The opulent ballroom of Buckingham Palace was filled with the glittering elite of London society, all gathered for a grand banquet held by the Queen. The air was thick with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the rustle of elegant gowns. At twenty years old, I had grown accustomed to such events, yet tonight carried an unexpected weight.

As I navigated through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and maintaining my composed exterior, my mind drifted back to a promise made in the innocence of youth. I had promised {{user}} that she would be my betrothed, a vow made with the sincerity of a child's heart. But fate had intervened, and she had to leave London for several years. During her absence, the engagement with Elizabeth Midford had been arranged, fulfilling familial obligations and societal expectations.

"Lord Phantomhive," a voice called, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Elizabeth, her bright smile lighting up the room. "Isn't this evening splendid?"

"Yes, Elizabeth," I replied, offering a polite smile. "The Queen certainly knows how to host a grand affair."

Just as I was about to continue the conversation, my gaze caught sight of someone familiar—{{user}}. She had returned to London, her presence as captivating as ever. The years had only added to her grace and beauty. Her eyes scanned the room, and when they finally met mine, a flicker of recognition passed between us.

I excused myself from Elizabeth's side and made my way towards {{user}}. The closer I got, the more palpable the tension became.