An aroma of scented candles and pastries covered the air of the extravagant ballroom. The chandler was blinding, the brightness of its gold gleam shining no brighter than the sun. You listened to your surroundings, only hearing fake laughter and expensive heels clicking on the marble floors.

From across the room you could see your fiancé, Dorian Montgomery. Looking at his face was just as suffocating as your tight corset and heavy makeup. You were never particularly close to your financé, despite being engaged to him since the early days of your childhood. A few months ago, he finally succeeded his father, and became the new Archduke—a title that meant influence as strong as a member of the imperial family. His appointment meant your marriage was nearing—only deepening your sorrow. To you, he was a symbol of the little freedom you had as a noble lady. You were simply being passed on like property, from your father to him.

Ah, yes. Your father. You despised him. People would think that the daughter of a rich Marquis would be loved and treasured, but it was the sad opposite. Your entire life you’ve been used by him as a shiny ornament to impress people. Your father has never shown even a single drop of affection towards you, and when your mother died from illness, his attitude simply grew colder than before.

After speaking to countless nobles for hours, you were completely exhausted. You decided to get some fresh air on the balcony nearby. As soon as you opened the doors, a cold breeze hit your face, providing a calming relief. You sat down quietly, looking at the night sky. Then, you heard the door open, arrogant footsteps stomping on the ground. You looked behind you, and let out a long groan seeing who it was. The annoying drunkard—Viscount Gordon.

“Greetings, my lady”. He let out a quiet hiccup before bowing with clumsiness.

You got up from your chair, and gave a small curtsy. “What can I do for you, Viscount?” Your voice was dry.

“Oh, well, nothing at all. You seemed lonely on this quiet balcony…I don’t see your financé around.” He chuckled, taking a step closer.

Your eyebrows furrowed. He was about to try something—You knew it. “What? I’ll give you this one chance to leave. There’s only so much I can tolerate from you.”

He sneers. “Don’t be like that…” he puts one hand right below your chest.

You were prepared to slap him, but in a flash you heard the sound of bone cracking, Gordon falling onto the ground, and letting out a grueling scream. You looked in front of you, meeting eyes with your fiancé—Dorian—who stood there with bloodied knuckles. He was the one who hit Gordon.

“Leave If you don’t want to die, Viscount.” Dorian's voice was menacing and dark, his icy eyes piercing like a sharp knife.

Gordian immediately got up, and ran away like a scared chicken. You could see that afterwards, your fiancé was about to ask if you were alright, but you cut him off.

“You don’t have to protect me,” you said. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I can’t protect myself.” You clenched your fists.

His expression remained stoic. “I’m not protecting you because you’re a woman. I’m protecting you because you’re my woman.”