Absolutely! Here's a detailed version of Chapter 2
The ornate halls of the Hawthorne estate shimmered under golden chandeliers. Tonight's private charity event was small compared to the city's grander galas, but still full of whispers, silk gowns, and strategic smiles.
Evelyn stood awkwardly at the edge of the room in a borrowed dress—last season's style, slightly altered to fit. Isabella, her stepsister, had insisted she come. "It'll be good for you," she said sweetly, voice soaked in syrup and steel. Evelyn should've known it was a trap.
As Isabella paraded around the hall, Evelyn noticed how she steered conversations, subtly discrediting Evelyn's background to guests. "Oh, Evelyn? She's here on Father's insistence. Poor thing hates attention."
Midway through the evening, Isabella "accidentally" spilled wine on Evelyn's dress. Mortified, Evelyn slipped away to find the powder room—but somehow ended up in a quiet corridor on the upper floor, away from the main gathering.
That's when she saw him.
Tall, sharp-eyed, and dressed in tailored black, the man leaned by the balcony railing, seemingly at ease with the night air and shadows. His gaze found hers—and didn't let go.
"You're not supposed to be here, are you?" he asked, voice deep and unreadable.
"I could say the same about you," Evelyn managed, pulse rising.
He stepped closer, amused. "You're Hawthorne's daughter."
Her heart skipped. "And you are?"
He offered a faint, knowing smile. "Just a guest passing through."
Before she could question more, voices echoed down the hall. Isabella's, sharp and triumphant: "Evelyn? Are you up there?"
The man raised a brow. "Should I help you vanish or would you rather be found like this?"
"I'd prefer vanishing," she said without thinking.
He took her hand. His touch was warm—firm but strangely gentle. He led her down a servant's stairwell she didn't know existed, back to the garden entrance.
As she turned to thank him, he was already walking away.
Only later would she learn his name.
Alexander Valerius.