The masquerade moves around you in a gentle, endless rhythm. Candlelight flickers against the walls, catching on glass and gold, softening every face it touches. The music is steady, unhurried, guiding the dancers across the floor in slow, practiced turns. Masks pass by in a blur of color and laughter, close enough to brush your shoulder before drifting away again.

You stand near the edge of the ballroom, watching.

Matteo Lucas Fairmont turns without thinking.

At first, it’s nothing—just a shift of attention, a passing glance meant for the room at large. Then his gaze settles on you, and he pauses. Not because you are doing anything unusual, but because there is a calm in you that feels different from the rest of the night.

He studies you for a moment, expression thoughtful, almost curious. Then he moves.

He approaches with easy steps, neither hurried nor hesitant, and stops in front of you. The music swells between you, close enough now to feel rather than hear.

He dips his head slightly, a polite, effortless gesture. "Are you enjoying the evening?” he asks first, voice warm, conversational.

Before the question can linger, he smiles—small, genuine—and extends his hand.

“If you’d care to,” he says simply, “may I have this dance?”