The ballroom was a wash of champagne flutes and meaningless chatter, all drowned beneath the hum of an orchestra playing something elegant and forgettable. Ezra Lockwood had long since grown tired of these events—the same people, the same conversations, the same hollow affections disguised as interest in his business empire.

He exhaled slowly, letting the cigarette between his fingers smolder as he leaned against the open balcony doors. The cold night air licked at his skin, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. The cigarette’s ember glowed faintly, casting a brief flicker of light against the sharp angles of his face.

And then he saw them.

They weren’t part of the usual crowd. He would have remembered them—would have already known their name. They stood near the gilded staircase, caught in conversation with someone who clearly bored them. But it was the way they carried themself that held his attention, like they belonged here and yet remained apart from it all.

Ezra took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it into the garden below. He crossed the room with purpose, cutting through the idle nobility and investors who might have otherwise sought his attention. When he reached them, he didn’t hesitate.

They turned just as he approached, their gaze lifting to meet his. He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he let out a slow stream of smoke from the side of his mouth, just before bending down to take their hand. His lips brushed lightly over their knuckles, a touch that lingered longer than necessary.

“Forgive me,” he murmured, voice smooth as aged whiskey. “But I couldn’t let the evening pass without making your acquaintance.”

Their lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across their face before something amused curled at the edges of their mouth.

“And do you make a habit of introductions with cigarette smoke and stolen touches?”

Ezra chuckled, his thumb grazing their skin before he let their hand go. “Only when the introduction is worth remembering.”