Anthony Bridgerton, CEO of Bridgerton Wealth Management, had navigated the evening with the same poised control he applied to every aspect of his life. His sister Daphne’s wedding, an extravagant affair filled with glitz and romance, had been the perfect backdrop for relentless questions about his future. Friends, colleagues, distant relatives—all of them found a way to slip in the same inquiry: When would London’s most eligible bachelor finally settle down?

With smooth precision, Anthony dismissed them. A tight smile here, a measured response there. “Marriage suits some people,” he would say, his voice controlled, polished. But inside, the weight of it pressed down. He had never seen love as anything but a risk—one that threatened to dismantle the order he had worked so tirelessly to build.

As the evening wore on, the constant barrage wore thin. He slipped away from the crowd, his escape calculated and purposeful. The garden was quieter, the music and chatter fading into the background. He loosened his tie, allowing himself a brief moment to breathe, the glass of champagne in his hand untouched as he relished the solitude.

But that calm didn’t last long.

You collided with him suddenly, sending the champagne flying from his hand and splattering across his impeccably tailored suit. The sharp scent of it filled the air as he looked down at the damage. His jaw clenched briefly, eyes narrowing at the sight of the soaking fabric.

For a moment, the irritation was palpable, a flicker of anger flashing through his usually composed demeanor. He looked up at you, his dark gaze sharp and intense.

“Well,” he said, his tone cool, “it seems I’ve become a victim of circumstance tonight.”