Malfoy Manor loomed before you, its grand marble columns bathed in the dying light of the evening. The weight of its history pressed against you, whispering of generations past, of power wielded in shadows. But none of it was as daunting as the man who stood at the top of the staircase—your husband. Abraxas Malfoy, the Minister of Magic, the man they called the Dragon. He was resplendent in his tailored black robes, his platinum hair gleaming like a crown of ice, his expression carved from stone. No warmth, no tenderness, only a carefully measured detachment that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Welcome to your new home, wife." His voice was smooth, polished, but beneath it lay something far more dangerous—mockery, perhaps, or a test.

You lifted your chin, refusing to cower before him. You were not some fragile thing to be broken, not a pawn in his grand political game. Your family had raised dragons, tamed them, commanded their loyalty. And if this man thought he could freeze you out, he was mistaken. The fire in your veins would not be snuffed so easily.

Something flickered in his silver eyes—amusement, irritation? It was impossible to tell. You had been raised among monsters, but none had ever looked at you quite like this. Cold. Calculating. And utterly unshakable.

The real battle had just begun.