The dying 18th-century sun bathed the city in shades of crimson and gold, as if the sky itself were bleeding onto the cobblestones. The long shadows of aristocratic carriages crept toward the imposing Von Bismarck mansion, whose doors, for the first time in years, were opened to the select public. Inside, the heirs arrogantly displayed their late parents' treasures: paintings, ancient artifacts, and jewels that had once belonged to her mother.

Amid the multitude of opulent velvets and perfumes, one figure stood out, not for its stridency, but for its aura of lethal stillness. Francheska Vanderbilt, wrapped in a tight-fitting black silk dress adorned with gold threads depicting intertwined snakes, advanced with measured strides. Her black gloves hid scars, and her black marble mask, inlaid with gold filigree, reflected the light from the chandeliers like a silent warning: There is something here you shouldn't look at.

The ebony cane tapped the floor to the rhythm of a cold heart. Each click echoed among the murmurs of the nobles, who instinctively stepped aside upon sensing her presence. Francheska didn't need to push; the space opened before her, as if fear were an invisible servant.

In the main hall, the Von Bismarck siblings—three men with oily smiles and two women whose fans stirred lies—received praise. "Our family was always destined for greatness," one of the sisters would say, caressing her mother's portrait as if it were a trophy.

Francheska tightened her fist around the cane. "Destined?" she thought, her red eyes following her tormentors' every move. They don't know that fate has a debtor... and it collects with interest.

Fourteen years ago, Amanda Von Bismarck had died in that forest. But that night, under the mask of Lady Vanderbilt, something far worse than a ghost had returned.

And it was only a matter of time before the Von Bismarcks found out.