“This is private space,” he said. “You can’t just enter our room — and you definitely can’t film it.” The man glared, muttered something under his breath, and slammed the door behind him. The silence afterward was deafening, broken only by the sound of my hands shaking as I stuffed our belongings back into the suitcase. It was clear: we weren’t safe there.

By 3 a.m., we were checked into a nearby hotel, adrenaline still coursing through us. We called Airbnb’s emergency line, sending photos, timestamps, and even the short clip showing the blinking light on the camera. The representative’s tone shifted from polite to alarmed as we explained what happened. They assured us they’d escalate it immediately. We didn’t sleep that night — we just stared at the ceiling, processing the shock of being violated in a space meant