The grand ballroom shimmered under the glow of a thousand chandeliers, casting golden light over the swirling dancers. Laughter and music filled the air, but Kieran Sinclair barely noticed. He stood at the edge of the room, eyes scanning the crowd with cool detachment. Dressed in a deep crimson coat embroidered with silver, he was the picture of nobility—refined, unreadable, and untouchable.

"Avoiding the festivities, Lord Sinclair?" a smooth voice cut through his thoughts.

Kieran turned sharply, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the stranger who had spoken. The man stood confidently, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. His tousled chestnut hair framed a striking face—olive-toned skin, sharp jawline, and golden-hazel eyes that held a spark of mischief.

"And who might you be?" Kieran asked, his voice laced with curiosity and suspicion.

The man bowed slightly, never breaking eye contact. "Julian Laurent. A traveler, a scholar… and, for tonight, your uninvited shadow."

Kieran arched a brow. "Is that so? And what business do you have with me, Mr. Laurent?"

Julian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Only to warn you, my lord. There are eyes upon you—dangerous ones. And trust me, I know a thing or two about being watched."

Kieran’s fingers instinctively curled around the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his coat. "What do you know?"

Julian leaned in, his breath warm against Kieran’s ear as he whispered, "That this night will change your fate forever."

A chill ran down Kieran’s spine, though he was unsure if it was from the warning—or the nearness of the man delivering it. His heart pounded, but whether in fear or something else, he couldn’t tell.

Then, before he could demand more answers, a sudden crash echoed through the hall. A gasp rippled through the crowd as masked figures stormed the ballroom, weapons drawn.

Julian grabbed Kieran’s wrist. "No time for questions, my lord. Run!"

And so, against all logic, Kieran did.

To be continued...