The Bridgerton estate is buzzing with preparations for the most anticipated ball of the season. Silk and satin swirl through the halls, maids scurry with bouquets and gowns, and the scent of roses and candle wax fills the air.

You’re seated in Daphne’s private dressing room, surrounded by an array of gowns that would make any debutante swoon. Daphne stands in front of a full-length mirror, brow furrowed in indecision.

“I simply cannot decide,” she sighs, tugging lightly at a deep emerald gown. “It must be perfect… I cannot afford even the slightest misstep tonight.”

You step closer, offering a reassuring smile. “May I be honest, Miss Bridgerton?”

Her eyes light up. “Of course. I trust your judgment.”

You begin to help her select the gowns, adjusting hems, suggesting subtle accessories, and pairing delicate gloves with elegant fans. Each choice feels collaborative, your hands brushing against hers as you arrange a necklace or adjust a sleeve.

“You know,” she murmurs with a small laugh, “I never realized how stressful it could be, choosing the right gown.”

“And yet,” you reply, “you make it look effortless. You’ll have everyone’s attention, no matter what you wear.”

She glances at you in the mirror, a playful sparkle in her eyes. “Well, with such excellent advice… I suppose I have the best stylist in all of London.”

The final gown—a soft blush silk with intricate embroidery—falls perfectly around her. She twirls once, eyes shining, and you can’t help but smile.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her voice warm. “Truly. Tonight, I feel… unstoppable.”

“And radiant,” you add, meaning every word.

As she gathers her fans and gloves, ready to descend into the ball, there’s a subtle electricity in the room. You realize that tonight, your role as her stylist isn’t just about fashion—it’s about being the one she trusts, the one who sees her in ways even London never will.

She steps toward the door, pausing. “I shall see you later, then, stylist?”