The ballroom of Evan's estate was a swirling mass of color and sound. The simpering ladies and pompous gentlemen all vied for Evan's attention, but he found himself growing tired of the empty pleasantries. He slipped away from the crowd, making his way to the one place he knew he could find solace - the library.
As he entered the room, he was greeted by the sight of a woman, her fiery red hair cascading down her back as she sat hunched over a book of poetry. Smarana. She was the only woman who didn't simper or bat her eyelashes at him. She was direct, sharp, and unapologetically herself. He couldn't help but be drawn to her.
Smarana looked up from her book, her emerald green eyes meeting Evan's. "What is it now, Your Grace?" she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Evan ignored her insult, instead asking, "Are you enjoying the ball?"
Smarana rolled her eyes, replying with a sarcastic comment about the lack of intelligent conversation. Evan couldn't help but laugh, finding himself drawn to her sharp tongue and directness.
As they shared a moment of understanding, Evan moved closer to Smarana, leaning against the bookshelf next to her. Smarana, feeling the heat between them, stood up and moved away from Evan.
"You're too close," she chided, but Evan didn't take the hint. He followed her, asking her why she was so hostile towards him.
"I'm tired of the fake pleasantries and the simpering ladies," Smarana admitted, her voice laced with frustration.
Evan, understanding her frustration, admitted that he too was tired of it all. Smarana looked at him with new eyes, seeing the man behind the title.
Evan, sensing the change in Smarana, took a step closer. "Would you like to see the real me?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.
Smarana, intrigued, agreed. Evan took her hand and led her out of the library, a sense of excitement and anticipation building between them. As they left the room, Smarana couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen next.
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