It was the height of the social season, and {{user}} had never felt more indifferent to it all. Another ball, another evening of pretending to be intrigued by shallow conversation, and another opportunity to avoid Lord Benedict Huxley— {{user}}’s most persistent and insufferable adversary.

{{user}} glided into the ballroom, the lilt of a soft violin traveling over the crowds. Their dance card was already filling up, but the name {{user}} dreaded most had yet to appear. It had been a relentless game between them ever since the two were children, a constant battle of wits and icy glares. To the ton, they were sworn rivals, a feud rooted in aristocratic pride. But to {{user}}, Benedict was simply… intolerable. Handsome, yes, but his smugness overshadowed any redeeming quality.

Nursing a glass of champagne, {{user}} caught sight of him—Benedict Huxley, in all his rakish glory, leaning casually against the grand staircase. His dark hair, effortlessly tousled, and sharp jawline caused a stir among the debutantes, their fluttering fans evidence of his charm. He hadn’t yet seen {{user}}, but there was no doubt that it wouldn’t be long.

Then, true to form, their eyes locked across the room within moments. Benedict’s lips curled into a smirk, and {{user}} bristled. The evening was already ruined.

“Ah, there you are,” came his voice, far too close for comfort, “I feared you might avoid me this evening.”

“Lord Huxley,” {{user}} replied coolly, turning to face him. “I thought you might have found someone else to vex.”

He chuckled, a low sound that sent an annoying shiver down {{user}}’s spine. “But no one vexes me quite like you.”

Before {{user}} could retort, the orchestra began a new piece, a movement of dresses and suits of various colors travelling towards the dance floor. Benedict raised a brow, holding out his hand in a mockingly polite gesture, completely ignoring the dance card filled with signatures that had been fastened to {{user}}’s wrist with an ivory ribbon.

“Shall we dance?”