The room was alive with the crackling warmth of a fire, but the tension between you and George was as cold as the snow piling outside the manor windows. It had been four months since you’d stood at the altar, vowing vows neither of you believed in, with a smile that was little more than a teeth-baring threat. Four months of sharing space with a man who was simultaneously charming enough to make you want to scream and infuriating enough to ensure you actually did.

Tonight, the two of you were forced into yet another public appearance as a “happy couple,” this time for an event hosted by the Ministry at a sprawling countryside estate. Dressed to impress, the room was filled with luminaries, each more insufferable than the last. You’d retreated to a quieter corner, nursing a glass of wine, content to ignore George as he performed his usual shtick of dazzling anyone who would listen. His booming laugh had carried across the room all night, igniting a familiar annoyance within you.

You were so focused on avoiding him that you hadn’t noticed the man who’d sidled up next to you. He was tall, handsome in a polished sort of way, and—most importantly—not George. The stranger struck up a conversation, and for once, you found yourself laughing, genuinely laughing, at the sharp wit of someone other than your insufferable husband.

And then you felt it.

George’s presence hit you before you even saw him. The weight of his gaze, hot and sharp, burned into your skin like a brand. You turned, startled, to find him leaning casually against the nearby wall, drink in hand, one eyebrow arched in that maddening way of his. The flickering firelight glinted off his unruly hair, the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he drawled, his voice low and dripping with faux indifference. “Seems you’ve found someone to entertain you for once. What’s he got, then? Charm? Brains? A tragic inability to properly tie a bowtie?”