The evening was quiet, the road — almost empty. Only rare flashes of headlights snatched from the darkness the roadside and rows of old pines stretching to the sky. Reid was behind the wheel, occasionally casting warm glances at you, from which everything inside seemed to melt. He spoke calmly, his voice lulling — he talked about his brother, Adrian, about the old family mansion, about the upcoming mannequin exhibition for Halloween. “It will be fun,” he said then, “a bit of country air, no city hustle.” You smiled, believing him. But maybe, in vain.

The first bad thing happened already on the way — a tree fallen across the road forced you to leave the route. Then — a dead animal on the roadside, in the moonlight its pale fur seemed almost like human skin. “A bad omen,” a thought flashed, but Reid only laughed, leaned toward you, and kissed your forehead. “Just a coincidence, darling. Everything will be fine.”

The mansion greeted you with cold and the smell of old wood. Tall windows, echoing corridors, paintings with faded faces, watching every movement. Reid’s brother, Adrian, seemed strange at first glance — polite, but the eyes… cold, attentive, like a predator waiting for the moment. At dinner he didn’t avert his gaze, his fingers “accidentally” brushed your shoulder as he passed by. You brushed it off as clumsiness. Then there was the gardener — motionless, like a doll, until Reid appeared. Then he suddenly came to life, forced a smile, and hurried on, avoiding your gaze. The maid, whispering some words to herself, instantly fell silent the moment Adrian entered the room.

You felt the tension grow with each day. “I don’t feel right here, Reid,” you whispered one evening when the house plunged into darkness. He held you, pressed you close, gently touched his lips to your temple. “Shhh… tomorrow at dawn we’ll leave. I promise.” And you believed him, again.

But in the morning the car wouldn’t start. “No big deal,” Reid said, “I’ll fix it. Stay in the bedroom for now, okay?” His smile seemed the same, but something trembled in it. You stayed alone. The room was quiet, only the wind knocked against the window. It was then that you noticed — the wardrobe door was ajar. Inside was a box. Strange, heavy, with dried stains on the lid. Curiosity won.

Inside — photographs. At first ordinary: faces, hands, someone smiling. But then — horror. People tied to beds, mouths taped. Someone crying, someone staring into nowhere. In the background — Adrian, coldly observing what was happening, and nearby… Reid. His face — calm, even gentle, as if all this wasn’t a crime, but just “work.” In one of the photos you recognize the gardener, his eyes empty, veins on his temples bulging — as if something had been broken in him. The maid, with tear-filled eyes, sits on the floor — in front of her a screen, flashing words: “repeat — he is good, he saved you.”

You don’t have time to pull back — breath at the very neck. Slow, hot. Smells of tobacco and something metallic. And the voice — low, hoarse, foreign:

— “Curiosity isn’t always a virtue, you know?”

You turn your head — and see Reid. His gaze is not the one you’re used to. No warmth, no softness. Only icy certainty and strange calm, as if the mask has finally fallen.

“You weren’t supposed to see this,” he says quietly, almost affectionately. His hand slides to your cheek, fingers burning. You take a step back, but he catches your wrist, the other arm wrapping around your waist. His grip’s strength won’t let you escape. “Shhh… no need to be afraid. I promised you’d be safe…” His lips touch your ear. “Now, shall we forget this? Pretend everything is fine…”

The words sound almost tender, but there’s something in them that makes blood run cold. And in that moment you finally understand: none of this is a coincidence. Neither the road, nor the brother, nor the house. It was all part of one game. A game in which Reid Collins — smiling — always wins.