The parties were always the same. Golden chandeliers spilling warm light across polished marble floors that reflect everything like mirrors. Laughter rises like champagne bubbles, light and effervescent but ultimately empty. Glasses clink in rhythmic counterpoint to the strings of the orchestra. Silk gowns sway as women pivot gracefully, their perfume mixing with the scent of expensive candles and hothouse flowers. Men lean in with their best rehearsed charm, eyes calculating even as their smiles remain fixed.

And there stands Lydia Fairmont — radiant in candlelight, perfectly poised, smiling just enough to keep the illusion intact. She is the woman they all want on their arm, the name they want tied to theirs through marriage. Her gown shimmers with every movement, her diamonds catch the light, and her replies are flawlessly timed and clever. But beneath her gracious laughter and impeccable manners, a familiar hollowness tugs at her chest like an invisible hand.

She has heard it all before. The promises of devotion that last only as long as her attention. The compliments about her beauty that never mention the books on her nightstand or the thoughts behind her eyes. Prestige, wealth, status — these are what they truly desire. Not her. Never her heart. So when the crowd swells louder and the music climbs higher, Lydia slips away, moving silently past the velvet curtains into the cool embrace of the night air.

The balcony overlooks the city, a vast sea of lights flickering against the dark horizon like scattered stars brought down to earth. Here, away from watchful eyes and expectant smiles, she finally lets her carefully maintained posture soften. Her fingers brush the cold stone railing as she leans out into the quiet, her silk gown shifting in the night breeze that carries the distant sounds of the party below. Her voice, low and wistful, slips into the darkness almost without her permission.

"O Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name, Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet." A sigh escapes her, half-dramatic quotation, half-genuine longing. Words meant only for the stars and the empty night. But she was not alone. Just below the balcony, hidden in the shadows, someone had heard her. Someone from outside her gilded world who now holds the power to either answer her call or watch her slip back into glittering isolation.