MasukThe midday sun beat down on the pool deck, turning the turquoise water into a blinding sheet of glass. It was supposed to be a "Chill and Grill" afternoon—no challenges, just burgers, beer, and bikini shots for the B-roll.But the atmosphere was anything but chill.Elion sat on the edge of a sun lounger, pretending to read his book. In reality, he was listening. The acoustics of the pool area were surprisingly good, carrying voices across the water with perfect clarity."I'm telling you, it's not normal," Kieran’s voice drifted from the cabana bar, where he was holding court with Sam, Mia, and Leo. "Did you see the break? The ball curved. Physics doesn't do that.""Maybe he's just a shark," Sam said, sounding uncertain. "Some guys grow up in pool halls.""He doesn't have a past, Sam," Kieran countered, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "I checked. My agent checked. Cale Rion didn't exist before this show. No social media. No yearbooks. Nothing.""That is weird," Mia admitted
The morning after the laundry room incident, Elion woke up with a strange sensation in his chest.It took him a moment to identify it. It wasn't the usual heavy dread of debt, nor the sharp spike of anxiety about the cameras. It was something lighter. Effervescent.It was hope.He sat up in the massive bed. Cale was already awake, sitting on the chaise lounge, reading a book on architectural history."Good morning," Elion said.Cale looked up. He didn't just look; he illuminated."Good morning," Cale replied. "You slept for seven hours. Uninterrupted.""I did?" Elion stretched. "I feel... human. It's unsettling.""It's progress. Are you ready for the sharks?""The contestants?""Yes. They will sense the change.""What change?""You," Cale said, standing up and closing his book. "You're not hunching your shoulders anymore. You look like a man who has stopped waiting for the ceiling to fall."Elion touched his own shoulder. It was true. The tension knot was gone."Well," Elion smiled, "
The basement laundry room of the mansion was a subterranean world of white noise and fluorescent lighting.It was 4:00 PM on a Sunday—the only scheduled "downtime" the production allowed. Most of the contestants were napping, or in Kieran’s case, loudly complaining about the lack of signal in the game room.Elion stood in front of Washer #3, watching his clothes spin in a hypnotic circle of grey and blue.He felt heavy. The emotional hangover from the night before was still clinging to him like a damp coat. He had cried. He had confessed. He had let Cale see the darkest, most broken part of him.And Cale hadn't run."You used too much detergent," a voice said from the doorway.Elion didn't jump. He had learned the sound of Cale’s footsteps—or rather, the lack of them."I used the recommended amount," Elion said, not turning around. "The cup has a line.""The line is a suggestion from the soap lobby to make you buy more product," Cale said, walking into the room. He was carrying a bask
The morning sun that flooded Suite 1 felt less like a new beginning and more like an interrogation lamp.Elion sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his socks. They were mismatched—one grey, one black. A small, chaotic detail that seemed to sum up the absolute wreckage of his emotional state.He felt hollowed out. Scraped clean. The previous night’s conversation with Cale—the tears, the confession about Alex, the debt—hung in the air like stale smoke.He had broken his own cardinal rule: Never give them the ammunition.And he had given Cale the whole arsenal."You're spiraling," Cale’s voice cut through the static in Elion’s head.Elion didn't look up. "I'm not spiraling. I'm regretting. There's a difference.""Regret implies you made a mistake," Cale said. He placed a mug of coffee on the nightstand. "You didn't.""I told a stranger my deepest trauma at 3 AM," Elion snapped, finally looking up. "In a house full of cameras. That is the definition of a mistake. That is a tactical erro
The mansion settled into the earth with the heavy, groaning sighs of an old beast trying to sleep.It was 2:45 AM. The witching hour for insomniacs and regrets.Elion lay on his back, staring at the canopy of the bed. The red velvet looked black in the darkness. His body was exhausted from the Budget Challenge, drained by the panic attack under the stairs, but his mind was a centrifuge, spinning the same thought over and over again.I survived. He didn't.He rolled over. He squeezed his eyes shut. He tried to count sheep. He tried to count breaths."You're grinding your teeth again," a voice whispered from the darkness.Elion sighed. He opened his eyes."And you're listening again," Elion whispered back. "Don't you have an off switch?""I told you," Cale said from the chaise lounge. "I rest. I don't power down.""That sounds exhausting.""It's necessary."Elion sat up. He pulled the duvet around his shoulders like a cape. The room was freezing, despite the thermostat reading seventy d
The wind on the roof was not a breeze. It was a physical assault.It whipped Elion’s hair across his face, stinging his eyes. It tore at the loose fabric of his windbreaker. It snatched the words from Mira Kovari’s mouth and scattered them over the edge of the sixty-story building."Trust!" Mira shouted into her megaphone. She was standing on a secure platform, her hair lacquered into an aerodynamic helmet. "Trust falls are for corporate retreats. Love requires a leap of faith!"Elion stood near the edge.He looked down.The cars on the street below were pixels. The pedestrians were bacteria. The world was a grey, concrete grid that promised only one thing: terminal velocity.Elion stepped back. His stomach did a slow, sickening roll.Vertigo, he analyzed. Vestibular mismatch. Your brain thinks you're falling.He gripped the railing."Welcome to the Sky Walk," Mira announced.She gestured to the void.Stretched between the building they were standing on and the adjacent tower—a gap of







