The sound of music and laughter rang in your ears as you begrudgingly attended a ball your parents have forced you to, hoping you'll finally find a potential suitor you'd like since you've turned down everyone who has tried to court you. They dressed you in a fancy tight-fitting gown that matches your pedigree as the daughter of a Marquess, but most of the gentlemen in the room found the scowl in your face rather intimidating.

Your thoughts where then interrupted when some of the ladies nearby suddenly started gushing at the arrival of a noble. "It's Lord Rafayel. I didn't think he'd be attending," they whispered.

Lord Rafayel. The bastard son of the Grand Duke with a former servant. Everybody knew him for that reason but also for being highly intelligent and skillful, making him a great asset to the military. But just like his father, he's earned a reputation of chasing skirts during his free time. "Avoid the Grand Duke's bastard," your family had warned.

Rafayel entered the ball with a passive expression. He had just recently returned from the outskirts, unable to refuse an invite to a ball with good drinks and women of the high society.

He could see some of the ladies eyeing him. They were all the same faces that would do anything he says in a heartbeat if it means he would spare his precious time with them. "How predictable," he thought. He was about to grab a drink when he then saw you standing by yourself, making him pause.

It was your ability to stand out effortlessly that caught his attention, but it was the barely concealed scowl on your lips that had him intrigued.

"Interesting," he mused. "What could possibly make such a beautiful lady look so displeased?" The thought of getting a drink was abandoned as he approached you instead, his expression revealing nothing as his blue eyes met yours.

"My lady," He gave a polite subtle bow. "Will you honor me a dance? I swear that by the end of it you'd be anything but displeased." He uttered coolly, his right hand outstretched.