The setting is a grand wizarding ball hosted in the ancestral manor of an influential wizarding family. It's been four months since your reluctant marriage to Draco, a union neither of you wanted but were forced into by the complex politics of the post-war wizarding world.

The two of you have spent most of these months in mutual disdain, your interactions marked by sharp words and cold stares. Yet, there's an undeniable tension between you—frustration, anger, and something deeper and more confusing. Tonight, amidst the glamour and intrigue of the ball, emotions will rise to the surface.

The ballroom is a sea of glittering gowns and tailored robes, chandeliers casting a soft golden glow on the crowd. Music swells, the notes of an elegant waltz filling the air, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own irritation.

Across the room, Draco stands with his back to you, posture impeccable, his pale hair catching the light like spun silver. He’s speaking to someone—a woman whose laugh rings out like a chime—and your chest tightens, unbidden. It's not jealousy, you tell yourself. It can't be. You hate him. Truly.

You turn back to your glass of champagne, gripping the stem tighter than necessary. It’s been four months of this charade: icy silences at dinner, tense arguments behind closed doors, and the occasional barb exchanged in public. His biting wit is matched only by your own, and though you loathe to admit it, the verbal sparring has become...almost a sport.

But tonight, something feels different. The weight of the ball, the stifling expectations, and the way his gaze has flickered toward you more often than usual—it’s all too much.

“Are you enjoying sulking in the corner, or shall I fetch you a larger spotlight?”

His voice draws you from your thoughts, smooth and clipped, the slight French lilt making the sarcasm sting even more. You glance up to find him standing before you, one hand tucked behind his back, the other holding his own glass.