Chapter Text
The ballroom was stifling. Beneath the weight of her too-tight gown, Eris could feel beads of sweat trailing down the curve of her back, dampening the fine silk against her skin. The bodice pinched with every breath. It was a lovely shade of pale blue, selected by her maid Gwen, no doubt to make her sapphire eyes seem brighter beneath the gaslight chandeliers. Gwen had been fussing for days, insisting that Eris wear something striking for her first true society event.
Newly twenty and officially entering her first season, Eris was expected to be radiant, composed, and available, all things she had no desire to be.
She was already Lady of Elowenreach. Her place in the world was secured by title and respect, not a marriage contract. Her mother had passed away when Eris was five, after giving birth to her younger brother Julian. Her father, devastated by the loss, never remarried. For years, he was a shadow of himself, his once booming presence diminished to silence. And so, without fanfare or ceremony, Eris stepped into the role.
She ran the estate. In her father's absence.
More than that, she excelled in every academic endeavor. Her governess called her a prodigy. Scholars from the Citadel had come to assess her, an unusual honor for a young girl of the nobility, and confirmed what her instructors already suspected: Eris Hargrave possessed a rare mind. That revelation had, somehow, roused her father from his grief. He threw himself into her education, seeing in her a spark he thought he’d lost forever.
Eris was soon buried in lessons: painting, riding, dancing, singing, composition, arithmetic, and natural science. She devoured them all with joy. Even while mastering her studies, she learned to manage the accounts, the household staff, and the day-to-day workings of a noble estate. Her father beamed with pride at social functions, often bringing her into his meetings with merchants and lords alike. By the time she was thirteen, Eris Hargrave was spoken of in aristocratic circles not only for her grace, but for her mind.
But as she grew, so did the attention.
Her transformation from gifted girl to stunning young woman did not go unnoticed. When she began to bloom, filling out her gowns and inheriting her mother’s famed beauty, people stopped mentioning her intellect and began commenting on her eyes, her waist, her smile. They called her the return of the goddess Eris, equal parts flattery and prophecy. The name felt more like a curse.
Men began approaching her father well before her debut, offering wealth, titles, and estates, eager to claim her before anyone else could. To them, she was not a person. She was a prize. A calculated acquisition. A daughter of wealth and legacy, educated and well-bred, with a face that made people stare and a body that drove men to sin.
Eris hated it.
She had no desire to marry, to tie her future to a man and wither in someone else’s household. She wanted to go to the Scholars’ Citadel, to take up real study and live a life of her own choosing. Just before her twentieth birthday, she had finally approached her father and asked if she could apply. To her shock, he agreed, but with one condition: she must remain at Elowenreach until Julian came of age at twenty. She would help prepare him for his future as Viscount alongside her father in the ways of the estate. Her freedom would come, but only once her brother was ready.
Until then, she was expected to attend society functions, act the part of the dutiful daughter, and maintain appearances.
Which brought her to tonight, standing alone at the edge of the ballroom, pretending to be interested in anything at all.
Eris watched her peers drift by in a whirl of silks and laughter. Friends stopped to greet her, exchanging pleasantries and compliments, but none lingered. Most were too focused on the night’s objective, to catch the eye of a wealthy suitor.
Eris had no such goal. She only wanted to be left alone. She tried to appear occupied, carefully arranging her expression into one of vague engagement.
But it wasn’t enough.
She could feel the eyes on her. The lingering stares. Like a prized gem on display, she was being studied from across the room, every angle considered, every curve quietly admired. Their glances were sharp, and their smiles thinly veiled. She felt exposed, hunted, a delicacy in a room full of foxes.
Trying to distract herself, she focused on her friend Kara, who appeared at her side with a gleam in her eye.
“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Kara said, her voice low and conspiratorial. “A certain gentleman is expected to make an appearance tonight.”
Eris arched her brow. Kara was always up to date on every eligible bachelor, down to their shoe size.
“All right, I bite. Who?”
Kara leaned in, grinning. “Lord Sebastian Vexley.”
Eris’s expression immediately cooled.
“Ah, yes. The rake of the aristocracy.”
Kara swatted her arm. “You’re impossible. He’s the son of Duke Vexley. The Duke Vexley. As in, richer than the Crown. Of course, he does what he wants.” She sighed dreamily. “But gods, is he gorgeous.”
