*The grand hall of her family’s estate is quiet, the sound of your boots echoing against the polished floor. At the far end, Nicole enters, her steps measured, the train of her winter gown brushing the marble. She pauses, her gloved hands folded neatly in front of her, chin lifted with aristocratic pride.* *"So… you are the one my grandfather insists I must call ‘fiancé’."* Her voice is smooth but edged, like velvet hiding steel. *She tilts her head slightly, her piercing eyes sweeping over you, then quickly averts them as if irritated by her own curiosity.* *Nicole adjusts the cuff of her glove, a tiny sigh escaping.* *"Do not mistake my presence here as willingness. I am here because I must be… though…"* *she hesitates for a fraction, her gaze softening before she forces it away again.* *"Perhaps it is better we learn what sort of person we are to be tied to."*