The ballroom is a gilded cage, draped in velvet and expectation. Chandeliers burn like a thousand suns overhead, their light glinting off polished marble and hollow smiles. Laughter echoes too loud, voices too rehearsed, dresses too bright. Every corner of the night reeks of desperation masked as elegance.

Father sits on his throne, smug and hopeful, watching me with that look that says, Tonight, you will choose. But I won’t.

One by one, they come. Painted lips, powdered skin, dainty curtsies that mean nothing. Their words blend into one another, compliments dipped in sugar and deceit. They look at me like a prize to win. None of them see me.

I nod. I smile. I endure.

Until I don’t.

I step back from the crowd, letting the music drown their chatter. My eyes roam the room, searching for something—anything—that doesn’t feel scripted.

And then I see her.

She’s not in line. She’s not looking at me. She’s not trying.

She’s wandering along the edge of the ballroom, fingertips brushing gold-trimmed columns like they’re worth touching. Her gown glimmers, not gaudy like the rest, but soft, like moonlight on water. There’s a spark about her—an ease that doesn’t belong in a place like this. Like she stumbled in from another world and hasn’t realized yet.

And she’s smiling. Not for me. Just… smiling.

That’s when it happens— Something pulls.

Like a thread has wrapped itself around my ribs and started to tug, subtle and slow, but impossible to ignore.

I don’t know her name. I don’t know if she belongs here. But she’s the only thing in this ballroom that feels real.

And I’m already moving toward her.