Eris rolled her eyes. “I’ll take your word for it.”
She had never met Sebastian Vexley, and she had no desire to. The rumors were enough: gambling, brothels, travel, scandal. He was the kind of man who treated rules like decoration and consequences like fiction. Untouchable because of his title. Insufferable because of his ego.
“He’s not such a big deal,” she said with a shrug.
Kara looked scandalized, opening her mouth to argue, but her gaze flicked over Eris’s shoulder.
“Oops—sorry, gotta dash!” she chirped, already off to intercept another gentleman.
And just like that, Eris was alone.
As if her solitude had been a signal, a half-dozen men descended all at once, each trying to outdo the other in charm and volume.
“My lady Hargrave! May I have the honor of your first dance?” said one, tall and eager.
“Oh, well, I—”
“No, you must try the refreshments, they’re divine!” offered another, reaching for her arm.
“Lady Hargrave, I just spoke with your father. He tells me you play the piano—I play, too!”
“I was actua—”
“You’re even more breathtaking than I imagined. Please, allow me this dance!”
“I really—”
“My lady, you simply must allow me the privilege.”
They spoke over each other, a chorus of clumsy flattery and desperation. Her attempts to speak were drowned out by their insistence. Her irritation rose like steam under her skin. She was a person, not a bauble.
“Pick me!”
“No, me!”
“My lady, I insist—”
She raised her hand. Silence.
Her voice was measured, but firm.
“My lords, while I appreciate your interest, I am not accepting dances this evening. Kindly take your leave.”
They hesitated. A few bowed. And finally, they drifted away.
The rest of the night played out the same.
“No, thank you. I’m not interested.”
“I appreciate it, but no.”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Each rejection wore on her nerves. Each lingering gaze earned her another side-eye from the other women, whose companions couldn’t keep their attention off her. Eris didn’t ask for this. She didn’t want it. She just wanted to be left alone.
And this was only the first ball of the season.
Three months. Every year. Until she was free.
The thought made her head ache. She needed a drink. And air.
Immediately.
He strode into the ballroom as if he owned it, and in a way, he did. Sebastian Vexley’s presence alone was enough to shift the air in the room, but it didn’t hurt that his father’s money had funded half the buildings in the city and more than a few of its most lavish events.
The moment he crossed the threshold, he could feel the shift—all eyes turning toward him. That’s what happened when you were the son of a duke. That, and when you stood six-foot-six with the kind of face that made women blush behind their fans and men grind their teeth in silence.
He was prideful, yes. But why shouldn’t he be?
Sebastian was already powerful in his own right. When he officially inherited his title, that power would only grow. The Vexley name carried weight, real weight. It was whispered in courts and councils, written into treaties, carved into history. They had funded wars, shaped policy, and kept empires standing. Even the Crown knew not to cross them.
The Vexleys were untouchable. And so, by extension, was he.
As his eyes swept the room, Sebastian noted the eager faces of women already angling to catch his attention. Some would find their way into his bed, likely many of them. He knew their kind, and he knew what they hoped for. They wanted a title, a place on his arm, a marriage that would elevate them.
He had no such intentions.
Why would he marry? He had wealth, power, and freedom. Tying himself to a single woman would gain him nothing, and he had never been a man to invest in something without a return.
Striding up to Derek Wilmot, his old friend from the academy “looks like lots of ripe cunts in here tonight” Sebastian said with a low chuckle.
“Oh yes, this will be an interesting season for sure.” He said, raising eyebrows.
Sebastian’s eyes raked across the room, wondering which maiden he would have wrapping her lips around his cock tonight. When he spotted what looked like an angel in blue. She was so beautiful, he wasn’t sure if she was real. Long strawberry blonde hair in soft waves, a heart-shaped face, high cheekbones tinged with blush, and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. And that was just her face, she wore a stunning floor-length blue gown made of silk that gripped her curves in all the right places. Her breasts were ample and pressed deliciously in view, her waist was small but flared generously into her ass that was large for her small frame. She wasn’t overly short but everyone looked shorter than him. His cock began to harden at the sight of her.
He licked his lips, eyes locked on her. His decision had been made; she would be the one to warm his bed tonight.
