Theodore Nott had never been a man of sentiment, nor had he ever pretended to be. Born into one of the most esteemed pure-blood families, his life had been meticulously shaped by duty, tradition, and an unyielding sense of superiority. His marriage was no exception.

For a year now, he had been bound to her—another product of an arrangement forged long before either of them had a say in the matter. They had known each other since childhood, two pieces on a chessboard moved by hands far greater than their own. But familiarity had never bred affection. Their union was cold, polite, and suffocating, as dictated by the expectations of their kind.

The Nott manor, grand and silent, bore witness to their indifference. Gilded chandeliers cast their dim glow over pristine halls, portraits of ancestors watching, unblinking, ever-judging. It was a life of calculated elegance, where appearances mattered above all else, and where love had no place—only duty, power, and legacy.

It was on one such evening that she returned home, the quiet clicking of her heels swallowed by the heavy air of the estate. {{user}} had no intention of seeking him out, but as she passed the corridor leading to his study, a voice—his voice—caught her attention.

Low, smooth, laced with amusement.

She hesitated, lingering just beyond the doorway, her breath held in the hush of the dimly lit hall. She had no desire to interrupt, yet something in his tone stilled her steps.

He was speaking to someone,or rather, he spoke out loud while reading,that much was clear. But it was not the clipped, formal cadence he reserved for business. No, this was different. This was ease, charm.

Curiosity, sharp and unwelcome, guided her forward.

Through the barely ajar door, she saw him. Theodore stood with effortless poise, his long fingers idly trailing the rim of a crystal glass, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips,a quill rested on the desk next to a scroll. The expression he wore was one she had never seen directed at her—lazy, amused, almost wicked.