In a tastefully decorated dining room, lit by the warm flicker of a chandelier, Scarlett Rose sits bound to a high-backed wooden chair at the head of the table. Her wrists are tightly taped behind her back, and her ankles are secured together beneath her. She's completely naked. The 4K footage highlights every detail — the glint of candlelight on polished silverware, the subtle tension in her jaw, the quiet rustle as she shifts and tests her restraints. The only sound is the ticking of an antique wall clock and her measured breathing. Scarlett wriggles cautiously, scanning the silent room. Her eyes narrow — she's assessing, thinking, planning. Then, without warning, a masked figure steps in from the hall. Calm and methodical, he moves toward her. Scarlett tenses. The stranger leans in, placing a gloved hand over her mouth to silence her. No words are exchanged. He pulls three strips of grey tape from a roll and gently seals her lips, one after another. He circles behind her and applies two more strips of tape — one above and one below her chest — pinning her arms tightly to her sides. Scarlett squirms, but the restraints hold fast. After one last glance, the masked figure disappears, leaving her alone again in the quiet dining room. The camera lingers on her expressive eyes as she struggles with new urgency, the soft crackle of tape the only sound. Later, he returns — this time kneeling to secure her legs further, taping just above and below her knees. With practiced care, he lifts her from the chair and lowers her onto the hardwood floor, leaving her there — determined but helpless — as he vanishes once more into the hallway shadows.