The person in question, Rose Blackwood, descended the sweeping staircase, bathed in the soft glow of the chandeliers.
She was wearing a stunning black gown, cut elegantly, that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. Her footsteps were light, elegant, and perfectly calibrated, each one a testant to years of training.
Her eyes were a captivating shade of blue and grey, intelligent and observant, constantly scanning the room.
Klaus, who was still near the wine section, casually glanced towards the staircase.
He looked at her for a brief second, his red eyes assessing her appearance, before moving his eyes away,
returning his attention to the wine glass in his hand. Her presence did not register as particularly significant to him, rely another individual in a room full of them.
This was brief, almost dismissive glance did not go unnoticed by Rose’s sharp eyes.
Her gaze, trained to observe and be observed, had imdiately locked onto the striking figure of Klaus.
A flicker of amusent, mixed with a hint of challenge, sparked in her eyes.
She chuckled internally, a silent thought echoing through her mind. "Let’s see how he ignores . No one ignores Rose Blackwood."
There was no particular reason that Rose had focused on Klaus, except for his undeniably charming face and the imdiate attention he had drawn upon his entrance.
He was a new challenge for her.
Her eyes then rested montarily on Arthur, another handso face, standing with Elara and the mute girl.
"Hmm, he looks good too," she thought, her internal assessnt clinical.
She acknowledged the difference in their appeal. Arthur’s aura, his earnest gaze, and his posture were filled with a hero’s charm, a distinct sense of righteousness and a pure heart that resonated with many.
anwhile, Klaus possessed sothing entirely different, a "bad boy" type’s deep and dark charm, a magnetic pull that ca not from overt goodness, but from imnse, almost terrifying strength, profound self-possession, and an unwavering, quiet pride.
It was the charm of a predator, refined and elegant.
Rose descended the stairs, gracefully greeting every guest with a polite smile.
She moved with through the crowd, radiating confidence.
She t with Elara and Julie, extending her hand to them in the sa manner as a long-standing friend, her smile genuine and warm.
She also gracefully greeted Arthur, who in turn returned her greetings with a respectful nod and a slight bow.
Having perford her social duties, Rose then moved towards a certain direction, her path seemingly pre-determined.
But on her way, she was intercepted by Jas Ravenstein.
He moved swiftly, gracefully kneeling on one knee in front of her, a gesture of old-world chivalry.
With a flourish, he extended a hand and asked her for a dance, his voice smooth and eager.
Rose saw this, and a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips.
She had anticipated this.
With a polite smile, she said, "Unfortunately, Sir Jas, I don’t feel quite ready to dance right now. The evening has just begun. Let’s do it another ti, perhaps?" Her tone was gentle, but her words were a clear, polite rejection.
Jas looked a bit disappointed, his earlier smugness visibly deflating.
anwhile, Edward Ravenstein, from another corner of the room on the first floor, seethed, his face darkening.
From the mont he had entered the banquet, his son had only brought disappointnt to him.
First, he got publicly humiliated by Lady Crimson in front of everyone.
Then, Julie had rejected his dance offer, albeit politely.
Then the new brat, Klaus, had utterly ignored him for good, treating him like invisible air.
And now, he had got another public rejection from Rose Blackwood, the host’s daughter. Edward’s blood boiled. His son was making him lose face.
But both father and son’s disappointnt quickly turned into an indescribable rage, a cold, simring fury, when they saw the next set of events unfold.
Rose continued walking in the direction she was going earlier, her steps purposeful, all curious eyes following her after she had refused to dance with Jas.
Her destination beca clear.
She stopped in front of the nonchalant figure of Klaus, who was now leaning casually against a decorative column near the wine table, sipping fine wine.
God knew how many glasses he had already devoured, his current glass was nearly empty.
He exuded an air of complete indifference to the social manoeuvring around him, his focus entirely on the taste of the wine.
Klaus was now in full control of the alcohol, he had instructed the System to not use his Poison Body skill to instantly tabolize it unless the situation got truly out of hand, or he chose to.
He wanted to experience the subtle effects, to gauge his tolerance, a personal experint.
"Fine shit" Klaus spoke, his voice low and contemplative, not directed at Rose, but at the wine itself.
Yet, in the sudden silence that had fallen as Rose approached him, his words were as clear as day, carrying across the imdiate vicinity.
