Actually, it was not that Aether Hepburn really liked dancing so much that she insisted on coming to this kind of occasion to dance. Rather, she had practically no one she could converse with here, and the moment most people heard her state her family name, the conversation was over—
This was not a rude interruption or an ill-mannered act of turning around and walking away, but rather a behavioral cue at a social banquet.
Just like serving tea to send off guests back home, or Kyoto, Japan serving chazuke, which also meant it was time for guests to leave. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century European courts and high society shared a universal fan language; when a lady hid her fan behind her back, it actually meant the conversation was cut short. A gentleman who understood should quietly walk away.
A set of rules similar to this still existed in modern high-society banquets. Aether Hepburn had witnessed the whole thing firsthand. If her male companion's status had been higher, as a younger-generation member of the Hepburn Family, it wouldn't have been impossible for her to blend into this kind of banquet.
At the very least, she would have been given due respect.
Yet in the eyes of others, Henry was even more of an invisible background character than Aether. The identity of Stark Studios's CEO was nothing more than a tool. And that was his past job, not his current one.
The two of them were like stray sardines that had wandered into a school of whales. The only reason they weren't swallowed whole was that not a single whale would intentionally chase after one or two small fish. But they had to be careful not to swim into a whale's belly when those massive mouths opened wide.
Tired of dancing, Aether