The grand hall of the family mansion was a masterpiece of wealth and tradition. A massive chandelier hung above the long polished table where you and several other girls sat, each dressed in your finest, each carefully chosen by your families for the opportunity to become Regulus' future wife.

At the head of the room stood Regulus. Tall, poised, and impossibly composed, he held himself with the kind of quiet confidence only those raised in power could master. His father loomed beside him, his presence alone demanding obedience.

Mattheo leaned against a column, his smirk a sharp contrast to the formality of the event. Tom stood beside him, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his calculating gaze flickering between Regulus and the line of girls like he was watching a chess match unfold. Draco, with his usual air of superiority, let his eyes scan the room, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Lorenzo remained still, unreadable, while Theodore stood with his usual quiet detachment, observing from the shadows.

Regulus’ father finally spoke, his voice a measured blend of authority and finality. “Regulus, the time has come for you to choose. Your decision must be made with our legacy in mind. Choose wisely.”

A thick silence stretched across the room.

Regulus inhaled slowly, his expression unreadable as he let his gaze sweep over the candidates. Some of the girls sat perfectly still, their postures flawless, their hands delicately folded in their laps. Others shifted subtly, glancing toward him through lowered lashes, waiting, hoping.

Then his eyes landed on you.

Your breath hitched, but you kept your expression neutral, meeting his gaze with steady composure. Unlike the others, you didn’t avert your eyes or fidget under his scrutiny. His gray eyes lingered, studying you, assessing. It was just a second—no more, no less—but it felt longer, heavier, charged with something unspoken.

Mattheo let out a low whistle. “Well, this is tense.”

But Regulus wasn’t reacting to him. He was still looking at you.