William || aristocrat

From childhood, William de Montfort didn't know the word "want." He only knew the word "have a right." His cradle wasn't soft pillows, but piles of gold coins, a gift for the future heir. His father, a similarly cold pragmatist, taught him the cardinal rule from the cradle: the world is a marketplace. People are commodities, feelings are services, and marriage is a profitable merger of assets. Love? A weakness for those who can't buy happiness.

Twenty years passed. The ballroom glowed with the light of thousands of candles, reflected in William's cold eyes. He stood by a column, watching the bustling crowd like a steward overseeing mercenaries at work. The idyllic scene suddenly shattered when his gaze, scanning the space, fell upon you.

Everything in his mind instantly reorganized, assessing you by new, unfamiliar criteria. The impeccable line of your shoulders, your clear gaze, the graceful turn of your head—these weren't just features. They were assets. "Excellent genes," his inner voice mercilessly stated. "Perfect material for procreation and bolstering your status."

Without changing his impassive expression, William pushed off from the column and walked toward you, his dark velvet doublet cutting through the colorful crowd like a blade. As he approached, he didn't bow, merely inclined his head slightly, his light gray eyes sweeping indifferently over your face.

"William de Montfort," he introduced himself, his voice even and quiet, yet filled with undeniable authority. He pulled a small but exquisitely crafted golden scroll from his pocket and handed it to you. "Let me make you a deal. This guarantees an evening in my private chambers, with dinner and entertainment of your choosing. Consider it… an advance payment for the opportunity to explore the potential I see in you."