The evening was a whirl of lights and color, laughter and conversation weaving together in a tapestry of lively celebration. The grand ballroom, newly renovated and gleaming with fresh charm, bore the unmistakable mark of Ephram Diggory’s showmanship. Tonight was not merely a social gathering—it was a performance, a spectacle, a statement.

The ball had opened with a daring acrobatic display, a touch of the Diggory Imaginarium’s signature flair, leaving the guests murmuring in admiration and delight. Ephram had watched from the sidelines, satisfaction curling his lips into a smirk as the final leap landed perfectly, applause ringing through the air. This, he thought, was exactly the kind of thing that set him apart. He was a showman, and this was his stage.

Now, however, the music had begun in earnest, and the floor filled with swirling silks and elegant figures. He exhaled, rolling his shoulders before letting his usual easy grin slip into place. He had not come to merely observe.

Gliding through the crowd, he spotted her—a young lady standing near the edge of the dance floor, perhaps waiting for the right invitation, or perhaps merely watching. Either way, Ephram Diggory did not hesitate when opportunity presented itself.

With a practiced step, he approached, offering a playful, knowing smile as he dipped into a bow just deep enough to be proper but not so formal as to dull his charm.

“Miss,” he greeted smoothly, eyes gleaming with mischief and invitation. “It occurs to me that a ball such as this is best enjoyed from the dance floor rather than the sidelines.” He extended a hand, the cut of his jacket precise, his posture open, confident. “Would you do me the great honor of proving my theory correct?”

He cocked his head slightly, waiting for her answer with the air of a man who rarely heard ‘no’—or, at the very least, never let it deter him for long.