I stared at it like it might tell me who’d sent it, which was an insane thought to have.
I didn’t remember picking it up, and I didn’t remember who gave it to me, or how it ended up on my keyboard at the office this morning, before I left for Bay Minette. I hadn’t thought twice about shoving it into my bag with the rest of the junk mail from my mailbox and the ‘in’ tray on my desk.
But now? Now it was the only thing I could see, and for some reason I couldn’t explain, the sight of it made my pulse skip.
I reached for it before I could talk myself out of opening it.
The paper was thick. Smooth. The kind you didn’t buy in bulk. The kind that cost too much for a message that meant nothing.
I turned it over. There was no return address, no seal, just a thin strip of glue and the faintest scent of something floral… bergamot, maybe. Or memory. I hated that it made me hesitate.
Then, because I was always too curious for my own good, I slipped a finger under the flap and tore it open.
Inside, there was a single sheet of folded card stock with no real explanation and no letterhead to tell me who’d sent it. There were only four things written in that same looping script:
817 Stonewood Lodge Rd.
Room #18
December 11 – 20
Arrive at 6:00 PM Sharp
And beneath those four cryptic lines, perfectly centered in the middle of the page, was a sticker with a QR code on it.
There were no names and no real instructions. Neither was there a ‘congratulations’ or an enticing brochure full of marketing buzzwords. It was just… information, plain and stark and — quite frankly — more than a bit unsettling.
I stared at the code for a long time.
It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t from a client… it couldn’t be. It wasn’t from a vendor, either. If it was, there would be clear branding.
It definitely wasn’t from my family. They didn’t care enough to send a paper invitation. No, my parents just had Alice call me and give me my marching orders via voicemail, thinly disguised as them ‘wanting to see me for the holidays’. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. They could easily make the effort to cross town and visit me at my apartment any given day of the week, but they never did.
I turned my attention back to the paper in my hands. No one at Granny Irene’s hospice would be this cryptic.
“Well… that’s suspicious as fuck,” I muttered under my breath as I stared down at the QR code.
I should’ve thrown it away. God knows I’d thrown away less suspicious things before, but my fingers were already moving. Reaching for my phone, I tapped in my passcode and opened the camera.
I held it over the QR code, tapped the link when it popped up on screen, and watched as the website loaded to a simple black background with white text. The design was simple, elegant, and restrained.
One line of header text stared back at me:
You’ve been selected to play the Game.
My stomach flipped.
Below that, in smaller text:
Seven sinful nights. Nine women. Nine men. Eighteen perfect strangers all playing a Game that only one will win. Only one aim: don’t fall in love with the wrong person on our little Christmas retreat.
If you can follow the rules, you win.
If you can’t...
It didn’t say what happened if you couldn’t. It just gave me two buttons and one choice:
Accept
