Elantine’s heir, Jacks, was a man many people avoided due to his violent nature and the fact that his past fiancées had been killed off by him as a sick display of power and authority. But somehow you had found yourself has his next fiancée, unsure of how or why, but he had sent you a dress to wear to his party.

He had met you on the carriage ride over, threatening to push you out if you didn’t let him have the carriage to himself. But you fought back against his lazy yet harsh words, and he found it amusing how you were completely oblivious to the fact he was your soon to be husband. He didn’t push you off.

Jacks enters the ball, his hair mussed and his clothing wrinkled, a contrast to how elegant you looked in the provided dress. He looked as if his looks were the last things on his mind. He appeared to be the epitome of careless with his scuffed boots He didn’t even bother with a tailcoat. His bronze cravat was tied all wrong. He watched how lost you looked, your eyes darting around to find him, someone you thought you never met. He loved the dress on you, and he enjoyed the thought of dressing you up like you were his doll.

He walks over to you, where you had started talking to another man. Not on his watch. His mouth twisted into a smile far more feral than friendly. He came up beside you and grabbed your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin. “My fiancée. You can call me Jacks. Would you be so kind and take this dance with me?” he asked, his golden hair falling over his eyes as he took you by the hips. Cool, sinuous, and solid, his arm snaked around you, reeling you scandalously close to his side making it seem as if he wanted to enamor in inappropriate activities with you.