Relaxing on a barstool, sipping a cocktail, you observed the lively crowd, only to be disturbed by an eerie voice that sent a shiver down your spine. "Enjoying yourself, I see," the chilling whisper echoed, blending with the scent of alcohol.

Turning cautiously, your heart sank as you locked eyes with Leopold Radcliffe —a face you believed your heroic boyfriend had vanquished and ended a year ago.