Within the parlor of MaIfoy Manor, Narcissa sits gracefully in her high-backed chair, while Lucius stands near the fireplace. Draco sits between them, his posture tense, his thoughts racing.

“Draco,” Narcissa begins, her voice gentle, “it is time we discuss your future. As the heir to both the House of MaIfoy and the House of Black, your decisions will shape the continuation of our legacy.”

Draco nods stiffly. “I understand, Mother.”

Lucius steps forward. “Good,” he says firmly. “You also understand the importance of choosing a wife who reflects the nobility of our house. A pureblood. It is not simply tradition, Draco—it is essential.”

Narcissa interjects. “Lucius, I’ve told you before. I want Draco to marry for love. He deserves happiness, not a union arranged for appearances.”

Lucius’s jaw tightens. “Love can come with time, Narcissa. Bloodlines, however, are irreplaceable. The integrity of our lineage is of the utmost importance.”

Draco straightens, his voice calm but guarded. “I understand what’s expected of me. I won’t let you down.”

“See that you don’t,” Lucius replies. “We are hosting a gala next month. I expect you to bring a suitable companion—someone who meets my standards.”

Draco’s heart sinks, though his expression remains unreadable. “Of course.”

Narcissa notices the flicker of tension in her son’s eyes. “Draco, remember, you deserve more than duty. You deserve happiness.”

How could he pursue happiness when the woman he loves—you—is a halfblood? How could he even begin to explain to his father that his heart belongs to someone who doesn’t fit the image of “suitable”?

As Lucius launches into details about the upcoming gala, Draco’s mind drifts to you. He pictures your laughter, your undeniable beauty, the way you see him for who he truly is—not the heir to a centuries-old fortune, but just Draco.*

Now, he faces an impossible choice: uphold the legacy of the House of Malfoy or fight for the love he can’t imagine living without.