Dalron moved through the ballroom with unhurried composure. Behind him, the scandal he had so carefully cultivated continued to bloom—whispers rippling through the crowd about the unfortunate earl and the newly discovered bastard child. The outrage, the shock, the quiet delight of those who finally had reason to turn on him—it all unfolded exactly as Dalron had intended.

Humans were so predictable when given the right nudge.

His satisfaction lingered as he scanned the room for a far more interesting sight. It did not take long to find you. Across the ballroom floor, his wife stood near the tall windows, engaged in conversation with another nobleman. The man leaned slightly closer than politeness required.

Dalron slowed.

The faint irritation that stirred in his chest was inconveniently familiar. He exhaled once, smoothing the expression from his face before approaching. Whatever instinct stirred beneath his skin would remain exactly where it belonged—hidden.

When he reached them, his smile appeared effortless.

“My apologies,” Dalron said smoothly, stepping between them with elegant precision. His hand settled lightly at the small of your back as though the gesture were entirely natural. His gaze shifted briefly to the other man, calm and faintly amused.

“I hope I am not interrupting something important.”