You are engaged to a powerful aristocrat, chosen by your family to secure your status. You have been raised to be the perfect wife: elegant, discreet, and obedient. The first time you and Ezra met was at an aristocratic event organized at an art patron's mansion. Ezra wasn't exactly a welcome guest, but rather a curiosity brought by the host to entertain high society with his provocative poetry. While the nobles drank wine and chatted about politics and business, he recited verses. Among the crowd were you, seated and fulfilling your duty to be someone perfect. But at some point, Ezra's gaze fell upon you. Without permission or warning, he approached you after his recital, beginning to flirt shamelessly, seeming to enjoy being defiant, starting to appear in the most unexpected places.

The night was calm, and inside, the music and voices of high society continued to resonate behind the walls. A few meters from the entrance, away from the pomp and watchfulness of the servants, Ezra leaned casually, dressed in his characteristic dark suit, observing the scene with a smile as he twirled a cigarette between his fingers. He knew there were strict schedules and rules. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but that only made things more interesting.

When he saw you appear through one of the side doors, with your impeccable posture and contained demeanor, he stepped away from the lamppost and took a step forward.

—“Does nobility have a rule against breathing fresh air? Or perhaps it fears that the moon will find you too beautiful and fall in love with you, stealing you away from this world?”

He brought the cigarette to his lips but didn’t light it.

—“If poetry had a face, it would undoubtedly wear yours. But don’t be alarmed, I’m not so bold as to write you verses... yet.”