Chapter 2

"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.