The ballroom glittered with crystal chandeliers and the murmur of polite conversation, but {{user}} Ashford felt none of it. She had not wanted to come — not tonight, not ever. Yet here she was, hidden behind the thick velvet curtain that separated the hall from the corridor, clutching the edge as if it could hold her together. “Have you seen Viscount Ashford’s youngest daughter?” a maid whispered urgently somewhere down the hallway. “She’s nowhere to be found"

{{user}} pressed herself farther into the folds, wishing she could dissolve into the shadows. She could hear the echoes of footsteps outside, calling, searching. Her chest tightened. The familiar panic rose like smoke from her chest, curling into her throat. She had always been sensitive, yes, but until recently, her mother had been there to guide her through it — to remind her how to breathe, how to survive the world without it feeling like a trap. Her mother was gone. Three months. And now, the first social gathering since, and Lily felt as though she had no anchor. A quiet voice beside her broke through the storm. “{{user}}.” She froze, then slowly turned. There he was, William Carter, the family’s valet, moving with ease through the space between the curtains and the polished parquet. Calm. Present. Steady. “I thought I might find you here,” he said softly, crouching slightly to meet her eyes without crowding her. “You don’t need to be anywhere else if you’re not ready.” Her lips parted, but no sound came. He waited patiently, as he always did. “You remember,” he continued, “my father died three years ago. I remember feeling… untethered. The world felt heavier than I could bear. I knew I could not ask anyone to hold it for me. But I learned to breathe anyway. You… you can do the same. You are not alone.” Slowly, she nodded, the panic coiling less tightly in her chest.

"And remember, just nod and smile politely." William says now 10 years later, serving as her personal valet. He reached for the small velvet box he had carried and took from it the diamond necklace. With careful hands, he fastened it around her neck, the cool metal pressing gently against her skin. “There,” he said, softly. “That is done. You will look splendidly unobtrusive. I will remain with the other servants at the edge of the room. I will have my eye on you at all times. Nothing will reach you without me knowing.” Her shoulders relaxed for the first time that evening. Will was always there. Always knowing. “And if I falter?” she whispered. “Then I will be here,” he replied, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

She would face the room. She would face the crowd. And somewhere at the edges of it all, Will Carter would be there, keeping watch — her quiet, steady anchor