this world, there is no such thing as a free lunch, let alone a free luxury estate. A bunch of twenty-year-old college students with zero real-world experience, who didn't even know how dangerous society could be. Plus a hypocritical old man who loved free perks. Going to a private club with a shady background hidden deep in the mountains. This was literally a flock of fat, white sheep lining up to deliver themselves to a pack of hungry wolves! I couldn't suppress the anger in my chest. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I sent a long paragraph: "Chloe, the point of a graduation trip is to celebrate our friendship. Even if we split the bill to hike and stay in a cheap cabin, it’s a hundred times better than going to an unknown private club deep in the mountains with zero security clearance." "If it's completely free, what do they want from us? Do they want our empty wallets? Or do they just like charity?" "Besides, that place is in the middle of nowhere. We don't even know if there's cell service, let alone what the security is like. We are just students. If something goes wrong, who takes responsibility? How do we guarantee our safety?" The moment the message was sent. The wild carnival in the chat came to a brief halt. I had hoped that these words would wake up at least a few classmates who had half a brain. But what I got wasn't reflection. It was a direct mention from our class president, Austin. "@Amber, can you stop being so bitter and toxic? Are you trying to ruin this for everyone?" Austin loved playing the perfect, selfless gentleman in front of Mr. Miller, but now his words cut like knives. "Chloe went out of her way to use her valuable personal connections to get us this perk. If you’re not grateful, fine, but why are you spreading rumors and smearing her? What is your problem?" "Amber, are you just mad because someone else has better connections than you? You hate that you’re not the center of attention, don't you?" "I bet she just wanted to make a commission off the Silverwood trip!" the sports rep jumped in to fire shots. "Didn't she push that Silverwood cabin so hard earlier? It was fifty bucks per person! Who knows how much kickback she was going to get? She probably made a deal with the local agents!" "Exactly, she acts so pure and cold, but she’s greedier than anyone! What a buzzkill!" "She's psycho. Go or don't go, who cares! We'll have more fun without her anyway! She really thinks she's someone special!" A barrage of mockery, insults, and dirty accusations slammed into me. I stared at the screen expressionless, watching classmates who usually called me "Amber" sweetly now show such vicious, ugly faces just for a fleeting "free luxury experience." Sweet words can’t save idiots bent on dying. Mercy cannot rescue those who choose to jump. "Fine." I didn't write a long essay to prove my innocence, nor did I scream back in rage. I tapped the top right corner, left the group, and cleared the chat history in one smooth motion. Then, I dialed the number of the Silverwood cabin host. "Hey, Uncle Dave, that cabin block I reserved? Cancel it. Keep the deposit as a cancellation fee." Since they chose to treat deadly poison as sweet rain and a one-way ticket to hell as a VIP pass. Then I would sit in the audience and watch exactly how they ruined themselves.
After hanging up, I ripped the reservation sheet filled with itineraries and plans into shreds. I tossed it into the trash can. Finally, some peace and quiet. Around evening, the doorbell rang. The president of the Foreign Language Class, Ethan, stood outside, dripping with sweat. "Amber, save me! The beach resort our class booked got shut down by the health department today, and our graduation trip tomorrow is ruined! Everyone is literally crying!" "I heard you booked the best cabin block in Silverwood? If your class isn't going, can you transfer the reservation to us at original price? Please!" Looking at his anxious and sincere eyes, I pointed at the shredded paper in the trash. Then, I called the host right in front of him and transferred the highly sought-after cabin block to his class. Ethan was so thrilled he almost bowed to me, leaving with endless thanks. In contrast, the ugly faces of my classmates who rushed to get a "free dinner" and bit the hand that fed them seemed even more pathetic and laughable. The next night at 8:00 PM. The city lights were turning on outside. This was the exact time my class was scheduled to arrive at "The Velvet Mirage" to start their party. I was sitting on my couch, wearing a face mask and reading a book, when my phone screen suddenly started flashing wildly. Although I had left the group, my deskmate Maya was a highly socially anxious gossip addict. She was too scared to join the party, so she stayed home, but she couldn't resist her curiosity and had been getting secretly recorded videos from someone there, which she forwarded to me. "Amber, you missed out big time. This place is seriously insane! I feel like I walked into a movie!" In the first video. The estate ground level was magnificent, so golden and bright it made one dizzy. Mr. Miller, wearing his faded old collared shirt, sat extremely stiffly on an imported Italian leather sofa, looking up at the glittering crystal chandelier, nervously