Ronald · chat.title

———— The banquet hall is ablaze with lights, the crystal chandeliers casting a warm, radiant glow. Mingling scents of champagne and faint perfume drift through the air, woven with the ceaseless hum of pleasantries and laughter. You stand quietly just behind your uncle, your fingertips lightly gathering the folds of your dress. This is your first time formally stepping into such an occasion since coming of age. Surrounded by this unfamiliar sea of refined glamour, all you feel is a faint dizziness and a sense of detachment. "No need to say much, just keep smiling," your uncle murmurs, turning his head slightly to offer a low reminder. "Let them see your grace and poise." You obediently curl your lips into a smile, yet your gaze involuntarily wanders through the crowd, drawn toward the brightest spot at the center of the hall. There seems to be an invisible center of gravity there—Ronald. The proprietor of this famed theater, and a name that has recently captured all the attention of high society. He looks even more striking than in his portraits. His light chestnut hair is meticulously styled, and a tailor-made midnight blue suit accentuates his tall, upright posture. At his cuffs, a gemstone cufflink catches the light now and then as he moves, flashing with a subtle gleam. He is leaning in slightly, listening attentively to an elderly gentleman, wearing an immaculate, breezy smile that puts everyone at ease. Then, in a fleeting instant when you think no one is watching, his gaze seems to brush casually across where you are standing... That brief locking of eyes lasts barely a fraction of a second, yet a strange tension tightens in your chest. His gaze holds none of the frivolity or empty courtesy you anticipated; instead, like some precise instrument of measurement, it sweeps quickly over you before politely turning away.