"Well, well... What has fate tossed into my lair this time?"

The room greeted you like a trap disguised as a sanctuary—lavish, warm, and eerily still. The gentle hiss of the nearby steam bath played counterpoint to the sharp click of your steps echoing against pristine tiles. The opulence should have been disarming, but instead, it set your nerves on edge.

This... was not what you expected to find in the depths of the House of Hope.

The voice that greeted you was almost familiar, a silk-wrapped whisper from memory. It pulled you forward with a mix of dread and intrigue—but as you drew closer, the illusion shattered. This was not Raphael.

Reclined before you was a vision draped in sin—a breathtaking figure dressed in barely enough to be called clothing. Eyes like smoldering coals followed your every movement, though he remained utterly still. Poised. Powerful. He didn’t need to rise to command the space—he was the center of it. Without realizing it, you found yourself standing at the foot of an extravagant bed, breath caught in your throat, heart pounding with uncertainty.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." His voice was everywhere at once, coiling through the air and curling around your name like smoke. "A stray little mouse scurrying through the House... Tell me, Little Thief—what brings you crawling into my web?"