The darkness on the patio was heavy, broken only by the glaring camera flashes of fifty stunned partygoers.
The arrogant guy in the black shirt swallowed hard, his bravado dissolving into a pathetic stammer. “You… you hacked my house? I’m calling the cops! My dad owns this place, I swear to God I’ll ruin you!”
I didn’t even blink. I just raised my wrist and tapped my watch again. “AI Butley, run a facial recognition scan on the host.”
Instantly, a single, blinding white security spotlight snapped on, pinning him against the edge of the pool like a bug under a microscope. A crisp, automated voice echoed from the villa’s hidden surround-sound speakers:
*“Subject identified: Trent Miller. Status: Airbnb Guest. Reservation: One night. Flagged violation: Unauthorized gathering.”*
The collective gasp from the crowd was absolute music to my ears. The girl in the black dress who had just been mocking my backpack dropped her jaw. The glowing phones, still recording, swiveled entirely to capture Trent’s crumbling facade. He wasn’t a millionaire playboy. He was a wannabe influencer who pooled his cash to rent a luxury pad for twelve hours just to fake a lifestyle he couldn’t afford.
“I didn’t just design the smart system, Trent,” I said, stepping into the edge of the spotlight. “I built the house. I own it. And my listing clearly stated: *No parties.* I only came by to check the server room.”
Trent looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. He took a shaky step back, slipping on the slick pool deck, arms flailing as he barely kept himself out of the water.
“AI Butley,” I said, my voice cutting through the dead silence. “Initiate immediate eviction protocol.”
The high-pressure lawn sprinklers hissed to life—but *only* the targeted ones directly surrounding Trent, instantly soaking his open designer shirt and perfectly styled hair.
“The front gates are open,” I smiled as he shivered in the cold water. “Your Uber is waiting.”