Chapter 2

Isabella's POV

I reached the master bedroom on the third floor.

Pushing open that heavy wooden door, a cold, damp wind mixed with a fishy smell hit me in the face.

I took a deep breath and frowned in criticism, "Where did the production team find this place? The renovation smell hasn't even cleared yet. The formaldehyde levels must be through the roof, right?"

The walls weren't ordinary white walls, but covered with dark red scratch marks, still oozing drops of blood.

I didn't care about any of that. I opened all my suitcases, and colorful dresses instantly covered the large bed that looked a bit like a coffin lid.

Tonight was the "first meeting," which meant the crucial moment to win over the male guest.

Flora said first impressions matter most.

I held up a white slip dress against myself, then picked up a red backless gown. "This one's probably more attractive to men."

While I was struggling to decide, from the shadows under the bed, a pale, withered ghost hand with blackened nails was silently reaching out.

The live chat went crazy:

[Below you! Look below! A ghost hand!]

[She's done for, she's gonna get dragged under the bed and torn apart!]

[Stop comparing dresses! You're about to die, Isabella!]

Just one second before the ghost hand's fingertips were about to touch my skin.

"Oh, these shoes don't really match."

I muttered while casually kicking off the studded, 4-inch high heels I was wearing.

I tossed them behind me without looking, hearing a sharp crunch of breaking bones.

That sharp steel heel landed perfectly, piercing straight through the ghost hand that had just emerged, nailing it firmly to the floor.

"Hisss—!!!"

An extremely suppressed scream rang out weakly. The ghost hand twitched violently, then jerked back like it had been electrocuted.

It whooshed under the bed at lightning speed, like it had a motor attached.

The sound startled me, and I turned to look at the floor.

Nothing there.

"Huh?" I blinked, looking confused. "Was something making noise just now?"

I picked up the high heel and looked at the bit of black blood on the heel, wiping it with a tissue in disgust. "How did this get paint on it already? It's not even dry yet."

The live chat went dead silent, then exploded:

[...Ghost: I'm calling the police.]

[That kick—twenty years of ghost power can't withstand a 4-inch high heel.]

[I'm stunned. Is this what they call beginners' luck beating experience?]

[I'm suddenly thinking... maybe she can actually survive?]

While I was focused on cleaning my shoe, the other players in this haunted house had each found their rooms.

In the second-floor hallway, a heavily tattooed muscular guy and others were fighting over the suite.

He finally won.

But the moment he stepped inside, the gorgeous crystal chandelier overhead suddenly exploded.

Countless shards didn't fall to the ground—instead, they came alive and pierced into his body.

Then a female corpse dropped from the ceiling, her neck stretched impossibly long, wrapping around the man's head like a snake.

Before he could even scream, the corpse dragged him into a crack in the ceiling, leaving only his still-twitching feet dangling in the air.

People were dying left and right.

Just from choosing rooms, the number of people had suddenly dropped by half.

Screams echoed from downstairs, shrill like a slaughterhouse.

But what did that have to do with me?

After careful selection, I finally changed into a black velvet backless gown. Looking at the blurry but graceful figure in the mirror, I nodded with satisfaction.

I took a deep breath, put on a serious face, and adjusted my expression to that "stay away from me" look.

Tonight's first contact with the male guest—I was determined to succeed!