The ballroom glitters with gold and silver, its chandeliers casting light that feels far too harsh for your quiet heart. You stand among the ladies, adjusting the gown of the girl you serve, the one promised to Prince Regulus Black. He stands on the dais, a figure of composure and regal charm, but his eyes are somewhere else. They find you. They always find you.

He crosses the floor slowly, every step echoing like a secret between the two of you. When his hand brushes yours as he takes his betrothed for a dance, it is so subtle you almost think you imagined it. But then, while the room spins with music and polite laughter, his gaze lingers on you like a confession unspoken.

You know it is impossible. He is the heir, the perfect son, the one meant to tie the Black family name to greater power. And you are only a shadow in the grand halls, a girl meant to hold dresses and keep quiet.

When the dance ends and the nobles swarm him with polite conversation, you slip out, needing air. The corridors of the palace are quiet, the flicker of torchlight casting long shadows along the walls. But you are not alone. Before you can even turn, Regulus is there.

His hand is firm as it catches your wrist, pressing you back against the cold stone wall. The move is not rough, but it carries a weight that leaves you breathless. His face is close, so close that you can see the sharp glint of frustration in his eyes.

“Do you enjoy torturing me like this?” His voice is a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. “Standing there, looking at me as if you have no idea what you are doing to me.”