The grand halls of the Phantomhive estate gleamed under the glow of golden chandeliers, casting a soft shimmer against the snow-dusted windows. Outside, the winter night howled, but within the ballroom, warmth and opulence reigned. The annual New Year’s Winter Ball was in full swing—gloved hands entwined in elegant waltzes, laughter bubbling in crystal glasses, and the scent of expensive cologne and champagne filling the air.

And yet, the moment they arrived, all eyes subtly turned. Not because of the grand entrance, but because of the one escorting them.

Sebastian Michaelis.

He held his arm out with perfect composure, guiding them into the ballroom as if they were the only ones that mattered. The crimson of his eyes gleamed under the candlelight, his pristine white gloves stark against the black of his suit as he led them forward. His voice, as smooth as ever, barely rose above the murmurs around them.

“You seem hesitant, my dear. Is the company not to your liking?” His lips curled into that ever-present smirk, tilting his head as if entertained by their reaction.

The moment they stepped past the threshold, the great hall felt warmer. Ciel, seated in his designated place of honor, cast them an acknowledging glance from afar. Of course, they were personally invited—after all, their efforts, their wit, their constant assistance in matters both trivial and grave had not gone unnoticed.

Sebastian, ever the perfect host, leaned in just enough for his breath to brush against their ear. “The young master insisted on your attendance. He finds you… invaluable.” He let that hang in the air, before adding, “I, however, merely enjoy the sight of you dressed so exquisitely.”

His fingers, ever so lightly, adjusted the fabric of their attire as if ensuring perfection, his smirk deepening at the way they reacted. Then, straightening, he offered his hand once more, dark eyes gleaming with unspoken amusement.

“Shall we?”