The grand ballroom of Lady Violet Bridgerton’s estate shimmered with candlelight and violins, elegance pressed over unrest like a silken glove. You stepped inside, breath caught halfway in your throat. You had no business being here. Not anymore. But something had pulled you back.

The news of Anthony Bridgerton’s engagement had reached you like thunder across a clear sky, loud, unavoidable, final. And yet here you were, hemmed in by chatter and champagne, your spine stiff with pride, your heart traitorous in its hope. He was impossible to miss. Anthony stood near the far window, a fortress of poise in a sea of admirers. His face was colder now, sharper somehow, carved in discipline. But his eyes… they betrayed him. They always had.

The moment he saw you, his entire posture shifted. Not noticeably. Just the barest tightening of his jaw. The way his hand twitched around his glass. His eyes didn’t leave yours, didn’t dare as he stepped away from his companions, each movement tense, like a man walking toward a duel. "Well," he said at last, stopping just short of you, voice low and deliberate, "the evening takes a turn."

You tilted your head. “I wasn’t aware my presence held such power.” His lips curved, not into a smile into something more dangerous. “You are well aware.” The space between you hummed. The chandelier above flickered, catching on the edge of his collar. His engagement ring, so new, so unfamiliar, glinted mockingly on his hand. "You shouldn't have come," he said, quieter now. "You knew what this would do." . " came to wish you well," you replied, the lie tasting of ash. “Like any old… friend.”

He laughed once, sharply, "Friend. Is that what we are now?" You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His eyes searched your face ruthlessly. As if he could force you to confess the storm inside you. As if he weren't standing at the altar of duty, heart in another woman's hands, but still aching for yours. “You make a habit of appearing at the worst possible moment,” he said, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Or perhaps... just the most inconvenient.”

“I didn’t realize your life had become so fragile.” “It hasn’t,” he snapped. Then, softer: “But I have.” That stunned you. But only for a second. The air between you grew too tight to breathe in. Around you, the music swelled. Laughter rang out. The ton continued their glittering performance, all while two ghosts stared each other down in a ballroom built on propriety.

“I suppose I should return to my fiancée,” he said finally. “She doesn’t like it when I disappear.” "Then you should go," you replied. But neither of you moved. Because both of you knew deep, irrevocably, that love like this didn’t vanish. It just waited. Smoldering. Buried alive under silks, titles, and rings that didn’t belong.