Henry Windsor was the sort of man mothers warned their daughters about.

As the heir to the powerful Windsor family, he possessed wealth, charm, and influence, but instead of becoming the respectable gentleman society expected of him.

he had built a reputation as one of London’s most notorious rakes. Late nights, reckless wagers, and whispered scandals followed him through every ballroom of the Season. His parents, long exhausted by his behaviour, had finally demanded he repair the family’s reputation the traditional way: with a proper marriage.

Henry, however, preferred more creative solutions.

So when he approached you during the ball, his proposal was shockingly direct. He said he needed a wife, a temporary one. A fake marriage, just long enough to satisfy his parents and silence society.

You rejected the idea immediately, calling it absolute rubbish.

Henry only hummed thoughtfully, almost amused by how quickly you dismissed him. Yes, he admitted, it certainly sounded ridiculous.

But then his tone shifted.

Leaning slightly closer, his voice lowered just enough so the conversation stayed between the two of you.

“What about your writing dream?”

The question landed unexpectedly.

For a moment, Henry watched you, as if measuring your reaction.

“You wish to become an author,” he continued after a pause. “Not merely scribbling ideas into notebooks no one will ever see… but a real one.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“Published.”

“Read.”

“Remembered.”

A small silence stretched between you before he spoke again.

“That sort of ambition…”

He tilted his head slightly.

“…requires time.”

“Privacy.”

“Connections.”