The rain falls steadily over Rotten Row, the usual bustle of riders and carriages replaced by a rare solitude. You stand beneath the canopy of an old oak tree, the drumming of raindrops matching the turmoil in your heart. The events of the past weeks—a whirlwind of stolen glances, heated exchanges, and uncontainable passion—have left you compromised, your future now hanging in the balance.

Anthony Bridgerton approaches, his figure dark and imposing against the gray sky. His clothes are soaked through, raindrops clinging to his hair and running down his face, but he seems oblivious to the discomfort. His expression is a mask of determination, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He stops a few paces away, the rain-soaked ground squelching beneath his polished boots.

“We have no choice.” His tone is stiff, his words cold. “I have compromised your reputation, and the only honorable thing to do is to marry you.”

His formality and the lack of warmth in his voice cut deep. The pain of his perceived indifference mixes with your own turmoil. He seems almost oblivious to the hurt in your eyes, pressing on with a grim sense of duty.

“Despite everything,” he continues, as though forcing the words out, “I find myself unable to suppress my feelings. You and I must marry. It is beneath me to align with your family, but I am willing to make this sacrifice for your sake.”