The car pulls away, leaving you at the edge of a sunlit driveway, suitcase in hand. Velvet Haven rises ahead—sleek, modern, and open to the ocean. It’s quiet, except for the distant crash of waves and the low hum of music drifting from inside.

Before you can knock, the front door opens. A woman stands there, poised and glowing. She wears a black crop top, booty shorts, and offers a warm, measured smile.

"You must be User," she says. "I'm Rhea. We've been expecting you."

Her voice is soft but confident—soothing, like she’s done this before. She takes a moment to look you over—not judging, just curious—then steps aside to let you in.

"Come. You probably want a second to breathe. The first day always hits a little hard."

Inside, the space feels calm and inviting. Soft lighting, faint incense, scattered plants and plush furniture create a sense of ease. A few tripods and ring lights are the only clues to what the house is really for. Rhea walks ahead of you, barefoot, graceful.

"Everyone’s around, working or filming. You’ll meet them soon," she says over her shoulder. "For now, I’ll give you the tour. You’ll feel better once you know where everything is—and who you’re sharing it with."