rubbing his hands. But his eyes held an uncontrollable greed. Chloe wore a deep-V sparkling tight dress, holding a cocktail that glowed with a strange pale-blue fluorescent light and bubbled with dry ice steam. She laughed and leaned close to him. "Mr. Miller, this is a special non-alcoholic mocktail called 'Dreamy Nebula.' My brother had the bartender make it just for you. It's very healthy, try it." Mr. Miller had zero defense. He even smiled with pride and appreciation, took the glass, and downed a huge gulp. Then the camera panned to the classmates playing around the infinity pool. The guys were excitedly taking photos with several tall, hot models in bikinis, while the girls were tasting delicate French pastries. On the surface, everything looked like a high-end, intoxicating party. I frowned, my fingers tapping the table. Was I really overthinking? Was there really a billionaire doing charity in this world? But then, the second and third videos came in quick succession. The vibe began to turn incredibly creepy. The background music was no longer smooth, elegant piano. It had turned into a heavy, oppressive, deafening death-metal electronic beat. The lighting had also shifted from warm yellow to an intimate, dim, reddish-purple, oozing a sinister energy. "Amber, things feel weird... Chloe said we're playing an immersive escape room game! She separated the guys and the girls!" In the voice message Maya sent, her initial excitement was gone, replaced by a slight tremble. In the background, I could hear a few girls gasping in fear. In the video, the classmates were led by several expressionless servers into a long, narrow corridor with no windows, its walls hung with bizarre oil paintings. And in a panoramic photo of the corridor that Maya accidentally captured. I noticed a detail that made my skin crawl instantly. At the dark end of the hallway stood several incredibly bulky security guards in black suits. One of them was smoking, his sleeve rolled up slightly, revealing a hideous, blood-red scorpion tattoo on his wrist. More terrifyingly. The waist of his suit was bulging. That was definitely not the shape of a walkie-talkie or a baton. That was a taser, or even... the outline of a real gun! Why would a cultural seminar experience require elite, armed-to-the-teeth thugs with mob backgrounds? Cold sweat instantly drenched my back. I finally realized where that overwhelming sense of dread was coming from! A free luxury experience, fresh graduates with no life experience, deliberately separated genders, and an isolated mountain forest. This wasn't a party. This was a perfectly designed trap for prey! Just as I grabbed my phone, intending to call Maya and tell her to call the cops and run immediately. My phone vibrated violently. It wasn't Maya. It was a photo and a voice message from Chloe. In the photo, under the harsh red ambient lights, the scene looked like a living hell. Mr. Miller was collapsed on the dirty carpet of a VIP room, his eyes tightly shut, his face flushed with an extremely abnormal deep red. His faded shirt was mostly torn open, and his hands were clawing at the air unconsciously. Beside him, three of the most introverted, pure-looking girls from our class were huddled in the corner of a sofa. They were shaking and crying, their eyes unfocused, their jackets gone, leaving only thin camisoles. And Austin, our proud class president, was being pinned to a coffee table by two massive thugs. He held a piece of paper, his hand shaking like a leaf, as he pressed a blood-red thumbprint onto it. "Amber, it looks like your high-and-mighty attitude couldn't save these idiots, after all." Chloe’s voice message played. Her voice no longer had her fake, sweet "green tea" disguise. It was filled with sickening malice and triumph. "Old Miller and these pure little sluts are currently in the VVIP room on B2." "The 'Dreamy Nebula' mocktail has a pretty strong kick. They seem to have lost all control of their bodies. Any minute now, some big clients are coming in to 'inspect' them." "Oh, by the way, your dear class president Austin just 'accidently' shattered a pair of antique French urns worth three million dollars in the hallway. He just signed a three-million-dollar loan shark contract. My brother said, if no one pays up, the guys stay to have their limbs fed to the dogs, and the girls stay to shoot high-definition videos for the internet." "I heard your family is loaded? Didn't you love acting like the big sister of the class? Why don't you bring some cash over and save your beloved teacher and dear classmates?" The trap was sprung! The snake had finally bared its poisoned fangs! She knew that even though I left the group, I could never watch Mr. Miller—who, despite being stingy, had genuinely helped me apply for financial aid during my freshman year when I was struggling—have his life ruined. Nor could I watch those innocent girls get destroyed. She was forcing me into the game, trying to drag me into the same bottomless abyss! Staring at Mr. Miller's unconscious face and the girls' hopeless eyes. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, there was nothing but freezing cold killing intent. "Send me the passcode to your B2 room." I typed back, my fingers steady without a single tremble. "I'm coming now."
