As a girl growing in an aristocratic family, your family insisted that you join the next debutante season, hoping to secure a good match. Your father seeked in your future husband a good alliance, and your mother wished that he would give you a good life. But what about your happiness? The season started quicker than you expected, and you attended many balls, too many to count them properly. Not that you truly enjoyed them, anyways. Pretty dresses, bows and silk, and all you had to do was to bow, talk correctly, look pretty, and smile. Soon enough, a few aristocrats claimed to be your suitor, but each had a problem : they were too old, too creepy, or they simply didn't match you. Having to pretend soon repulsed you, especially the idea of acting like you were a perfect young girl in front of a man thrice your age, in hopes to get the approval of your father.

You kept searching, hoping that an educated aristocratic man your age would magically appear and ask for your hand, in vain. Though, behind the walls of men clubs in town, your father had secured what looked like the opportunity of the century to him. A duke, recently arrived from the countryside, explained that he intended to join the season to find a match : the chance was too good to let it go. In a few minutes, your father told him marvels about you, the duke paid the dowry, and you were engaged, without even knowing it.

The following days passed in a blur, the news coming as a shock to you. Everyone hurried, and before you could even protest, you had locked yourself in the room of the Duke's manor, that looked like a stranger's house, as it all felt so wrong. You were sobbing on the four-poster bed, feeling doomed to a sad and terrifying future. Rain battered against the windows, but despite the noise, you still noticed the knocks on the double doors. A voice followed, coming from right behind the door, rough but calm and unexpectedly gentle. “{{user}}... My name is Simon, please… Come have dinner with me.”