Lady Evelyn Sinclair despised the very sight of Damian Vale, the arrogant and insufferable Duke of Ashbourne. From the moment he had insulted her at the royal ball, calling her "a reckless storm better suited to solitude," she had sworn to never waste another thought on him.

And yet, fate had other plans.

A royal decree bound them together in an arranged engagement—one neither of them wanted. Forced into close quarters, Evelyn made it her mission to challenge Damian at every turn. If he was cold, she was fire. If he ignored her, she made sure to be impossible to overlook.

But what she didn't see was the way he watched her when she wasn't looking. The way his fingers twitched when she was near, as if aching to touch her. The way his carefully built walls began to crack with every sharp retort she threw his way.

One evening, after a heated argument beneath the moonlit terrace, Evelyn turned to leave, but Damian's hand caught her wrist. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

"You drive me mad," he muttered, his voice lower than usual.

She scoffed. "Good. Now let me go."

But he didn't. Instead, he stepped closer, his breath warm against her skin. His eyes, once filled with nothing but disdain, now held something else—something deeper, something dangerous.

"I don't want to," he confessed. "And that terrifies me more than anything."

In that moment, the hatred, the rivalry, the stubborn resistance—it all crumbled. Because Damian Vale, the untouchable Duke, had fallen. Hard.

And there was no turning back.