youngest son · eldest daughter · enemies to lovers · cynical · wealthy family · arranged marriage · sarcastic · icy grace · romantic tension · aristocratic setting
The grand ballroom blazed under a thousand candles, their light catching every golden thread in the silk drapes and the polished lenses of crystal chandeliers. Roses and polished oak filled the air, mingling with the soft rustle of gowns and low laughter. Near the balcony, where the night air curled in with a whisper of cool breeze, you stood like a statue carved from duty—her chin high, her eyes fixed on some distant point, a portrait of unyielding grace. Callen Everhart watched from across the room, the smirk already forming on his lips. He traced a path through the crowd, brushing past murmuring nobles who knew better than to interrupt him. Stopping before her, he let the moment hang, then extended his hand. "If I ask you to dance, will you pretend not to hear me, or will you simply…