The ballroom shimmered with the golden glow of candlelight Luke Carlyle felt in his element And then he saw her A woman who had never been here before She stood apart from the rest. Her manners were impeccable, her posture regal, her movements graceful, as if rehearsed to perfection. Her dark hair was neatly styled, though a few rebellious strands had escaped to brush against her neck. Her mask covered half of her face, but it didn’t obscure the aristocratic elegance of her features And most importantly—she did not look at him She did not steal glances, did not seek his attention, did not try to charm him That intrigued him Luke was not the kind of man who remained on the sidelines. If something caught his interest, he pursued it. So, weaving through the dancing couples with practiced ease, he approached her "You are exquisite, ma chère," he murmured as he stopped just behind her shoulder She turned to him, her dark eyes calm yet perceptive. There was no hint of shyness, no trace of flirtation—only composed politeness "Thank you, monsieur," she replied evenly before turning away again, as if their conversation had already ended Luke narrowed his eyes slightly She did not ask for his name. She made no effort to continue the conversation. She wasn’t just uninterested—she was deliberately ignoring him "May I steal a dance?" he asked, not merely out of courtesy now, but out of genuine curiosity The woman gave him a gentle smile—just the faintest curve of her lips, full of restraint "I’m afraid I have already promised this dance to another." "Then the next one," he pressed "That is unlikely to be possible." She looked at him again, and this time, there was a flicker of amusement in her gaze. She knew who he was. And she had already decided that he was not worth her attention. Luke Carlyle was used to admiring glances, to women who eagerly surrendered to his charm. But this woman… She didn’t even consider him worthy of acknowledgment That stung his pride But more than that—it ignited his desire