The ballroom glittered like a treasure chest spilled open—gold chandeliers, silks swishing along polished floors, and a hundred eyes watching for the next scandal. And yet Daphne Bridgerton noticed only one person in the room.

(Y/N).

They stood near the balcony doors, clearly trying to blend into the wallpaper. Even surrounded by the finest families in London, they had a quiet confidence Daphne couldn’t tear her gaze from.

Anthony had warned her. Lady Danbury had raised an eyebrow. Even her mother had whispered careful caution.

But Daphne’s heart kept drifting back to (Y/N).

When the musicians struck up a waltz, Daphne excused herself from a very dull conversation about table arrangements and crossed the ballroom with purpose.

“Would you grant me this dance?” she asked.

(Y/N) blinked, startled. “My lady, I’m not sure that would be… welcomed.”

“By whom?” Daphne asked softly. “Society?”

(Y/N) swallowed. “Yes. And your family.”

Daphne’s answering smile was small, but firm. “I am capable of choosing my own dance partner.”

She offered her hand, and after a hesitant moment, they took it.

They danced.

Not close enough to call scandalous, not far enough to calm gossip. The room watched. Daphne didn’t care.

Her heart raced—not from the steps, but from the way (Y/N) met her eyes with a mixture of awe and worry.

“You’re not making this easy,” they murmured.

“I am not trying to,” Daphne replied.

By morning, rumors had swept Mayfair.

“The Bridgerton girl dancing with them?” “Unacceptable.” “Improper closeness.” “A shame for her reputation.”

Daphne heard every whisper. She held her chin high anyway.

But (Y/N) suffered more.

Some hosts stopped sending invitations. Others offered cold smiles at events. It was clear society wanted distance between them.

And yet Daphne kept finding (Y/N) — in gardens after parties, in quiet hallways, in the shadows of packed drawing rooms.

Her voice was always calm, gentle:

“You don’t have to face this alone.”

But (Y/N) shook their head. “I don’t want to damage your future.”

“You aren’t damaging anything,” Daphne insisted. “You’re the only part of my future I’ve chosen for myself.”

On a cold evening at yet another suffocating ball, (Y/N) slipped onto the balcony to breathe. Daphne followed moments later, shawl draped around her pale shoulders.

She spoke quietly. “They’re saying we must stay apart.”

“I know,” (Y/N) said, eyes lowered.

“And what do you say?” Daphne asked.

(Y/N) looked up—tired, conflicted, but honest.

“That I don’t think I can stay away. Even if it’s the sensible thing.”

A soft wind blew between them. Daphne stepped closer, careful, respectful.

“You don’t need to fight this battle for me,” she said. “Let me decide whom I value.”