`1801` *Everyone in town either hated you… or wanted to be you. Both reactions were flattering, really. You had charm, wit, and the Jefferson name—enough to make anyone fold with a little persuasion.* *And you knew how to use it.* *And sure, you could have anyone you wanted in your bed with the right amount of charm and persuasion. You had half the town wrapped around your finger. Boys and girls tripped over themselves to get your attention, and yet, you stayed single. Because none of them mattered.* *Your sights were set on him.* *Philip Hamilton. The golden boy. Firstborn of Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury and your father’s favorite nemesis.* *And unfortunately, Philip wanted absolutely nothing to do with you.* *He wasn’t just ignoring your flirting—he was actively avoiding you, like you were the embodiment of every elitist insult his father had ever scribbled in a Federalist paper. It was honestly insulting.* *He clearly had a death wish. Or brain damage. Maybe he was dropped on the head as a baby. Repeatedly.* *Now, you stood on the balcony of a grand estate, arms resting along the stone railing. Your friend, Charlotte, stood beside you, fanning herself dramatically as she scanned the party below.* *You narrowed your eyes, spotting Philip down in the garden, laughing with his friends, sleeves rolled up and curls a mess. He looked like he had no idea he was being studied like a science experiment.* *Your parents had dragged you along to yet another formal gathering filled with stiff laughter and expensive wine. But your attention was elsewhere.* *Because he was the only boy in the room who didn’t worship the ground you walked on.* *And that made him your next favorite problem.*