The Blackthorn estate was a flurry of activity as preparations for the Annual Autumn Ball reached their peak. The Blackthorn's Annual Autumn Ball was not just any event—it was *the* event, a beacon of opulence and grandeur that marked the turning of the season. For decades, the ball had served as a meeting ground for nobles, a stage for alliances, rivalries, and whispered intrigues. This year, it promised to be even more significant, with Adrian's engagement to Isla—or rather, Lady Evangeline—hovering precariously over the occasion like a thundercloud ready to burst.
Isla stood before the gilded mirror in her chambers, casting a critical eye over her reflection as Clara fussed over her hair.
"Hold still," Clara scolded, deftly weaving the final strand of Isla's dark hair into an intricate braid that rested elegantly atop her head. Loose curls cascaded down her back, framing her face.
"Remind me again why I have to wear this?" Isla muttered, gesturing to the deep crimson gown she'd been forced into. The fabric clung to her figure in a way that was decidedly *villainess*, with its plunging neckline and shimmering embroidery that caught the light like embers in a fire.
Clara stepped back, admiring her handiwork. "Because you're supposed to look like the future Duchess of Blackthorn. And red suits you—it's dramatic, commanding, and a little dangerous. Very fitting."
Isla groaned. "I feel like I'm wearing a sign that says, 'Villainess for Hire.' All I'm missing is a maniacal laugh."
Clara giggled, tying a pale blue sash around her own gown. "Oh, come on. You look stunning. Besides, if you're going to play the part, you might as well do it in style."
Before Isla could retort, a knock at the door drew their attention.
"Come in," Isla called, turning as the door opened to reveal Thomas. His figure filled the doorway like a statue carved from stone, his expression as stoic as ever. His dark suit was impeccable, his cravat tied with military precision.
"Lady Evangeline," he said with a short bow. "The carriages have started arriving. His Grace has requested your presence in the foyer."
Isla sighed, smoothing the fabric of her gown. "Great. Time to go smile and wave like a trained parrot."
Clara gave her a playful nudge. "Think of it as practice. Who knows? You might actually enjoy yourself."
"Unlikely," Isla muttered, but she allowed herself to be ushered out of the room.
---
The grand foyer of Blackthorn Manor was a sight to behold, lit by the golden glow of the chandeliers that hung like constellations above the marble floors. Nobles in their finest attire mingled, their laughter and polite chatter filling the air as they admired the lavish decor. The scent of fresh flowers and polished wood mingled with the faint aroma of spiced wine, adding to the intoxicating atmosphere.
Adrian stood near the base of the grand staircase, his broad shoulders and sharp features commanding attention even among the crowd. He was dressed in a tailored black coat with silver embroidery, the crest of the Blackthorn family—a raven clutching an arrow—embroidered on the lapel. His severe expression and piercing gray eyes gave him an air of authority that made others hesitate to approach him.
Isla descended the staircase with Clara at her side, her heart pounding as her gaze locked on Adrian. He looked every inch the perfect duke—aloof, unapproachable, and frustratingly handsome.
His gaze flicked to her as she neared, his eyes briefly scanning her gown before meeting hers. For a moment, something softened in his expression, but it was gone so quickly she wondered if she'd imagined it.
"Lady Evangeline," he greeted, offering her his arm.
"Your Grace," she replied, plastering on a polite smile as she took it.
The moment her hand rested on his arm, she could feel the tension in his posture, the subtle tightening of his muscles as they walked into the ballroom together.
"Are you always this stiff, or is it just for me?" Isla asked under her breath, her tone teasing.
Adrian's lips twitched, though he didn't look at her. "Consider yourself special."
The ballroom was nothing short of breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings stretched above them, adorned with intricate frescoes depicting scenes of autumnal harvests. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the polished floors, where couples twirled gracefully to the music of a string quartet. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the gardens, where lanterns flickered like fireflies in the darkness.
Isla allowed herself to be swept up in the beauty of it all, momentarily forgetting the role she was supposed to play.
"Ah, there you are."
The familiar voice drew her attention, and she turned to see Elias approaching, his ever-present smirk firmly in place. He was dressed in a dark green coat, the fabric slightly worn but tailored well enough to hint at an aristocratic past. His hair was artfully tousled, and his hazel eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Elias," Adrian said coolly, his tone a degree icier than usual.
