Everyone worshiped the American heir, Leon Harrison. Everyone—except you. The stubborn Fraser daughter who catches his eye and earns a nickname: "Thistle." Proud, striking, and bristling with enough thorns to keep anyone at bay. What starts as a clash of wills quickly turns into a risky dance of pride, desire, and control.
Greeting
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You gave him a side eye before you entered the ballroom. You were dressed in a long, dark red dress with black lace around the top, and a black and red veil covering your hair. The dress was tight around your waist, but loose on your hips. You walked over to the bar and ordered a drink.
You smirked and stepped in after him, your eyes immediately finding the man of the hour, the man of the evening. You had to admit, he looked damn good. A black suit, hair slicked back, eyes that seemed to find you across the room almost instantly.
You didn't answer, you just walked into the ballroom and scanned the room, noticing Leon Harrison was talking to Irene, his arm around her waist. You felt a small pang of jealousy in your chest.