“Who is that?” he asked, nodding toward the vision in blue.
Derek followed his gaze and let out a low whistle. “That’s Eris Hargrave, daughter of Viscount Alistair Hargrave. But whew... good luck with that one. She’s shut down every man who’s dared to approach her.”
Sebastian smirked. So, she thought herself untouchable?
All the better.
She’d be begging for his cock by the end of the night.
“Well,” he said, adjusting his cuffs with practiced ease, “I’m not every man. She’ll fall at my feet like the rest.”
Derek chuckled and shook his head. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”
Sebastian strode toward Eris with purpose, his gaze fixed on her as she lingered by the refreshment table. She was even more breathtaking up close; poised, radiant, and maddeningly unaware of the effect she had. The soft scent of peaches, vanilla, and something lightly floral lingered around her, warm and subtle, and it stirred something in him, sharp, urgent, and dangerously unfamiliar.
He couldn’t remember the last time a woman had affected him like this.
Perhaps no one ever had.
As the attendant handed her a glass, Sebastian reached out and took it instead, his fingers brushing hers. She turned then, startled, and their eyes met. She looked immediately annoyed at the stranger who would so boldly take her drink.
The man who had snatched her drink was impossibly tall, so much so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze fully. Broad shoulders filled out his dark coat with ease, and the shape of his arms beneath the fabric spoke of strength rarely earned in drawing rooms. His hair was dark, effortlessly tousled in that maddening way that suggested he’d given it no thought, yet he looked perfectly composed.
A finely cut jaw, aristocratic and severe, framed lips that curved into a knowing, self-satisfied smile. But his eyes caught her breath, two pools of pure emerald, striking and sharp, brimming with calculation and quiet amusement.
He radiated confidence, but not the kind bred from kindness or charm. It was elegance laced with arrogance, the bearing of a man used to being admired, obeyed, and rarely, if ever, told no.
“A woman as beautiful as you shouldn’t be drinking, haven’t you heard? It’s dreadful for your health,” he said smoothly, raising her glass to his lips and taking a sip without asking.
Eris stared, fuming beneath the surface. The sheer arrogance. What sort of man steals a woman’s drink and then scolds her for having it? She very nearly stomped on his perfectly polished shoe, or better yet, poured the rest of the wine down his shirt. But she caught herself, spine straightening, her tone composed, as a proper lady of her station should be.
“How very kind of you to worry about my well-being,” she replied coolly, a hint of irritation glinting beneath her polite smile. “Though I assure you, I am quite capable of making decisions on my own.”
Sebastian grinned, utterly unfazed. Her annoyance, so carefully veiled, only made her more charming.
“Well then,” he said, still holding her glass, “won’t you let me get you another drink? A proper one this time?” His voice dripped with amusement, and the sly smile he offered would’ve flustered a lesser woman.
Eris, unimpressed, fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“I appreciate the offer, my lord, but I believe I’m more than capable of managing that myself.”
She turned slightly to leave, but he reached out and caught her wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough to halt her.
“I didn’t even catch your name, my lady,” he said, that smile still playing at his lips. “It would be terribly rude of you not to introduce yourself.”
Eris exhaled sharply through her nose. Damn social graces. Every moment in this man’s company made her skin itch.
“Eris Hargrave, daughter of Viscount Hargrave. And you are?”
Sebastian blinked. Didn’t she know who he was?
That was… unexpected.
Nearly everyone did. The name Vexley carried weight across every ballroom and council chamber from the capital to the coast. That she would ask, without a trace of irony, was almost insulting.
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but he recovered with practiced charm. He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“Sebastian Vexley,” he said, his voice lower now. “Son of the Duke of Thornevale. A pleasure, Miss Hargrave.”
Eris’s expression barely shifted. Internally, she recoiled. So this was the infamous Vexley rake, the one whispered about in drawing rooms and condemned over tea. The man who traveled the continent on his father’s coin, gambling, frequenting brothels, and living as though consequences were beneath him. Untouchable, simply because of his name.
Her opinion, already low, plummeted.
Her gaze turned to ice. “Well then,” she said curtly, “it’s been a pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
His grip on her arm tightened slightly, and Eris fixed him with a blistering stare. She didn’t care who he was. She would not waste another moment of her evening on this man. Not tonight. Not ever.
