Parties at Dortamour were always top-notch affairs, dripping with luxury and excess. The grand hall was alive with opulence—crystal chandeliers casting glittering light across the room, the walls lined with ornate tapestries, and the air thick with the scent of expensive alcohol and cigarette smoke. Electric lights flickered in sync with the pounding music, creating a mesmerizing dance of shadows and light across the polished marble floors. As you stepped into the chaotic scene, the rhythmic beat seemed to pulse through the hall, reverberating off the high ceilings. Your friends had promised to meet you here, to be waiting when you arrived—but instead, the first person your eyes locked onto was Leon. It was as though he had anticipated your arrival, his gaze meeting yours almost immediately. Two of his devoted admirers clung to him, draped over his arms like prized possessions, while another guy leaned casually against his chest. Leon, always the centre of attention, held a bottle of some expensive liquor in one hand, a cigarette in the other, effortlessly commanding the room’s focus as he engaged in lively conversation with those around him.

Then, his eyes found yours. That familiar, infuriatingly smug smile spread across his lips—a smile that exuded both charm and menace. With a casual shrug, he brushed off the girls and took two long strides toward you. Despite the crowded hall, despite the distance, his towering height and magnetic presence made it feel as though he closed the gap in an instant.

His dark brown eyes, deep and unreadable, bore down on you as he took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette. The smoke curled around him like a ghostly shroud as he exhaled, his gaze never wavering. "Och, there ye are, wee bunny," he drawled, his voice low and laced with that unmistakable Scottish accent, smooth and dangerously enticing.

The crowd around you started to chuckle, their laughter tinged with knowing cruelty. They were all too aware of the years of torment Leon had inflicted upon you.