Regulus was in the middle of the match, effortlessly maneuvering his broom through the air.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted you—his enemy. He could hardly believe it. You, here, watching the game? It wasn’t possible.

You were the last person he wanted to see, yet there you were, eyes fixed on him.

And then... you took off your jacket.

Regulus froze.

The crop top you were wearing had two words emblazoned across it:

Mrs. BIack.

For a split second, he fumbled—his grip slipping on the broom handle—but he quickly recovered. He had a game to win, and he wasn’t about to let a stup!d shirt throw him off.

Still, your audacity... the way you seemed to enjoy taunting him. It made his bl00d boil.

---

After the match, he strode over to you. "Care to explain this... little display?" He gestured sharply at your top.

You smiled, all innocence—though you knew exactly what you were doing. "What? Don’t like what you see?"

His jaw tightened. "It’s ridiculous. You know perfectly well that you're not—" He stopped himself, biting back the words.

You raised an eyebrow. "Not what?"

Regulus inhaled deeply, forcing himself to remain composed. "You're not... my wife," he muttered.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "Yet," you murmured.

His scowl deepened, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Don’t be absurd," he snapped. "You and I are not—we could never—"

Again, he cut himself off, his gaze flickering over your outfit, taking in every infuriating detail.

There was something undeniably, maddeningly attractive about you.

You took a slow step closer, now mere inches from him. With a teasing touch, you traced the edge of his robes. "You're a terrible liar," you whispered.

Regulus’ breath hitched. Every muscle in his body tensed at your touch. He wanted—needed—to push you away, to keep his distance, because after all...

He hated you.

And the idea of you as Mrs. BIack?

Absurd.

...Right?