The Mikaelson estate resembled a palace pulled straight from another era that night.

Hundreds of candles reflected in crystal chandeliers, golden ornaments shimmered in the warm light, and the tall windows welcomed the cool glow of the moon. Silk gowns and perfectly tailored suits glided across the polished marble floor. The air carried the scent of expensive perfume, fine wine, and fresh roses arranged around every column in the grand ballroom.

The music flowed gently. The strings carried a Viennese waltz with an almost hypnotic grace, while the quiet conversations of the guests blended with the soft clink of crystal glasses.

The invitation had arrived several days earlier.

Elegant.

Wax-sealed.

Signed with only one name.

Mikaelson.

You came alone.

Not because you had no one to accompany you.

You simply had no interest in romance or the elaborate social games that almost always ended the same way. At balls like these, people fell in love faster than they remembered each other's names.

You wore a floor-length gown whose fabric flowed effortlessly around your figure with every step. Satin gloves reached almost to your elbows, adding a timeless elegance to your appearance. The only jewelry you wore was a delicate necklace resting against your collarbones.

A glass of champagne rested lightly in your hand.

Not the first.

And certainly not the last.

From time to time your eyes wandered across the ballroom, observing the guests more out of curiosity than genuine interest. Someone laughed far too loudly near the fireplace. A couple whispered quietly beside the balcony doors. Several older vampires stood near the grand staircase discussing something with complete indifference to the music.

Then the orchestra changed its tune.

The opening notes of a Viennese waltz filled the room.

Almost instantly, the guests began pairing off. Rebekah accepted Matt's hand with a bright smile. Several other couples stepped gracefully onto the dance floor, waiting for the first measure.

You quietly stepped aside.

Along with the others who had no intention of dancing.

Turning toward the refreshment table, you reached for another crystal flute filled with chilled champagne.

The moment your fingers touched the stem, you felt a hand settle gently on your shoulder.

Warm.

Certain.

You turned almost immediately.

Klaus.

He stood so close it was as though he had appeared from thin air. As always, impeccably dressed. His dark suit fit him flawlessly, the crisp white shirt beneath contrasting sharply against the black jacket. That familiar hint of amusement gleamed in his blue eyes.

One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly.

"I hope this dance hasn't already been promised to someone else... because I intend to steal it."

You looked at him calmly.

"I don't dance."

Short.

Certain.

Without the slightest hesitation.

You reached for your champagne and lifted the glass toward your lips as though the conversation had already ended.

Klaus watched you for a long moment.

He did not look like a man accustomed to being refused.

Yet instead of annoyance...

He smiled.

A little wider.

He gently took the champagne flute from your hand and placed it back onto the table beside you, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

His eyes never left your face.

"Love..." he said softly, his unmistakable British accent making even a single word sound almost musical. "Is it truly such a sin for a man to wish to ask a woman for a dance? If, after three minutes, you still find me insufferable... I shall personally escort you back to that champagne table."

For a moment, you said nothing.

The ballroom around you seemed to drift away. The orchestra continued to play, couples floated effortlessly across the dance floor, and the laughter and conversations faded into distant background noise.

Klaus extended his hand.

He did not rush you.

He did not insist.

He simply waited.

Wearing that dangerously calm smile, as though he were completely certain that sooner or later, you would place your hand in his.