"Your Grace," Elias replied with a mock bow before his gaze slid to Isla. "And Lady Evangeline. You look radiant tonight. Red becomes you."
"Thank you," Isla said cautiously. "I suppose I should also thank you again for what you did last night. Though I can't help but wonder what you were doing in the woods to begin with."
Elias's smirk faltered for just a moment before returning in full force. "Let's just say I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time."
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "And what exactly were you doing in the woods, Elias? Spying, perhaps?"
Elias raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Spying? Me? Perish the thought, Your Grace."
Isla studied him, her curiosity piqued. There was something about Elias that didn't quite fit. He carried himself with the ease of someone who belonged in these circles, yet there was an edge to him, a roughness that suggested he'd long since fallen out of favor with the aristocracy.
"Why do I feel like you're not telling us the whole story?" Isla asked, narrowing her eyes.
Elias flashed her a grin. "Because I'm not."
Before Adrian could respond, Clara appeared at Isla's side, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Come dance with me," she said, grabbing Isla's hand and pulling her toward the dance floor.
Isla barely had time to protest before she was swept into the crowd, leaving Adrian and Elias behind.
---
The music swelled as Isla and Clara joined the throng of dancers. Clara twirled gracefully, her pale blue gown fluttering like the wings of a bird, while Isla did her best to keep up.
"You're staring," Clara teased as they spun across the floor.
"What?" Isla asked, startled.
"Adrian," Clara said with a knowing smile. "You've been staring at him all night."
"I have not," Isla protested, though her cheeks warmed.
Clara raised an eyebrow. "You might as well hang a sign around your neck that says, 'Hopelessly Besotted.'"
Isla groaned. "I am *not* besotted. He's insufferable."
"Insufferably handsome," Clara quipped, laughing as Isla swatted at her.
As the song ended, Clara was whisked away by Thomas, who looked uncharacteristically relaxed as he guided her into a waltz. Isla watched them for a moment, a small smile tugging at her lips. There was something tender in the way Thomas looked at Clara, something unspoken yet undeniable.
Her gaze drifted back to Adrian, who was standing near the edge of the room, his posture stiff as he watched the proceedings. Taking a deep breath, Isla made her way over to him.
"Enjoying yourself?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.
"Not particularly," he admitted, his tone dry.
She smiled. "You haven't danced once. Afraid of embarrassing yourself?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Hardly. I just prefer to observe."
She tilted her head, studying him. "Well, I think you owe me a dance, Your Grace."
He hesitated for a moment before offering her his hand. "Very well. One dance."
As they stepped onto the dance floor, the music slowed, and they moved together with surprising ease. Isla was acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on her waist, the way his gray eyes seemed to soften as they met hers.
"Why do you always insist on challenging me?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Because someone has to," she replied with a teasing smile.
For a moment, the mask he always wore seemed to slip, and she thought she saw something vulnerable beneath it. But the moment passed, and the music ended, forcing them to step apart.
---
The night wore on, and by the time the last guests had departed, Isla was exhausted. She slipped out into the garden, seeking a moment of quiet amidst the chaos.
She found Adrian there, standing by the fountain, his gaze distant.
"Couldn't sleep?" she asked, approaching him.
He glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Something like that."
They stood in silence for a moment, the faint sound of crickets filling the air.
"Do you ever feel like you're being pulled in too many directions at once?" she asked quietly.
He looked at her, his eyes searching hers. "Every day," he admitted.
She nodded, her gaze falling to the rippling water of the fountain. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing. If I'm making the right choices."
"You are," he said firmly.
She looked up at him, startled by the conviction in his tone.
"You're stronger than you think, " he said, his voice soft. "And smarter. You'll figure it out."
Her heart ached at his words, and for a moment, she wanted nothing more than to close the distance between them and—
A sharp cry interrupted her thoughts, shattering the stillness of the night.
They both turned toward the manor, their eyes widening as they saw a figure sprawled on the ground near the entrance, blood pooling beneath them.
Isla's heart stopped.
"Stay here," Adrian said, his voice hard as steel.
But she didn't listen. She followed him, her heart pounding as they approached the figure.
And when she saw who it was, her blood ran cold.
"Rosaline," she whispered, her voice trembling.
The heroine of the novel lay unconscious, her once-pristine gown stained with blood.