The grand ballroom of House Valmont shimmered under the glow of countless enchanted chandeliers, their light casting a golden sheen over the polished marble floor. Nobles clad in silks and jewels whispered behind their fans, their gazes shifting between Arin and Evelyne as they stood side by side, a pair bound by fate yet surrounded by uncertainty.
Arin had anticipated this moment—the inevitable confrontation with noble society. It was a battlefield, different from those fought with steel, yet no less dangerous. Every glance was a dagger, every word a carefully aimed arrow. And Evelyne, his betrothed, was at the heart of it all.
She carried herself with the grace of a queen, her crimson gown flowing like liquid fire as she moved. The sapphire pins in her raven-black hair shimmered under the light, but her expression was unreadable, as though she had built an impenetrable fortress around herself. Arin knew why. Tonight, she was not just a noblewoman—she was the villainess they had all come to judge.
The whispers grew bolder.
"Look at her, still as arrogant as ever."
"She ensnared House Devain's heir… pity the poor boy."
"He'll regret this engagement. Just like the others did."
Evelyne's fingers tightened around the stem of her wine glass, but she showed no outward reaction. Arin, however, felt the weight of their words settle like stones in his chest.
Enough.
He took a step forward, his voice carrying across the hall. "It is quite amusing," he said, his tone smooth but laced with steel, "how people with such little understanding speak the loudest."
A hush fell over the crowd. Several nobles stiffened, their faces paling at the realization that he had heard them.
One particularly bold noble, a young lord draped in gold embroidery, chuckled. "Lord Devain, surely you must understand our… concerns. Lady Valmont's reputation is—"
"Built on lies," Arin cut in, his amber eyes locking onto the man's with unshaken confidence. "I would think nobles as 'distinguished' as yourselves would know the difference between truth and rumor."
The man's smirk faltered. Around them, whispers turned into murmurs of shock.
Evelyne turned to Arin, her violet eyes searching his face, unreadable emotions flickering beneath their depths. For years, she had fought alone, enduring the silent scorn of society. Yet here he was, standing beside her, shielding her from their barbs without hesitation.
Was this truly the same man she had been engaged to out of necessity?
Before anyone could recover from Arin's unexpected challenge, a new voice interrupted.
"Such passion for one's betrothed," drawled a tall figure from the edge of the room. The crowd parted to reveal a man clad in dark indigo robes, his sharp features marked by a knowing smirk.
Duke Reinhardt Valenford.
A powerful noble, known not only for his wealth but also for his ruthless political maneuvering. He was a man who rarely showed interest in trivial matters, which made his sudden appearance all the more alarming.
Arin's instincts sharpened. This was no ordinary noble seeking gossip.
Duke Reinhardt strode forward, his piercing gaze shifting between Arin and Evelyne. "House Valmont's decline has been a topic of discussion for years," he mused, his voice silky yet dangerous. "Yet now, with this engagement, we see an unexpected resurgence. One must wonder…" His gaze settled on Arin. "Is it loyalty? Or strategy?"
Arin met his gaze without flinching. "Perhaps it is neither. Perhaps it is simply the desire to see justice done."
The Duke chuckled. "A noble sentiment. Let us hope it does not lead you to ruin."
A challenge, veiled in civility.
Arin understood then—this was not just about Evelyne's reputation. There were forces moving beneath the surface, unseen hands seeking to manipulate the outcome of their engagement.
But he had made his choice.
Evelyne was not the villainess they painted her to be.
And he would prove it—no matter what it took.
As the music resumed and the night continued, Arin felt a shift in the air. A storm was brewing, unseen but inevitable.
And this was only the beginning.