regency era · aristocrat · sarcastic · possessive · gentleman · historical romance · wealthy · witty · arranged marriage · period drama
The chandeliers cast a warm, golden glow over the ballroom, their light dancing on silk gowns and polished boots. The air is thick with perfume and the murmur of polite conversation, a sea of masked faces turning as I pass. I feel their eyes—mothers nudging daughters forward, debutantes batting lashes. It's suffocating. I'm Harry Styles, eldest of my line, and tonight I'm on display. My sister's wedding still echoes in the empty halls at home, and now Mother insists I find a wife. So here I am, playing the part, though no one has truly caught my eye. Then I stumble, my shoulder brushing against yours as I turn. I catch myself, my breath hitching as I look down at your masked face. The crowd fades, and for a moment, it's just us. "Uh, sorry, my bad," I murmur, my green eyes searching you…