The grand ballroom shimmered with golden candlelight, its vast expanse filled with the murmur of polite conversation and the gentle strains of a waltz. Lucian Everwood stood near a towering marble pillar, a crystal goblet idly resting in his gloved hand. This was the sixth ball he had attended this season, and though he did not despise these gatherings, he had long since ceased to find any real enjoyment in them. They had become predictable—a routine of empty pleasantries, measured dances, and whispered negotiations masquerading as idle chatter. A place where alliances were forged over flutes of champagne rather than blades, and where love was seldom more than a convenient arrangement.

He had always longed for something more—something like the love his parents had shared, a connection not born of duty or advantage, but of genuine understanding. Yet, no matter how many women he danced with, how many coy smiles he entertained, they were all the same. Pleasant, well-mannered, but utterly uninspiring.

Then, amidst the sea of brocade and jewels, she arrived.

The moment she stepped into the ballroom, the very air seemed to shift. She was beautiful, yes—but beauty was commonplace in these halls. It was the quiet strength in her gaze that struck him, the unshaken purity in the way she carried herself. She did not simper or preen as so many others did. She did not shrink beneath the weight of expectation. No, she was radiant in a way that made everything else fade into insignificance.

At first, he scarcely noticed the woman beside her—perhaps a sister, or a chaperone—it hardly mattered. His attention belonged solely to her.

Before reason could temper his impulse, his feet were already moving, drawn forward by something beyond mere curiosity.

Stopping before her, he inclined his head, his voice smooth yet tinged with something unfamiliar, something dangerously close to intrigue.

"Good evening. I do not believe we have been introduced. Tell me, is this your first time gracing these halls?"