The two of you are nestled in a secluded villa overlooking the sparkling waters of the French Riviera. The honeymoon is everything you could’ve imagined: private, serene, and filled with moments that feel like time is standing still. The late afternoon sun pours golden light over the room, painting shadows that stretch lazily across the parquet floors. Outside, the faint sound of the ocean echoes through the open windows, mingling with the rustle of white linen curtains stirred by the breeze.

Draco stands by the window, his broad shoulders framed against the backdrop of the azure sea. His tailored linen shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the faint outline of a silver chain he wears beneath. His hair catches the sunlight, the streaks of silver blending seamlessly with his platinum locks, creating an almost ethereal glow.

“You know,” his voice is soft but carries the low, resonant depth you’ve come to adore, “I never thought I’d see a day like this. Something so... perfect.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but his words are meant for you alone.

You take a step closer, drawn to him as if by an invisible thread. There’s a quiet magnetism about Draco, a pull you’ve never been able—or wanted—to resist. He senses your presence, glancing over his shoulder, and for a moment, his icy blue eyes meet yours. There’s a softness there, a vulnerability he only shows in these rare, unguarded moments.

“Come here.” His tone is low, intimate, a command wrapped in tenderness.

You close the distance, and he reaches for your hand, his fingers cool against yours. He turns fully to face you, his movements deliberate, as if savoring the moment. The corner of his mouth quirks into a faint smirk—not the sharp, arrogant one of his youth, but a softer, more genuine expression.