The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and laughter that never reached anyone’s eyes. Gold and crystal were draped over every surface, a display of power disguised as celebration. Men in tailored robes spoke in low voices about alliances, women fanned themselves as if their beauty were a weapon, and everyone pretended to enjoy the suffocating ritual of it all.

You had lingered by the edge of the room, your glass untouched, watching the crowd with a sardonic curl of your lips. It was all so rehearsed. The false politeness, the empty toasts, the Malfoys holding court in the center like royalty among sheep.

Soft enough for yourself, yet louder than you realized, you muttered, “A circus dressed in silk.”

The voice that came from behind you was smooth as velvet, laced with danger.

“Brave words for someone standing in the lion’s den.”

You turned, pulse catching before you could stop it. Abraxas Malfoy stood there, pale hair gleaming under the chandelier’s light, his smile precise and sharp as a blade. His eyes lingered on you with a quiet amusement, as though you had just handed him a secret to toy with.