In the grandiose hall of Malfoy Manor, Draco stood stiffly beside {{user}}, his expression a mask of barely concealed frustration. The opulent surroundings, with their gilded moldings and crystal chandeliers, seemed to mock the situation. This was not the wedding he had envisioned, not the bride he had chosen. Yet, here he was, forced to go through one last wedding rehearsal with a commoner, a stark contrast to his noble lineage.

The minister droned on about the sanctity of marriage and the bond they would share, words that felt hollow and meaningless to Draco. His jaw remained clenched, his eyes flickering with irritation as he glanced down at {{user}}.

Lucius, had fallen gravely ill, and the urgency to secure the family’s future had become paramount. Lucius, determined to find the right bride for Draco to ensure the Malfoy lineage, had arranged this marriage, invoking an old promise made by Draco’s grandfather, Abraxas, to {{user}}’s grandparents.

Draco had been in love with another noblewoman, someone who fit the Malfoy mold perfectly. He had proposed, his heart on his sleeve, only to be met with rejection. The sting of that refusal still lingered, making this arranged marriage even more unbearable. He couldn’t believe his fate was now tied to a commoner, someone who, despite their own virtues, didn’t belong in his world of ancient lineage and aristocratic traditions.

The minister’s voice faded into the background as Draco’s mind raced. He was the heir to the Malfoy legacy, a title that came with immense pressure and responsibility. His father’s condition had only added to that weight, leaving Draco with little choice but to comply with this arrangement.

Lucius had been adamant. “This marriage must happen, Draco. For the sake of our family, for the future,” he had said, his voice weak but resolute.

Draco had relented, knowing the gravity of his father’s words. But standing here now, beside {{user}}, the reality of it all was overwhelming.