The orchestra swelled, the chandeliers glittered, and every noble in the room leaned forward like hungry vultures. Because of course, when the Crown Prince asked the black-haired disgrace of the Konrow family to dance, it wasn't just a dance—it was a scandal waiting to happen.
Peter, smug bastard that he was, guided me to the center of the floor. His hand rested lightly at my waist, the other holding mine as if we were the stars of some storybook romance. To anyone watching, we looked flawless, gliding across the polished marble. But up close? I was practically digging my nails into his palm.
"I said you weren't supposed to be here," I hissed between steps.
"And I ignored you," he replied smoothly, twirling me in a perfect arc. "You should know by now, Milady, I don't take orders from you."
"Oh, but you'll take a heel to your foot," I muttered sweetly, and promptly stepped down on him again.
He didn't flinch, damn him. Just smiled wider. "Persistent. I like that."
The crowd gasped, murmuring like wildfire:
'The Crown Prince is dancing with Lady Josephine?''Does this mean he favors her over Adele?''Impossible! Everyone knows Adele and His Highness are destined—'
I caught Percy's gaze across the floor. My father looked like he'd bitten into a rotten lemon. Jessica, my dear mother, wore a brittle smile, the kind that cracked at the edges. Adele's eyes were wide, frantic, glued to us as if sheer willpower could drag Peter back to her side. Mark's jaw tightened, his arm stiff around his partner's waist. Angelica, ever the opportunist, hid a grin behind her fan, eyes sparkling like this was the best theater she'd seen in years.
I smirked. At least someone was entertained.
"You're making enemies," I whispered, leaning closer. "You're supposed to be charming Adele, remember? She's your golden girl. Your destined heroine."
His grip tightened fractionally. "And yet… I find myself here."
"Don't flatter yourself. You're not here by choice. You're here to ruin my evening."
"And succeeding marvelously," he murmured.
I resisted the urge to slap him. Instead, I leaned back, letting him spin me through the next sequence. My gown fanned out, glittering under the chandeliers. From the outside, I probably looked elegant. Inside, I was calculating exactly how many stabs it would take to wipe that grin off his face.
"You realize," I said lightly, "that by choosing me, you've just publicly humiliated Adele. The Empire's darling. Your darling. She'll never forgive either of us."
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Perhaps she was never mine to begin with."
The whispers in the crowd swelled, rising like a storm. Nobles leaned into each other, fans fluttering, wine glasses clinking nervously. This was history being rewritten before their very eyes.
Jessica's nails dug into Percy's arm, but he didn't stop her. He just watched me with that cold, detached look that always made my skin crawl, as though calculating how to turn even this to his advantage. Adele, on the other hand, was pale, trembling, her forced smile cracking. I almost—almost—felt bad.
Almost.
"I hate you," I said with my brightest villainess smile.
"I know," Peter replied, lips quirking. "But that doesn't change what's happening."
"What's happening," I snapped under my breath, "is that you're painting a target on my back. Again. And for what? To make me dance in front of people I'd rather poison than talk to?"
He laughed softly, the sound infuriatingly warm. "To remind them that you're more than what they think you are. That you're worth fearing… and perhaps worth more."
My steps faltered. Just for a moment. He caught it instantly, adjusting smoothly so no one noticed. Damn him.
"You don't know what you're saying," I muttered, forcing my feet back into rhythm.
"Oh, I do," he said. "Better than you think."
We spun again, the orchestra reaching its crescendo. The entire hall was watching, breaths held. My heart hammered, not from the dance but from the realization: this wasn't in the novel. None of it. Peter was supposed to waltz with Adele, cement her as his chosen. Instead, he was rewriting the story with every step.
And the audience knew it.
Mark's glare sharpened, his knuckles white against his partner's hand. Angelica's fan snapped shut with a decisive click.Jessica whispered something venomous to Percy, who said nothing, his expression unreadable. Adele—poor Adele—stood frozen, her partner forgotten, her hands trembling as her carefully built world began to crack.
And me? I smiled like the villainess I was supposed to be, twirled in the arms of the Empire's future, and thought about how satisfying it would be to strangle him with his own cravat.
The final notes rang out. The dance ended. Applause filled the hall, though hesitant, confused, charged with tension.
Peter bowed to me, lips brushing my hand once more. "Thank you for the honor, Lady Josephine."
"Honor, my ass," I muttered under my breath.
He heard me. He smirked anyway.
As I turned away, I caught Adele's eyes—wide, hurt, accusing. A knife of guilt twisted in my chest. But what could I do? This wasn't my choice. None of it was.
[Oh, but it is now]
came the whisper in my head.