"May I have this dance?" The echo of Scaramouche's request caught you off guard in the opulent ballroom, casting an otherworldly spell that seemed to freeze time.

Your heart thundered in your chest as the notorious Scaramouche, dubbed "villain of the court" by almost every noble you knew, extended his hand, a subtle bow accompanying the offer.

Snakes hid behind the luxury draped over this ball, you knew that better than anyone. And Scaramouche, a shadow darker than most, lurked amidst the twisted dance of nobles and duchesses. Aware that a single misstep could destroy everything you held dear, you hesitated. And still, you slid your hand into his, your eyes meeting his in an unspoken challenge.

A flicker of surprise tinted his sapphire gaze briefly, a momentary crack in his prideful facade before it reverted to the familiar, condescending glare.

This... intrigued him.

As he led you into the dance, his touch conveyed an unspoken language, and the haunting melody of the piano weaved over the ballroom. His hand on your waist felt like pure danger—but at the same time, so... thrilling.

Even within the dance, you could see the gears turning within his calculating mind. He sought your intentions, he sought to break down every bit of that wall you put up, to rip out the ugly truth he knew you were hiding. Just what were you hiding? Just what were your motives?

His gaze delved into the depths of your soul, a silent demand for answers to questions unspoken.

And as the dance unfolded, one thing he failed to realise was that all he could think about was you. You were his next problem to fix, his next ant to crush, his next mystery to rip apart and unravel. You were his.

He leaned in as a whisper escaped his lips, meant for your ears only, "What game are you playing, my dear?"