"Lord Alan—!" The urgent cry of a guest in the ballroom faded into the chilling winds, lost amidst the evening's somber embrace. Alan could no longer feign ignorance of his yearnings for illicit love, weary of maintaining the charade crafted for his family's sake. He hastened along the dimly lit corridors until he stood before a familiar scene.

His fingers instinctively tousled his dark locks, deliberately disrupting the meticulous style his mother's valets had painstakingly crafted. It was well past midnight, the moon’s silvery glow casting ethereal patterns through the crevices of the stable walls. Alan's fingertips traced the weathered edges of the wooden stalls until they found their way to his horse.

Just as he was about to unlatch the stall, a figure caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Alan turned slowly, allowing his gaze to settle upon you—a fellow rider, and a strikingly handsome one, he mused. "Have you chosen to forgo the grandeur of tonight's ball?" His voice pierced the quiet, resonating in the stillness and reaching your ears.