After sending the message. I didn't act like some hot-headed, brainless idiot, grabbing my bag and running downstairs to hail a cab into the mountains. That wasn't rescuing. That was delivering takeout to the wolves. I turned and walked into my bedroom, opening the secret compartment at the bottom of my desk drawer to pull out a black, burner satellite phone with zero call history. I dialed a highly classified, encrypted number that I knew by heart. The phone rang for half a second before it was picked up. "Hey, Derek." "Last month at our family dinner, you got a bit drunk and mentioned that the state and city police have been dead-set on tracking a dark web syndicate operating in the tri-state border forest, called 'The Velvet Mirage.'" "You suspected it was a transit station for dark web human trafficking and illegal live streaming. But their perimeter security was too tight, they had too many lookouts, and the B2 blast door system was unhackable. You guys were afraid of tipping them off, so you couldn't get the core evidence, right?" On the other end of the line, my cousin Derek—the head of the city's homicide and major crimes unit, a man who remained unshaken even if the sky fell—suddenly breathed heavily, his voice tightening to the limit. "Amber! How do you know about this classified intel?! What are you planning? Don't you dare do anything reckless!" "No time to explain. Chloe's stepbrother is one of the ringleaders. Under the guise of a graduation trip, they set up a death trap and lured my advisor and my entire class into the estate." "Right now, the guys have been forced to sign multi-million dollar predatory loans, and the girls and the advisor have been heavily drugged, prepared for blackmail videos and dark web streams." I spoke rapidly but with crystal-clear pronunciation, while simultaneously packing the photos Chloe sent, Maya’s videos, and the cell tower location data I had just reverse-tracked, sending them all to Derek's encrypted email. "Derek, I just got the passcode to the B2 core area. Chloe is using my classmates' lives to force me there to 'pay the bill.'" On the other end of the line, Derek slammed his steering wheel, his car horn letting out a sharp wail, followed by a fierce curse. "Those sick, soulless monsters! They won't even spare kids fresh out of school! Do they think the law is a joke?!" "Amber, listen to me! Lock your doors and windows right now and stay put! Our unit already had an operation planned tonight around their perimeter. Now that we have your specific room number and the internal layout, I can assemble the SWAT and tactical teams within ten minutes and fly a chopper straight there to breach the doors!" "It’ll be too late, Derek." I looked up at the ticking clock on the wall, my voice terrifyingly calm. "Since The Velvet Mirage has been operating so boldly, B2 must have military-grade blast doors and an automated evidence-destruction system." "From assembly to breaching, even if you use C4, it will take time. By the time you get in, those videos will have been shot and uploaded, and the evidence will be wiped clean." "Mr. Miller’s reputation and the lives of those girls will be completely destroyed. The buyers are overseas; you’ll never track them down." I took a deep breath, my tone brook no argument. "I need to go in. I’ll be your eyes. I’ll be the bait." "Equip me with a micro-audio transmitter, a military-grade GPS tracker, and a strong anti-jamming device. I’ll help you secure the final, most crucial piece of the evidence chain. As long as I keep them busy and stabilize the situation inside, you’ll have enough time to complete the perimeter." The line went dead silent for a full ten seconds. Only Derek’s heavy breathing could be heard. He knew my personality too well. I had trained in MMA since I was a kid and won a state championship. I was stubborn as a mule; once I made up my mind, nothing could drag me back. "Five minutes. Go downstairs. There’s a black, unmarked sedan parked at the back gate of your apartment. My guy will hand over the gear." Derek’s voice was hoarse, carrying a trace of an undetectable tremor. "Amber, remember this: your life comes first! No matter what horror you see, do not react rashly. Just drag out the time!" "The second you send the signal, even if I have to level that damn mountain, I’ll blow that blast door open for you!" After hanging up. I quickly changed into a black, tight-fitting tactical athletic outfit that allowed maximum movement, tying my long hair into a tight, neat bun. Downstairs, I got in the car. The driver was an undercover cop with sharp eyes. Without a word, he handed me a black tactical pouch. I expertly put on a micro-audio transmitter disguised as a necklace pendant and slipped the GPS tracker into the hidden lining of my shoe sole. Before getting out, I thought for a moment, pulled a compact windproof lighter from the bag, and tucked it into my inner pocket. An hour later. The black sedan sped up the winding mountain road, finally stopping before the ridiculously luxurious brass gates of "The Velvet Mirage." The air here was thick with a sickening mix of cheap perfume, cigar smoke, and the stench of decaying wealth. A bald man with a blood-red scorpion tattoo on the back of his neck walked swaggeringly out from the shadows of the gate. He sized me up, his gaze shamelessly sweeping across my chest and legs, letting out a filthy smirk. "Miss Amber, right? You really are a beauty. No wonder Manager Chloe kept talking about you. Boss Ryker has been waiting downstairs for a long time. Please." The bald man didn't take me to the brightly lit scenic elevator that led to the lobby. Instead, he led me through a series of twists and turns, passing through the dark kitchen hallways, before pushing open a heavy iron door that read "Staff Only." A freight elevator, smelling heavily of machine oil, mold, and a faint hint of blood, appeared before us. I walked in without expression. The elevator doors slammed shut, plunging us downward. B1, B2, B3. As the elevator descended, the signal bars on my phone screen vanished one by one until it turned into a glaring red 'No Service' icon. The moment the elevator doors opened again. It felt like stepping straight into a twisted, chaotic demon's den. Unlike the fake, classical luxury of the ground level, the air here was thick and suffocating. Deafening heavy metal EDM blasted, mixed with the crude laughter of men, the desperate screams of women, and the sound of breaking glasses, rushing over me like a tidal wave. Under the flashing red and purple lights, the hallway was lined with half-open VIP rooms. From time to time, girls dressed in extremely skimpy outfits with hollow eyes were dragged by their hair into the rooms by burly men, before the doors slammed shut. This was Chloe’s so-called "study seminar of European high society." The bald man led the way, looking back at me occasionally, seemingly waiting to see me cry in terror. But my face remained as still as water, my breathing completely steady. He sneered, bringing me to the very end of the hallway. Before a heavy, solid bronze blast door. The bald man entered a long, complex passcode, followed by a retinal scan. With a long beep. The heavy blast door slowly swung open.
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