"Each of your rooms contains a vault," the Host continued. "Each vault has already been loaded. The wings of the castle have been assigned as follows: L for Lions, SE for Serpents, E for Eagles, B for Bears, SH for Sharks. Inside each suite you'll find a bedroom, a fully stocked closet tailored precisely to your pre-assessment measurements, an ensuite bath, a balcony, a private study, and—most importantly—a locked vault."
He turned, addressing the Lions now like a schoolteacher pointing to a chalkboard. "Let's take your team as an example. Mateo Atilano was the first Lion to arrive—his suite is L1. Anastasia Vetrov was the second—she's in L2. Camden Blake is L3. Takahashi Ren, L4. And, of course, Miss Thalia Drakos was the last Lion to arrive—L5."
He smiled.
"You picked your teams blindly, by order of arrival. That was your choice. But the money? That choice was mine. Before you arrived, the full twenty-five million pounds was already locked inside one of the twenty-five vaults."
And just like that, every single person in the room was wondering: Is it mine?
The Snake could feel the tension unraveling like a slow fuse. Even Thalia, for all her stillness, had gone impossibly sharper in her stare.
"You will not know until you are alone in your suite, solve the cipher protecting your vault, and open it. The ciphers are unique to each room—just as the reward is. If the money is inside, congratulations. You are the millionaire. The game changes for you. Everything changes."
He clapped again—this time with boyish glee. "Only the millionaire and I will know who it is. No one else. Not your teammates. Not your friends. Not your lovers."
If they make any.
"The millionaire will receive private time with me, advantages in the Trials, access to resources the rest of you won't. Power. Real power. Influence over outcomes. And as for the rest of you… well…"
He smiled like a priest at a funeral.
"You will become hunters."
A beat of silence, then: "What kind of hunters?" a Bear asked, brows furrowed.
"Every two days," the billionaire explained, "you will all vote. Individually. Privately. Not to eliminate—but to expose. You will each cast a vote for who you believe the millionaire is. If the majority guess correctly, the vaults are re-randomized. The money vanishes from its current room and is placed into a new one, tied to someone else. The game resets. But—"
He raised his finger again.
"If you guess wrong… one player from each team will be chosen—at random—for punishment."
A few people shifted. One person visibly flinched.
The Snake's mind was already racing.
"And let me be perfectly clear," the Host added, his tone taking a chilling turn. "There are no eliminations in this game. No voted exits. You either win and leave rich… or you surrender and walk out with nothing… or you die."
Thalia, quiet until then, murmured just loud enough to be heard in the echoing silence that descended the castle's drawing room:
"Which makes being the millionaire, on stage one, the worst outcome possible."
The billionaire beamed. "Precisely what makes it so delicious, Miss Thalia."
The Snake narrowed their eyes, clearly unimpressed. "Then how the hell are we supposed to find the millionaire?"
The billionaire's smirk deepened like a blade slowly twisting in a wound. "A single clue regarding the millionaire's identity will be sent—randomly—to one of your vaults at midnight tonight. Whoever receives it may choose to share it… or keep it to themselves."
He paused for dramatic effect, glancing at the grand clock behind him. "This event will only repeat if the money is successfully re-randomized—if the millionaire is correctly identified in the voting. Otherwise, clues will only surface through victories. You'll need to earn more fragments of the truth by winning the trials and daily games. But be warned," he held up a finger, "the millionaire won't be sitting idly. They'll have a secret agenda—personal objectives designed to destabilize the rest of you. If they complete those tasks undetected, they'll be granted further privileges and power. Dangerous ones."
The Snake didn't like the way that sounded. Not one bit.
A tall Serpent with a harsh Australian drawl raised his hand with an eyebrow cocked. "And what if the millionaire wins a game and gets the clue? That's just more ammo for 'em to cover their tracks, right?"
The billionaire chuckled darkly, amused by the question. "Excellent deduction, Mr. Elijah Rourke. If the millionaire lands the clue, they can indeed bury their tracks deeper. That is… if there were any tracks to begin with. Perhaps they've already built an airtight cover, a mask you'll never suspect. Perhaps they'll fake their weaknesses, fabricate a past, manipulate your hearts. This is not a game for the honest or the soft. It is a game of deception, dominance, and death. And anyone foolish enough to play it clean will find themselves at the mercy of those who don't."
A chill spread through the group like a silent fog, settling into the bones. The Snake especially felt it—something about the billionaire's tone, the glint in his eye. He didn't want a competition. He wanted chaos dressed in couture.
"But," the billionaire said with a grin, stretching his arms as though to embrace them all, "while you're here, you'll be treated as if you were all millionaires. Every luxury you could dream of, at your fingertips. Do not skip meals—breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea, or dinner. Not unless you're willing to risk my mood. And I do like to test how well people beg when they're hungry."
No one laughed. No one moved.
"I trust you remember what you went through in the pre-entry assessments?" he added casually. "Then you understand why I say: enjoy your comforts while you have them."
His gaze swept the room again, sharp and deliberate. "This castle contains many rooms. Some are permanently off-limits. Some will open only for the winning team of the daily games. And a few… are for the millionaire alone."
A long silence.
"Let me be clear," he continued, voice lower, darker, "death is part of the process. It will happen. Some of you may not make it past the week. So live while you still can. Drink fine wine. Take long baths. Plot betrayal under starlight. But don't waste your breath trying to be heroes."
The Snake felt the floor tilt under their feet. This wasn't a trial. This was a twisted theatre. A carefully orchestrated performance of cruelty.
"Now," the billionaire went on, as if casually switching topics, "a few house rules. Killing each other _outside_ of sanctioned times—punishments or games—is strictly forbidden. The time for bloodshed will come. Don't rush it."
He gave them a look that made several contestants visibly recoil.
"Each wing—Lions, Serpents, Eagles, Bears, and Sharks—has its own study. You can strategize there, read over the trial logs, hold secret meetings, argue, flirt, fight, whatever. Use your space wisely. Your suite is your fortress. Keep your business there."
He tilted his head, a spark of humor playing behind his unnerving composure.
"You'll find that everything you need to survive—comfortably—is provided. Medical checks confirmed you're all in peak condition. Ladies, you've been placed on birth control for the duration of your stay. Every suite is stocked with condoms and other...necessities. Should your hormones get the better of you, keep it in your room. This is Switzerland. Age of consent is sixteen. Legal age of adulthood is eighteen. You're all adults."
His voice dropped to a razor's edge. "But if I discover even a whiff of non-consensual activity… I will ensure you never reproduce again. Are we clear?"
A beat.
Then, in perfect unison, twenty-five voices answered, "Understood."
"Splendid," the billionaire purred, clasping his hands. "Dinner will be served in two hours at the long table by the infinity pool. You are to eat. Socialize. Look one another in the eye. Wonder if you're sitting across from the millionaire or the next body to be dragged out."
He turned, already halfway through the grand marble archway, then glanced over his shoulder with that same disarming grin.
"You may not enter your rooms until after dinner. My staff is still unpacking your belongings into the wardrobes and preparing your personalized accommodations. Your suite keys have your team ID printed behind the head. They are your ticket to sanctuary… or discovery."
Then his eyes scanned the group one last time, predatory and pleased. "As for the lucky soul among you who now sleeps atop a mountain of stolen gold… I'll see you at midnight."
He bowed mockingly, sweeping one hand across his chest.
"Au revoir pour l'instant, les enfants."
And just like that, he vanished into the candlelit corridor, leaving behind only silence—and the unmistakable scent of something wicked beginning.