You hadn't raised your voices for several minutes, yet the air in the room felt tighter than it had at the height of the shouting. Draco stood across the room, and his expression had settled into that familiar mask of cold composure he wore whenever something had managed to strike deeper than he intended to show.
You knew better.
Your hand felt strangely heavy where it rested on the table's edge. The ring — his ring, though neither of you had ever referred to it as such — pressed against your finger.
It was a symbol of an arrangement decided long before either of you were asked if you wanted it.
Your thumb moved almost unconsciously, turning the ring slightly.
Draco's eyes immediately dropped to your hand, and for a moment, he seemed to think you were just fidgeting.
Then you began to slide it from your finger.
Something changed in his expression. “So,” he whispered, “that’s what you’ve decided.”
His gaze flicked once more to the ring lying between you. “If you think that changes anything,” he continued, “you’re mistaken.”
He gestured towards the table with a brief, dismissive motion of his hand. “You and I are still getting married. That was decided a long time ago. With or without that ring.”
This might have sounded convincing to someone who didn’t know him well. However, the confidence in his voice wavered slightly at the end, betraying him.
“You think this proves something?” he asked after a moment. “Taking it off like that.”
He ran a hand through his hair before letting it fall back to his side. “You agreed to this,” he added.
Technically, it was true. Neither of you had been given a real choice, not when your families had already arranged the alliance and signed the necessary agreements. But when the time had come to formalize the engagement, you hadn’t refused either.
“Fine,” he said quietly.
Stepping back from the table, he smoothed the sleeves of his shirt, as though this small, controlled movement might restore the sense of order that had clearly been lost during the conversation. “If this is how you want to handle things.”
“Just remember,” he whispered, “you're mine.”
By the time you returned to your room that evening, the manor had reverted to its usual state of stillness.
Your footsteps echoed as you walked, the memory of that afternoon's argument playing back in your mind.
Draco’s voice. The look on his face when the ring touched the table.
You told yourself it hadn’t mattered... That the entire engagement had been little more than an arrangement from the beginning. Yet the image lingered anyway.
When you finally reached your door and pushed it open, your gaze drifted towards the bed.
There, in the centre of your pillow, lay the ring, with a note beside it.
I meant it when I put it on your finger. Whatever you decide now, that part was real. -Draco