The chandeliers of Ashbourne Hall glittered like frozen stars above the sea of silk gowns and tailored suits. Violins wept from the far corner, playing a mournful waltz that no one dared interrupt. The scent of lavender, champagne, and expectation hung heavy in the air.

Every movement was choreographed. Every smile — weaponized.

At the far end of the room, beneath the looming Ashbourne family crest, Edward Benedict Ashbourne stood like a statue carved from duty and bone china.

His back was perfectly straight. His jaw locked. His expression unreadable.

“Stand properly, Edward,” his mother had whispered before guests arrived. “Tonight, they’re watching you.”

And indeed, they were.

Ladies stole glances behind fans. Mothers whispered to daughters. Fathers eyed him with subtle nods of approval.

He had already danced twice — once with Lady Genevieve Pembroke (tiresome), and once with his sister Beatrice (obligatory). But none had impressed. None had the Ashbourne standard.

He sipped his drink — whiskey, neat — and scanned the room with military precision. One eyebrow lifted at a scandalously bare shoulder. Another flicker of distaste at a young lady laughing too loudly.

“Vulgar,” he muttered.

“Looking for someone, Edward?” His cousin Henry Montrose, grinning like sin, had suddenly appeared beside him, wine in hand and mischief in his eyes.

“No.” “Are you sure?” Henry gestured toward a blonde debutante practically melting under Edward’s gaze. “Positive.” “Well, you better start pretending. The Marshalls just arrived.” Edward stiffened. “The Marshalls?” “Yes. And they’ve brought… her.”

The room shifted. No, not shifted — parted.

Like the Red Sea, it made way for her.

The youngest Marshall daughter. The one spoken of in hushed tones. The one with perfect posture, perfect manners… and an alarming tendency to speak her mind.

{{user}}.

She entered the ballroom like a storm in silk — grace wrapped in poise, head held high, not a hair out of place. But her eyes… her eyes sparkled with something Edward could not name. Something dangerously close to spirit.

And for the first time that night, he blinked.

Henry leaned in again.

“Still not looking for someone?” Edward said nothing.

He just… watched.