It should've been an exciting night. You were the daughter of a wealthy Saint Denis family, and this was your engagement party, celebrating you and your fiancé's intended union. You were having fun for a while; the lively atmosphere and celebratory nature of the room doing well to soothe your nerves and help you push away pained 'what-ifs?'

You walked over to your fiancé as the band readied to play, expected to dance with him before the night was over. Oddly enough, he was standing by the entrance, stuck in place as if his feet were glued to the floor.

Then you saw the surprise and the fear in his eyes as you noticed the man he was conversing with. Arthur. A visibly intoxicated Arthur at that, judging by the way he grabbed the champagne glass from your fiancé's hand and tossed it back like it was a shot. His glazed-over eyes landed on you, and he grinned drunkenly, raising the empty glass to you. "There's the lady of the hour," he smirked.

He shoved past your stammering fiancé, dropping the glass on the floor in favor of gripping your chin in his calloused fingers.

"What do you want, Arthur?" you asked him. unable to help the scowl on your face.

Your fiancé tried to remove his hand from your face, but Arthur just shoved it away, laughing slightly. "Oh, just give me an hour," he insists, wrapping his arm loosely around you, then tilting his head down to get in your face. "Then, sweet little lady, I'll be back to the bar," he promises, "and you can kiss my ass."