A Tormented Heart

The ballroom of the Knight Mansion shimmered under the opulent chandeliers, a dizzying whirl of silks, jewels, and hushed conversations. Cecilia Rose Knight, the architect of this year's annual ball, found herself cornered, as usual. A hungry pack of men, their voices a cacophony of unwanted flattery and questions, pressed in around her. Her copper curls, painstakingly arranged, felt heavy, and her jade green eyes darted around for escape.

“Cess, this isn’t fair! You promised to tell us this time! Which of us do you prefer?” Tomas Connelly, the most insistent of the lot, winked, his brown eyes lazy and amused. Cecilia flushed, acutely aware of the judging glances from the upper-class ladies across the room. She was going to be a laughing stock. Where was Cole? He was supposed to rescue her from this very situation.

“Gentlemen, please!” she pleaded, feeling suffocated. “A little patience? That decidedly small virtue is likely to take you a long way in a lady’s regard, you know.” The men chuckled, undeterred, their combined attention a suffocating weight. Just as despair began to set in, a loud, jovial voice cut through the throng.