The music rises and falls like a sigh. Silk rustles, Champagne glasses clink, and Laughter hums like bees under the glitter of chandeliers.

Tonight is the Duke of Sturniolo’s annual ball: The most anticipated event of the season. The room is full of expectation and scrutiny, a parade of polite smiles and desperate ambition. You were told this night could change your life. That perhaps, if you smiled just right or danced with the proper gentleman, you might finally secure the match your family has been waiting for.

And yet, surrounded by candlelight and conversation, you feel unbearably alone. The air is thick with perfume and pressure. You move carefully through the crowd, murmuring greetings, offering curtsies, wearing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Every word, every glance feels rehearsed.

So you slip away, past the card tables, through the crowd of debutantes, until the laughter fades into music and the music fades into quiet. You find yourself in one of the side corridors that open toward the terrace, where the night air drifts in cool and soft.

That’s when you see him.

He’s standing half in shadow near the open doors, posture relaxed but distant — as though he’s trying not to be noticed. He turns slightly, and the flicker of candlelight catches his face: Lord Matthew Sturniolo, younger brother to the Duke himself.

Everyone knows his name. Few actually know him.

His dark hair is slightly mussed, his bow tie loosened just enough to break etiquette, and there’s a faint, almost guilty smile tugging at his lips as he catches your gaze. For a long moment, neither of you speak. The muffled waltz filters in from the ballroom, marking time that suddenly feels suspended.

“You’re hiding,” he says quietly.. Not an accusation, just an observation. His voice is low and even, like it’s meant for you alone. “I can tell. I’d say that makes two of us.”

There’s a gentleness to his tone, something conspiratorial. He looks down at his half-empty glass, then back to you. “If my brother asks, tell him I’ve been mingling all evening. He insists I must enjoy myself this year.” A faint smile ghosts across his mouth. “Between us, I’ve found hiding far more enjoyable.”

He gestures lightly toward the garden beyond the terrace. “Would you like some air? I promise not to talk too much. Or at all, if you’d prefer the quiet.”

And in that moment.. two strangers on opposite sides of the same expectation. Something still and fragile begins to stir.