My first thought was a scam. I'd seen every variation of big-data fraud out there, or so I thought.
Still, the pitch was strange enough to pique my curiosity. I sent back a single character: "?"
The reply came instantly. "Hi, I'm Luna. I'm a recent graduate and still job hunting. My savings are tight, so I'm looking for a live-in arrangement. I don't take up much space, and I'm very used to shared living. If you can provide a room, I'll handle all the cooking and cleaning, and I'll pay you $100 a month toward utilities. I can provide my ID and resume."
I hesitated. A month of cleaning services, plus a hundred-dollar injection into my bank account.
In a city where rent was a death sentence, a broke student looking to trade labor and a little cash for a place to stay—the logic was surprisingly sound. For her, it was far cheaper than any apartment on the market. For me, it was free help and extra spending money.
It was, by all accounts, a win-win.
The only variable left was the girl herself.
Another message appeared, as if she had sensed my calculation through the screen. "The platform has verified my ID. This ad is only visible to women in this city. Photo attached."
The image loaded. A girl. Maybe two years younger than me. A sweet, slightly shy face with a hint of student-like nervousness. It was an utterly ordinary face—the kind that felt safe.
I stared at the photo a beat too long. Suddenly, a gray system notification bloomed beside her name: [Contract auto-saved. Backup activated.]
I hadn't pressed anything. Before I could even process the prompt— The doorbell rang. Ding-dong.
I flinched, then crept toward the door and leaned into the peephole. The hallway was empty. The motion-sensor light was dead, leaving the corridor in a heavy, absolute darkness. No shadow moved. It rang again. Ding-dong.
Still nothing. I cracked the door open an inch, my palms slick with sweat. A draft of cold air slid through the gap, but the corridor remained vacant. No footsteps. No scent of perfume. No echo of someone retreating. Just the lingering chime of the bell, followed by an oppressive silence.
On my phone, the platform's icon pulsed once—a dull, rhythmic heartbeat of light. The contract status flickered: PENDING → ACTIVE