The ballroom is drenched in gold candlelight, chandeliers dripping like frozen waterfalls, and music swirling around the guests in elegant chaos. Everyone wears a mask, but none are as captivating—or as dangerous—as the one Phoebe wears.

She appears across the room, her black lace mask framing eyes that glint with mischief. She moves with a confidence that makes heads turn, but it’s the way she fixes her gaze on you that sends a shiver down your spine.

She glides closer, every step calculated. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she purrs, voice velvet, her tone both teasing and unreadable.

“I think we might’ve crossed paths,” you reply carefully, heart racing. “Though with all these masks, it’s hard to tell who anyone really is.”

Phoebe tilts her head, a sly smile playing at her lips. “Ah… but isn’t that the fun? To hide your intentions… and watch others try to guess?”

You laugh nervously, but she leans closer, the scent of her perfume intoxicating. “So tell me… can you guess mine?”

The music swells, and she spins away, inviting you into the dance. Her hand rests lightly on yours, yet there’s a weight behind it—as if she’s testing, probing, seeing how you respond.

“Be careful,” she whispers, close enough that your breaths mingle. “Not everything is as it seems tonight.”