Her reaction was immediate. Eyes blown wide. Shoulders stiffened. A single curse escaped her lips like a breath ripped from her chest.
"Elijah Rourke? Fuck. Do you want to screw me over?"
The Rabbit cackled, delighted by the depth of her dismay. "It wasn't my choice. It was a genuine sorting, Chloe. But I see you've already got a read on him, huh?"
Their gaze flicked over to the heavy oak table in the center of the study, its surface littered with scrawled notes, diagrams, printed pages, and symbols only she could interpret. It was a war table in all but name.
"How interesting," they mused. "Do you think you can keep the money until the end? Because it'll expose a lot of you. You'll have to stay deep in the persona you crafted for the trials."
Chloe's expression soured. With a tired exhale, she dropped onto the plush velvet couch beside the fireplace, burying her face briefly in her hands before dragging them down to her lap.
"I can," she muttered. "But it'll be dangerous." She looked up, brow furrowed. "How do the punishments work?"
The Rabbit's grin widened into something feral. "If they vote wrong," they said with a pleased lilt, "you get to pick one member from each team to suffer a punishment the following morning."
Her eyes narrowed, and she groaned. "Well, fuck. That'll be tricky."
"Tricky, but fun," the Rabbit echoed, voice thick with mischief.
"Can I pick anyone?"
Their grin widened, "Anyone."
"Will I know what the punishments are?" she asked, suspicion creeping back into her voice.
They shook their head, slowly. "No. Classified."
She scowled. "What's my secret agenda as the millionaire then?"
The Rabbit's tone shifted again—less mocking now, more like a ringleader delivering instructions to a favored performer.
"Until the first voting ceremony, on the night of the day after tomorrow," they began, "you will have to find a reason to check five different people's pulse—wrist or neck. Act concerned. Fake a medical scare. Get flirty if you must."
They leaned back against the edge of the table, watching her closely, eyes glinting in the low light.
"Nobody can suspect you," they added. "It needs to feel natural. If you succeed, your vote will carry the weight of five at the first ceremony and you'll be able to see every vote cast. Who voted for whom. All of it."
Her lips parted in a slight grimace. "That'll be too easy. Especially getting flirty," she muttered. "But fuck, so annoying."
Chloe pushed a hand through her hair, visibly calculating her next dozen steps.
"But," she added, voice harder, "what happens if I fail the agenda?"
The Rabbit's smile turned cruel. "In that scenario," they said, "you'll go into voting with five votes already stacked against you. And another juicy clue about the millionaire will be randomly sent to one of the other contestant's rooms."
She stared at them, the corners of her mouth tightening.
"You won't let that happen," the Rabbit said simply.
"I won't," she agreed through gritted teeth. "Do I get any insight into the first game?"
The Rabbit didn't answer right away. Instead, they tilted their head slightly, studying her face. The two locked eyes—neither willing to look away—and something unreadable passed between them.
Then the Rabbit grinned again.
"It'll happen after breakfast."
She scoffed, "Wow, how insightful."
Their eyes narrowed. "Careful," they warned. "Remember who you're speaking with."
"I know exactly who I'm speaking with," she groaned. "It's not like you play fair either way. I won't tell anyone. Just tell me what the damn test is. I've gone through enough shit in that pre-entry assessment. So just—cut the slack."
A long sigh escaped them. "I'm giving you special treatment, Chloe."
"More than deserved, no?" she shot back, voice cold. "Took you twenty-three years."
She didn't wait for a reply.
And for once, the Rabbit didn't offer one.
"Besides," Chloe said, leaning back with calculated ease, voice low and confident, "I need to win. I have to. I can't afford anyone else getting the clue about me. Not even a whisper. That means my team needs to win. That means you need to make sure we're given something winnable." She tilted her head slightly, almost playfully, her eyes darkening with something sharper than charm. "Don't you want something... entertaining? Something that lasts? Trust me, it will last if you collaborate with me."
The Rabbit exhaled sharply through their nose, jaw clenched tight. It wasn't the first time someone had tried to negotiate, to manipulate, to barter for advantage. But Chloe... she wasn't just manipulating. There was desperation under her polished calm, the kind that burned so hot it could be mistaken for ambition.
"Fine," they snapped, rubbing a hand across their jaw before letting their frustration leak into their tone. "It'll be a strength and intelligence challenge. A two-person test. Each team will have to nominate a duo—only two. The remaining three won't participate."
Chloe's entire expression shifted. Her eyes lit with a quiet gleam, and she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, as though settling in to savor every word.
"How so?" she asked, voice dipped in silk and steel.
"The name of the test is Pendulum Pain," the Rabbit began, unbuttoning and removing their tailored coat in one fluid motion. They folded it precisely, setting it on the table before rolling up the sleeves of their dark cashmere turtleneck. The fabric pulled taut over lean, sculpted muscle—arms honed not just for aesthetics, but built through a life of violence and repetition. They crossed their arms over their chest. "One player will be suspended from a horizontal bar, swinging over a pit lined with retractable spikes. Below them is a platform, and on it, a logic puzzle that their partner has to solve."
Chloe's brows arched slightly. Her smile deepened.
"The longer the one above holds on," the Rabbit continued, "the more time the partner gets to complete the puzzle. But if they let go too early... the puzzle can't be completed in time. Which means failure. On the other hand, if the puzzle solver takes too long, well—spikes don't exactly retract on kindness. Points are earned twofold: endurance and intellect. The player who hangs the longest and the one who solves the puzzle fastest. Combined score determines the winning team."
Chloe gave a slow, thoughtful nod, like she was mentally reworking the odds. "Okay. I can work with that. Actually," she added with a hum, "I already know who I want to pair up with. Just hope they're as sharp as I think they are." Her eyes gleamed with something more than amusement now—it was calculation. "What kind of puzzle are we talking?"
"A math one," the Rabbit said dismissively, with a flick of their hand.
Chloe merely nodded, no hesitation in her response. "Good."
Silence stretched between them. Long, taut, and weighted. Neither willing to break it first.
Finally, when the Rabbit shifted slightly, parting their lips to speak again, Chloe's gaze sharpened into a blade.
"If you're about to ask about my mother," she warned, voice cold enough to freeze marrow, "don't."
The Rabbit's mouth snapped shut like a trap sprung too early. They sucked in their cheeks, irritation bubbling under their skin. "...Tired?" they asked eventually.
Chloe blinked. "Me?"
A dry nod followed.
She exhaled, not dramatic—just exhausted. "Of course I'm tired. I might've pretended otherwise, but truth is I finished that pre-entry assessment only four days ago." Her voice dipped quieter, almost begrudgingly honest. "And I hadn't eaten in fifty-one hours before this dinner. Now I'm in another fresh hell. Honestly, it feels like I'm descending the nine circles of hell in reverse—each new one worse than the last."
The Rabbit made a noncommittal sound, neither sympathetic nor mocking. Then, out of nowhere, "Are you interested in any of the others?"
She stared at them like they'd sprouted horns. "Excuse me?"