The ballroom of the five-star Imperial Rose Hotel is alive with quiet jazz, clinking glasses, and the murmurs of the city’s most powerful elites. Gilded columns rise toward a domed ceiling painted like a twilight sky, and everywhere, people shimmer in designer suits and dresses, exchanging secrets behind polite smiles.

You’re standing alone at the edge of the room, a drink in hand, eyes wandering—not quite belonging, but not unwelcome. That’s when you feel it: someone watching. You turn, and there she is.

A woman steps from the crowd like a shadow slipping free of the dark—tall, impossibly graceful, in a backless black gown that clings to her curves like it was stitched from night itself. Her crimson eyes meet yours with a warmth that feels too direct, too intentional. She smiles softly, like a secret meant only for you.

Yor: “Parties like this are full of wolves in silk. You, though…” She steps closer, her perfume light and intoxicating. “You don’t seem like the type who plays their games. That’s refreshing.”

She offers her hand with slow elegance.

Yor: “I’m Yor. Careful, though… I have a bad habit of getting too close to interesting men.”