“Please release my wrist, my lord,” she said, her voice like ice. “I’m sure there are plenty of other women here who would welcome your attention. I am not one of them.”
Sebastian only smiled, it was an infuriating, perfect smile with maddeningly white teeth.
“Lady Hargrave, I certainly can’t let you go without at least one dance,” he said, voice smooth and patronizing. “You are, quite obviously, the most beautiful woman in the room. And I, well... I’m the most handsome man. It’s only natural we should dance. Don’t you think?”
Eris yanked her wrist free with a sharp motion, her eyes flashing.
“Do you not understand the word no?” she hissed. “Go chase the simpering smiles of women who throw themselves at your feet. I am not one of them.”
Sebastian was momentarily stunned by her boldness. A woman from a lower station, speaking to him as if he were beneath her? Did she not know who he was? Did she not understand that she was here to make a match like all the others? And he, without question, was the most eligible man in the room.
Yet she had spoken to him like he was nothing more than dirt beneath her slipper.
His jaw tightened as a flicker of anger surged through him. He fought to maintain his composure. He would have her sharp tongue working his cock in due time. He always did. Never before had he needed to work so hard to earn a lady’s attention, let alone her favor. Women usually melted under his gaze, tripping over their words to gain his notice.
But Eris Hargrave was different.
She resisted him, and it ignited something in him; it was sharp, volatile, and unfamiliar.
A feeling he wasn’t used to.
He refixed his nobleman mask in place and spun her around and then into his arms. She let out a surprised yelp and then was scrambling to get away from his strong embrace. He was so much larger than her, then she realized. Being pressed against him made that really sink in. He felt hot, his muscles hard, the embrace he held her in was tight but not constricting. She could smell him this close, and she had to admit, he smelled incredible. Like the spray of the ocean mixed with cedarwood and something faintly spiced, something warm and expensive she couldn’t quite name. It unsettled her more than she cared to admit.
Sebastian chuckled at her reaction. She was just too sweet, too innocent, and clearly too proud to admit she enjoyed his company.
“I knew you’d be an excellent dancer,” he said smoothly. “Why don’t we take a proper turn around the floor?”
But Eris had had enough.
Without a word, she pulled from his grasp, pressed her lips together, turned, and seized a half-full glass of red wine from the table beside her. In one graceful motion, she poured it down the front of his immaculate jacket.
“Oh—I’m so sorry,” she said, her tone drenched in false sweetness.
Sebastian froze.
He stared down at the spreading stain across his shirt and waistcoat. She had dumped wine on him. In public. At the first event of the season.
Eris tilted her head and offered a delicate smile.
“I believe you’ll need to clean up before you’re fit to grace the dance floor,” she said, voice like polished crystal.
And with that, she turned on her heel and strode away, leaving a stunned circle of onlookers and a very soaked, very humiliated Sebastian Vexley in her wake.
For a moment, all he could do was stand there, fists clenched, the wine soaking into his fine tailoring. Rage flared in his chest, heat blooming beneath his cheeks.
She had humiliated him. Him. A Vexley.
He quickly removed himself from the ballroom to change, and when he did, he noticed that Eris had disappeared from the event. As angry as he found himself at that moment, he still could not deny the stirring of his cock when he held her close.
But no matter how beautiful she was, he would not let this insolence go unanswered.
That little bitch would pay for it.
Eris ignored Sebastian with unwavering precision for the remainder of the season. If he entered a room, she left it. If he approached, she turned away. She behaved as though he didn’t exist, as if the very air around him were unworthy of her notice.
And it infuriated him.
Right after it happened, he had considered forgiving her. He might have let the insult pass if she had come to him, head bowed, begging for forgiveness as she ought to have. Might have offered mercy.
But instead, she snubbed him completely. Treated him like a phantom. Like nothing.
Yes, he entertained other women. He danced, flirted, smiled at simpering faces, and whispered promises he never intended to keep. But none of them held his attention. Not truly.
Because Eris Hargrave lingered in the back of his mind, no matter how he tried to push her out, her face was so maddeningly lovely. Her body was a vision designed to torment him. She had bewitched him, and he loathed her for it.
He hated that she affected him at all.
He swore that he would make her life hell and she would regret ever crossing him.