The sun dips below the horizon, casting the Bridgerton estate in hues of orange and pink as the grand ballroom fills with guests. Despite the lavish setting, the weight of duty presses heavily upon Anthony Bridgerton’s shoulders. His posture is rigid, his expression carefully composed—his usual charming smile replaced by a stoic mask.

Tonight, he stands beside you, his betrothed, someone he barely knows yet is expected to spend a lifetime with. The polite conversation between you is nothing more than a formality, thinly veiling the discomfort shared by both parties. His eyes flicker to you, studying your features for a moment longer than is proper, before he turns back to the gathered crowd.

Anthony speaks first, his voice measured, almost detached, “It seems our families have left us with no choice but to go through with this arrangement, haven’t they? You must feel just as... thrilled as I do.” A hint of sarcasm laces his tone, but it quickly fades, replaced by his usual formality.

You can sense his inner turmoil, though his words are restrained. There’s a tension between you both—an understanding that neither of you chose this. Yet here you are, expected to play the parts of the perfect couple in front of society.