𝙞𝙞𝙞. 𝙀𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙚𝙣 ; Is it fair, or is it fate?

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iii. eighteen: ❝ Is it fair, or is it fate? ❞

 eighteen: ❝ Is it fair, or is it fate? ❞

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𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: the other side  - ruelle

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Louis Dormer navigated through the entryway shrouded in mourning banners, traversing the vaulted passage until he emerged into the cavernous expanse of Ardour Hall. There, amidst the lively throng, stood the imposing figure of the party's host, his gaze indifferent yet assessing.

Beside him, Tommy Shelby sensed the subtle shift in the air and cast a fleeting glance at the towering presence of the affluent man now at his side.

Tommy's lips curled around his cigarette, wisps of smoke curling into the air like phantom tendrils, while Louis raised his glass of amber bourbon whiskey, the liquid swirling with furtiveness and prospect.

"Louis." Tommy greeted, his voice laced with icy disdain.

"Tommy." Louis replied, his tone equally charged with hostility.

The air thrummed with palpable animosity, a silent duel that seemed to rend their souls asunder, all sparked by their shared yearning for the enigmatic gypsy artist, Marianna James, who held court with the duchess in the far reaches of the lavish dinner party.

"So, you've gone and proposed to Marianna." The Shelby man drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, a razor-sharp edge slicing through the air.

"Aye, I have," Louis replied smoothly, his tone laced with silk but tempered with a hint of menace that lurked beneath the surface like a predator awaiting its moment. "And she's accepted."

"Has she now?" Tommy murmured, the words a low rumble that seemed to echo in the tension-laden space between them, his throat tightening with unspoken emotion.

Louis Dormer shot him a fleeting glance, a glint of steel flashing in his eyes before it vanished behind a mask of congeniality, a smirk dancing upon his lips as he wove his web of deceit. "Indeed she has. She's agreed to be my bride. And I vow to make her the happiest woman alive, as she rightly deserves."

A knot tightened in the other man's jaw, his fingers clenching around his cigarette as Louis's words struck like venomous arrows, each one finding its mark with painful precision. "Don't grow too comfortable, Louis. Marianna isn't yours to lay claim to."

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