Evelyn Brighton, the Duke’s only daughter, was spoiled to the core—and she owned it. Growing up as the Aurora Vale Empire's most radiant flower, Evelyn dazzled nobles left and right. By the time she had her debutante ball at sixteen, her beauty earned her the nickname Middlemist’s Red, and her family’s estate became a post office for marriage proposals. But marriage? Evelyn hated the very thought of marriage.

---

"My lady, be careful!" The head maid followed Evelyn who ran through the corridor towards the staircase.

"Sorry, Margaret! Wait, is that—EEK! MOTHER?! Oh no, I’m dead. I’m so dead!" 

"Evelyn Brighton! How many times have I told you—act like a proper lady! Sliding down the staircase? What in heavens is this nonsense?!"

"I... I’m sorry, Mother..."

"Sigh....Spoiled. You’re absolutely spoiled! No wonder you think this behavior is acceptable!"

Evelyn muttered under her breath, "All she cares about is my marriage..."

"Did you say something?" Catherine's sharp gaze cut through Evelyn.

"No, not at all, Mother!" Evelyn smiled as sweetly as a cat caught near an empty birdcage.

Catherine huffed. "Get ready for tonight's Annual Ball. His Highness has specifically invited you. And listen carefully: no ruckus, no sarcasm, and absolutely no embarrassing antics! If you so much as breathe wrong, you’ll wish you were never born!" With that, Catherine swept out dramatically.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, a thought crossed her mind. "The Crown Prince, huh? What does he think he is!? If I didn't make him bald tonight, I might as well change my name."  

---

As the sun melted into the horizon, the Royal Palace glowed with a golden brilliance. Crystal chandeliers sparkled, marble floors gleamed, and nobles buzzed about like overdressed bees. The atmosphere dripped with opulence and just a pinch of gossip.  

"The Brighton family is making their entrance!" The drum rolled and the guard announced.

The ballroom’s grand doors creaked open, and a hush swept through the crowd. Enter the Duke and Duchess, majestic as ever—but no one cared about them. All eyes zoomed in on Evelyn, her gown shimmering like molten silver, every step exuding grace and defiance.  

"Ugh, I already want to go back home." Evelyn muttered to herself.

She curtsied before the Empress, who beamed at her. "Ah, Evelyn, you’ve grown even more beautiful. Perhaps a 'little' too beautiful for your own good, hmm?"

"Ha... ha... Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll, um, go mingle now!" Evelyn squeaked, excusing herself before the matchmaking began.

She found refuge near the refreshment table, staring at the ripples in her fruit punch. Her peaceful moment was cut short when the sharp cackles of a group of noble girls pierced the air.

"Honestly, she thinks she’s 'all that'!" one sneered loudly, ensuring Evelyn could hear.

"I know! The audacity to believe she deserves him." Another giggled cruelly.

Evelyn sighed. "I’d deal with this pettiness if I had the time. But right now, I—wait. Oh no. Is that... the prince?!" She spotted him weaving through the crowd toward her, his intent clear.  

Her heart jumped. "Nope. Not today. Not ever." Evelyn turned and zigzagged through the ballroom like a squirrel avoiding a hawk.

From behind, one girl glared at Evelyn, "Did she just ignore us?" 

Evelyn didn't have the time to waste on petty noble girls and as she clinged on to her dear life and tried to outmaneuver the prince, she collided with someone. The impact made her gasp, but when she looked up, she was met with emerald-green eyes that sparkled with intrigue. The youngman, tall but with a delicate and elegant appearance, looked entirely out of place.

"I-I’m so sorry!" Evelyn stammered, glancing over her shoulder as the prince closed in.

The youngman gave a small bow. "No harm done, my lady."

She dropped her voice to a whisper, desperation creeping in. "Please, I know this is sudden, but... will you dance with me?"

The young man raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. "Dance? My lady, aren’t you already spoken for tonight?"

Evelyn shot another glance at the prince, now dangerously close. "Not exactly," she muttered through gritted teeth.

The young man followed her gaze and immediately understood. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Ah, I see."

"Please," Evelyn begged, her voice barely audible. "Just one dance."

The young man chuckled softly, offering his hand. "Very well. Shall we?"

Before Evelyn could overthink it, he brushed a strand of her hair aside and led her to the dance floor. His dark black hair caught the light, and those emerald eyes seemed to hold a thousand secrets. Evelyn barely noticed the stunned crowd—or the prince, frozen in place—as her mysterious savior spun her into the rhythm of the music.  

"Thank you," Evelyn whispered as they danced. Her nerves had finally begun to settle. "I owe you for that."

He chuckled. "No debt owed, my lady. Though I must admit, I didn’t expect to play the hero tonight."

Evelyn smirked, her confidence returning. "Well, you played the role admirably. But... I don’t even know your name."

The man’s lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Some things are better left as mystery, don’t you think?"

Evelyn blinked, speechless for once. As the music ended, he bowed, disappearing into the crowd before she could ask more.  

Evelyn barely left the dance floor when Lady Rosemary Valette swooped in, her entourage trailing behind.

“My, how desperate,” Rosemary sneered. “Begging strange men for a dance? How pitiful.”

Evelyn’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Oh, Rosemary… if you think men chase me because I beg, then you’ve clearly never been chased yourself.”

Laughter rippled through the nobles. Rosemary’s face darkened as Evelyn swept past—only to be stopped by the Crown Prince.

“Your Highness,” Evelyn said, bowing gracefully, masking the irritation in her chest.

“I believe you owe me the first dance,” he said smoothly, offering his hand. The tension in the air thickened; the crowd waited eagerly for her response.

Evelyn’s lips curled into a dazzling smile. Perfect. Time for Plan B.

“Oh, Your Highness, how could I ever refuse? But—oh!” Evelyn suddenly stumbled, grabbing the edge of the table dramatically. A nearby goblet of wine tipped and spilled right across her gown, staining the silver fabric with deep red blotches.

Gasps filled the hall. Evelyn put on her most devastated expression.

“Oh no! How clumsy of me. Your Highness, I cannot possibly present myself to you like this. I must go change immediately. Please, forgive me!”

Before the prince could protest, Evelyn curtsied quickly and swept away, her maids rushing after her. The nobles whispered furiously behind their fans, torn between amusement and shock at Evelyn’s audacity.

The Crown Prince remained frozen, his hand still outstretched, his jaw tight. Slowly, he let out a cold chuckle.

---

Later that night, Evelyn collapsed onto her bed, still in her half-ruined gown, hugging her pillow as laughter bubbled out.

“Hah! I didn’t make him bald tonight, but I still managed to escape! Who knew a little wine could save a lady’s life?”

She rolled over, grinning to herself. “Rosemary humiliated, the prince frustrated, and me? Untouchable.”

Her heart skipped as emerald eyes flickered in her memory. Evelyn buried her face into the pillow with a groan.

“Ugh! And then there’s him. Mystery boy with the stupidly perfect eyes. Who was he?!”

She kicked her feet like a girl with a delicious secret, whispering to herself, “Not bad for one ball, Evelyn. Not bad at all.”

Meanwhile, at the palace, the Crown Prince stood by a balcony, a dark smile tugging at his lips. "Evelyn Brighton," he muttered to himself, "you won’t escape me that easily..."