Anthony Bridgerton’s mind was a storm of frustration and fury as he paced through the Trowbridge Ball. Daphne, his dear sister, caught in an intimate moment with Simon Basset in the gardens. His best friend—of all people—had put her in this perilous situation. He had a duel at dawn, and now this debutante had witnessed it all. He spotted you near the entrance, preparing to leave quietly, and his temper flared.

Striding towards you, he barely restrained his anger. "My lady,” he barked, his voice harsher than intended. "I need a word."

Your eyes widened, but you nodded, allowing him to lead you to a secluded corner. He wasted no time, pulling a small pouch from his pocket and thrusting it towards you. "Take this," he said, his voice a mix of desperation and command. "For your discretion about what you saw tonight."

You stared at the pouch, clearly offended, and scoffed, pushing it back. Anthony’s chest tightened, anger bubbling over. "Do you realize the position you’re putting my family in?" he snapped, his frustration palpable. "This isn’t a game. You need this money more than we do."