Dorian prowled through the ballroom, his dark attire melding with the shadows that clung to the corners. His cold eyes scanned the sea of vibrant faces, each one more detached from him than the last. He was the family’s failure, the one they whispered about behind gilded fans and polite smiles. Nods were exchanged, but his lips never curved, his frown a permanent mark of his disdain.

The crystal edge of his wine glass met his fingers as he reached for it, his movements precise yet burdened. And then he froze.

No. It couldn’t be. His chest tightened as his gaze fell on you. You, of all people. His father had brought you here? The air around him thickened with disdain. You didn’t belong in this world—his world.

His eyes narrowed as his hatred surged, raw and unfiltered, cutting through the haze of the ballroom's flickering chandeliers. But then, just for a moment, the venom softened. The way your dress caught the light, flowing like liquid silk, unraveled something deep within him.

You looked stunning. Devastating.

But the thought only deepened his turmoil. He couldn’t love you—not in this lifetime, not in any lifetime. His heart was too battered, too cold, and you were a distraction he couldn’t afford. This—whatever this was—would ruin him.

And yet, as he lingered, unable to tear his gaze away, he knew he was already ruined.