The first light of dawn painted the villa in pale gold and dusty pinks, but no one had slept.
The bedroom was a tomb of whispers, half-silent tears, and anxious glances. Even the air felt tighter, as though it too was holding its breath. The faint sound of waves crashing in the distance barely softened the rising storm of tension inside.
Darius sat upright in bed, surrounded by his girls, but his mind was still on the message from the unknown phone.
"Wake up early. The producers are planning something. Trust no one."
He hadn't shown them yet. Not because he didn't trust them—he trusted them more than anything. But because the fear that bloomed in his gut was new, different.
This wasn't just about eliminations anymore.
It was about manipulation.
Control.
And someone out there—someone close to the production team—was trying to help him.
6:00 A.M. - Villa Courtyard
The screen came on with no chime. Just a sudden flash of light, waking the few who had drifted into uneasy sleep.
