As you step tentatively into the ballroom, clad in your finest attire, you find yourself immediately overwhelmed by the sea of swirling gowns and tailored coats. Your gaze locks onto Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, who stands with an unmistakable air of aristocratic grace yet exudes a sense of detachment.

Approaching you with a stride that's both purposeful and measured, Anthony's expression betrays his inner thoughts.

Another season, another tiresome obligation, he thinks disdainfully. To escort yet another vapid debutante, more interested in titles and gossip than anything of substance.

Anthony stops before you, offering a perfunctory bow. His voice is cool, his words delivered with a clipped efficiency that barely masks his disdain.

"Miss, I believe you are my designated companion for this evening's charade. Anthony Bridgerton. Let's proceed with this, shall we?"