An Astronomer's Guide to Falling Angels

Chapter 19

The ballroom was alive with the hum of excitement as guests began to gather for the second dance of the night. Chatter rippled through the crowd as people moved toward the dance floor, but Arty's attention was fixed solely on Astor. She couldn't help but smile, watching him stand with quiet elegance among the sea of extravagantly dressed guests. Even in a tailored suit, Astor seemed out of place, like he didn't belong in this world of wealth and spectacle. His nervous energy was apparent to anyone who knew him well—especially Arty.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, her smile softening into something more affectionate. Astor caught her gaze, and when their eyes met, he immediately looked away, his cheeks flushing pink. He fumbled with the cuffs of his jacket, flustered by the attention. Arty chuckled under her breath, unable to hide the warmth in her expression.

She was about to tease him later when something—someone—caught her attention from the corner of her eye.

Phillip Ardelean.

Her smile vanished, replaced by a simmering tension. She watched as Phillip, with his usual arrogant stride, made his way toward Astor. He moved with confidence, an air of entitlement that made Arty's skin crawl. Her heart started to race, and a knot of dread coiled in her stomach.

She took a deep breath, then another. Each one was meant to keep her calm, to stop her from storming across the ballroom and shoving Phillip away from Astor. But it didn't work. The sight of Phillip's smug face as he closed the distance between them made Arty's fists clench at her sides.

"Arty," a soft but firm voice said from beside her. It was James. Her hand curled around Arty's arm, gently restraining her. "Not yet."

Arty's gaze snapped to James, whose eyes were locked on Phillip with the same calculating expression. She was watching the scene unfold, just as tense, but she knew better than to act on impulse. Arty gritted her teeth but nodded. She stayed where she was, though every fibre of her being was screaming to protect Astor.

Phillip reached Astor and greeted him with a mocking smile, though Astor didn't seem to recognize him at first. Astor, ever polite, offered a small, courteous smile back. He didn't know Phillip that well—just that he was the one who had caused him so much distress at the dance not long ago.

That changed the moment Phillip spoke again.

"So, Astor," Phillip began, his tone dripping with faux friendliness. "Care for a dance? I'll lead, of course."

Astor blinked, his polite smile faltering as recognition dawned on him. His eyes widened slightly, and he took a small step back. "I—no, thank you."

Phillip chuckled, a dark, condescending laugh that sent a shiver down Arty's spine. "Oh, come on. I'm surprised you showed up tonight in that, considering what outfits you really prefer."

Astor stiffened, his discomfort now painfully obvious. His brown eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. Arty could see the anxiety building in him, the way his hands fidgeted, his posture shrinking as Phillip continued to mock him.

"I mean," Phillip went on, his voice low and sneering, "why pretend? We all know what you really want to wear. Why don't you just embrace it? After all, you looked so much prettier in that dress at the last dance."

The words hit like a slap. Arty could see Astor's face drain of colour, his body tensing as he tried to remain composed. His breath came quicker, and he glanced around again, his usual grace faltering under the weight of Phillip's cruel words.

"I... excuse me," Astor murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He tried to step away, but Phillip's hand shot out, gripping Astor's arm harshly and pulling him back.