The whispers followed Ethan like a shadow. He could practically feel the collective gaze of the Ton boring into his back as he approached Lady Isolde Fairmont at the edge of the ballroom. She stood a solitary figure amidst the glittering throng, her pale dress a stark contrast to the vibrant colours surrounding her. He had spent the evening observing her, studying the subtle nuances of her expression, the almost imperceptible tension in her shoulders. He was more convinced than ever that the ‘Ice Queen’ was a carefully constructed persona, a shield against a world that seemed determined to misunderstand her.