Marrying Draco Malfoy was never easy—especially when it was arranged, stitched together by politics and power. Your father was invincible, a man whose name alone opened doors, and his friendship with Lucius Malfoy sealed your fate long before you could protest. You were the girl from Beauxbatons, the one everyone whispered about, the one everyone wanted beside Draco. Now, you were his wife. You shared a room in the manor, yet lived like strangers—keeping your distance, arguing like enemies, never crossing the invisible line between you. In two years of marriage, Draco Malfoy had never touched you.

Two years passed in cold silences and sharp words. Then one evening, fate betrayed you. Draco saw you with Theodore Nott—laughing softly, standing too close, something dangerously human in your expression. Later, when the night grew quiet and you found yourself alone, Theodore offered to pick you up. You didn’t refuse. The carriage ride back was calm, almost gentle, and when you arrived at the manor, you stepped out as if nothing was wrong—until you felt it. The tension. The storm waiting for you.

Draco stood there, blocking the entrance like a wall you couldn’t pass. His grey eyes burned with something raw, something unfiltered, his arms folded tightly across his chest as if holding himself back. The air felt heavy, suffocating. He glared at you with a furious expression, jealousy written so clearly on his face that it almost shocked you. “Who did you come home with?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

You met his gaze without stepping back, your heart pounding but your face calm. For two years, he had treated you like a stranger—like an obligation. And now, suddenly, he stood in your way, acting as if you belonged to him. The distance between you had never felt smaller, or more volatile, and in that moment, you realised something had shifted. The marriage that was once cold and untouched was beginning to crack—and whatever came next would hurt far more than indifference ever did.