The Rumors
Without a doubt, the place was perfect for the photoshoot—minimalist, elegant, and bathed in natural light. But ever since her photographer, Marco, excused himself to grab an extra memory card from the car, the tension had thickened. “Marco?” Lia called out once again, fighting the clench in her throat. The stark whiteness of the walls seemed oppressive now, pressing in closer.
Rumors had followed Marco to the location—stories from the locals whispered of a man, once wandering these halls alone, who simply vanished one summer into thin air. His name was Antonio, and he had lived here with his wife, a fashion designer deeply engrossed in the industry’s cutthroat nature. While Lia initially dismissed the tale, the unnerving quiet was beginning to gnaw into her confidence. No text from Marco, no footsteps, no familiar sound of camera equipment being prepared.
Intrusion
Suddenly, a faint crack disrupted her thoughts—the sound of footsteps on gravel. Turning sharply, Lia searched the empty driveway. “Marco? Is that you?” Her voice trembled slightly. The air felt heavier now, suffocating beneath the sun’s glare.
In the corner of her eye, a flicker—a figure darted past an open window in the villa. She gasped and instinctively backed up toward the poolside, phone clutched tight in her hand. As her pulse raced, she struggled to keep her breathing calm. Something was wrong. She felt it deep in her gut.
Before she could send out a message or dial a contact, a voice from behind. “You shouldn’t have come here alone,” it said, gravelly and low, yet so familiar. Spinning around, she didn’t recognize the man standing before her—his features were chiseled, his stare cold, but there was an air of familiarity in his stance.
“Who are you?” Lia demanded, her heart thundering against her ribs.
“That’s irrelevant,” the man replied, his eyes trailing over her as though she were simply another element of the architecture, another piece of his design. “You need to leave, before it’s too late.”
The Discovery
Her mind raced for a way out. She stepped backward, toward the pool that now seemed like her only escape route. Was this man part of those haunting rumors? Had he been watching her this whole time? Marco never returned, and Lia couldn’t pretend that the alarm bells in her head weren’t ringing deafeningly now.
“I don’t want any trouble,” she stammered, now standing at the edge of the pool, its turquoise water almost inviting her to jump.
The stranger tilted his head. “Oh… but you see, Lia, trouble invited you.”
Her legs tensed, ready to spring, but as soon as she moved an inch, the man lurched forward—too fast. His hand was inches away from grabbing her when she leapt into the pool. The water enveloped her, cool and suffocating, muffling the world above. She could still hear the thrumming of her pulse in her ears, her panic escalating by the second.
But as she pushed herself towards the other end, surfacing for air, the cold horror truly sank in. Marco’s body floated face down near the far side of the pool.
The Game Begins
She had no time to scream as the pool gate swung shut and the figure paced above, casting a long shadow over her. “You should have listened to the stories,” he called down to her, almost pitying. “There’s no getting out now.”
As Lia’s eyes darted from the still body of her photographer to the ominous figure circling her sanctuary of water, the reality screamed at her: she had walked right into the trap—the villa itself, just like its ring-detailed bikini, was nothing more than part of an elaborate game. And now, the rules had been set. No one was leaving this place untouched.
She gasped one last breath before the figure’s hands descended once again into the depths of the pool.
Conclusion
That evening, as the sun bled into the Mediterranean horizon, the villa was once again silent. Stark white walls held their secrets, untouched by the drama that had unfolded hours before. A forgotten phone buzzed on the concrete poolside, unanswered. Behind it, a single vibrant blue bikini was draped on the edge, abandoned and glinting in the twilight like a silent witness to a game well-played.
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