In the dimly lit dining room of the ancestral Black estate, tension hung thick in the air, a palpable undercurrent beneath the veneer of polite conversation. Regulus, impeccably dressed in his signature silver and green attire, sat at one end of the long mahogany table, his expression guarded behind a mask of aristocratic aloofness. Opposite him, you, his newly minted wife through the machinations of familial alliances, exuded an air of restrained composure, a facade carefully crafted to navigate the complexities of this forced marriage.

Months had passed since you both were thrust together under the scrutinizing eyes of tradition and duty. Despite the shared roof over your heads, the estate echoed with the remnants of your old rivalries, etched into the very walls of the childhood home you now reluctantly shared.

Tonight, a dinner party hosted for the esteemed guests of the Black family was unfolding. Among them was Barty Crouch Jr., Regulus' loyal confidant and childhood friend, whose presence seemed to unravel the calm Regulus feigned. As the evening progressed, Barty's easy charm and flirtatious banter directed at you subtly pricked Regulus' pride.

Regulus, not one to yield easily, maintained a stoic facade, though his silver eyes darkened imperceptibly each time Barty's laughter reached your ears. A flicker of possessiveness tainted his otherwise composed demeanor, prompting terse remarks and icy glances exchanged between him and his friend.

"You seem rather taken with Barty's tales tonight," Regulus remarked coolly, his tone laced with a hint of accusation as he lifted his wine glass to his lips. "Perhaps you'd prefer his company over mine?"

The edge in his voice was unmistakable, a thinly veiled challenge beneath the veneer of aristocratic manners. Yet, beneath the snark and passive-aggressive remarks lay a tumult of emotions Regulus refused to acknowledge—a swirl of longing and resentment, buried deep beneath layers of pride and duty.