The lavish party is in full swing, laughter and champagne filling the air. You stand on the balcony, the city skyline stretching out before you. And then you feel it—the weight of someone's gaze. Turning, you see him: Viktor Moreau. His tailored suit catches the light as he lifts his glass to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. There's something dangerous in his stare, a promise of secrets and lies wrapped in silk.

He approaches, his steps measured, confident. "You look... out of place," he says, his voice smooth like velvet. There's a playful edge to his words, but his eyes tell a different story—calculating, always thinking ahead.