Everyone’s ears perked at his seemingly casual, yet utterly disrespectful, comnt.
Rose’s expression, usually composed, shifted. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks, a mix of indignation and sothing akin to a suppressed giggle.
"Excuse ?" she asked, her voice remarkably even despite the implied insult. "What did you call , mister?"
"Huh?" Klaus blinked, briefly breaking his concentration from the wine.
He looked at Rose, a faint confusion in his red eyes. He genuinely hadn’t been talking to her.
"No, it’s the wine," he corrected, without any effort, his tone flat.
He lifted the glass slightly, indicating its contents, and took another sip. He was being completely literal.
"Huh?????" A collective internal gasp rippled through the onlookers.
Everyone in the room was about to giggle, a mixture of shock and amusent, but they controlled themselves, stifling their reactions.
It was Rose Blackwood, the host’s daughter, who had just been publicly, if unintentionally, mocked.
The sheer audacity of it.
The paragons, from their elevated vantage point, just carefully looked at the interaction, their faces inscrutable, without comnting anything.
"Hmpph!" Rose huffed, a delicate sound of disapproval, as if she strongly disapproved of his current behaviour.
She even pouted slightly, a subtle, charming gesture that few could resist.
"Don’t you have any etiquette, mister? A lady is standing in front of you, and you don’t even court her? You just... pass on such a comnt?" Her words were laced with an attempt to provoke a reaction, to engage him.
Klaus, who had just finished another glass of wine, calmly kept the empty glass on the table.
Without saying a word, he picked up a new, full glass and gestured it towards Rose.
"My lady," he said, his tone still low, now with a hint of playful challenge.
Klaus was quite high on alcohol, the subtle effects loosening his usual rigid control over social niceties.
He didn’t fully comprehend the nuances of his actions and was acting intuitively.
"I don’t drink alcohol, mister," Rose said, her voice a little breathless, her face flushing even deeper.
Her stomach churned with a flutter of butterflies.
Klaus, on the rejection, tilted his head slightly, a peculiar look in his red eyes.
Suddenly, a faint smirk touched his lips, a flash of sothing devilish.
Without another word, he moved his gloved hand in her direction, his fingers subtly flexing.
Rose, quite confused by his unexpected action, instinctively took his extended hand, her fingers brushing against the cool, soft leather of his glove.
Klaus, with a sudden, fluid motion, pulled Rose into his embrace.
It was unexpected, forceful yet graceful, completely bypassing her protests. A soft yelp escaped her lips as she found herself pulled flush against his chest, her head resting near his shoulder.
"We might as well dance, my lady," he murmured, his voice a low, addictive rumble against her ear, entirely ignoring her earlier refusal.
Seeing the audacious action, a collective gasp rippled through the banquet hall.
Every guest’s jaw dropped to the floor.
The elegant, refined Rose Blackwood, who had just politely rejected the advances of the powerful Jas Ravenstein, was now being brazenly pulled into a dance by the mysterious newcor, Klaus Bennet!
It was an unprecedented breach of etiquette, yet executed with an almost magnetic charm.
Unseen by anyone, Klaus’s internal monologue continued: "System, make a draw! I want a skill related to ballroom dance! Hurry!"
[Ding!! 500 points deducted. Paraters set: [Dance], [Ballroom]. Drawing skill... Skill acquired: Ballroom Elegance (D - rank).]
The System, ever the fully supportive wingman, responded instantly, infusing Klaus with perfect knowledge of ballroom dancing.
His body, monts ago only instinctively graceful, now moved with the precision and fluidity of a seasoned professional.
Rose was now blushing furiously, her entire face crimson.
Her heart hamred against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat.
"I-I-I... I have an injury on my feet, I can’t dance," she stamred, attempting to maintain her facade, trying to resist dancing with anyone. This was her pre-planned excuse.
"Don’t worry, my lady," Klaus said, his voice a low, confident whisper.
Without breaking stride, he lightly lifted Rose from the waist, adjusting her position so that her feet were placed gently upon his own. Klaus was quite a bit taller than Rose, making it remarkably easy for him to guide her.
"Shall we start?" Klaus asked, his red eyes looking down at her, an addictive charm in his tone.
Reviews
All reviews (0)