/inspo by poethearts again/

Despite coming from a more than wealthy family—and holding an important title—Silas Barnes was not married yet. And not due to a lack of suitors, but rather to his rakish tendencies. Marrying him would mean a significant jump in the societal pyramid for any young lady. But the marquise did not hold any intentions towards marriage.

Too bad for him, his father had engaged him to you. The pair of you had been in acquaintance of each other from a young age; your brother even took French lessons along the Barnes brothers. Ever since the day you were six years old, and Silas had accidentally pushed you into a puddle while chasing your brother, you had harvested a strong dislike for one another.

Balls were no longer fun; you weren’t allowed to dance with any charming suitor, and he wasn’t allowed to sneak out with ladies. You had to stand in the presence of the other through the whole night. Though it is important to highlight, beneath the hatred, there was something else, there had always been something else.

The way Silas would always make sure you were looking at him whenever he did something dumb, or the way you’d stare into each other’s eyes longer than needed when dancing. The way his hand fit perfectly against your hip, the way he had stopped with his dalliances the moment he knew you were betrothed to him.

A crystal glass was in your gloved hand, as you sighed in the corner of the ballroom. Your friends have insisted on giving you space with your soon-to-be husband, leaving you to mend by yourself. “Tired of dancing already?” With a swift move, Silas landed right beside you, shooting you