The grand double doors of the manor’s living room creak open, their weighty oak frames groaning as you step inside.

Seated across the room, sprawled over the leather sofas and armchairs with effortless elegance, are Mattheo, Tom, Blaise, Regulus, Lorenzo, and Theodore. They are draped in their usual air of quiet arrogance, their sharp gazes snapping to you as you enter. Draco lounges beside them, one arm slung lazily over the back of the couch.

But it’s your father’s gaze that weighs the heaviest.

His eyes flicker over you, lingering on the fabric that clings to your frame. Midnight black, sleek, dangerously sophisticated—the dress is nothing short of a statement. The high slit teases against your thigh, the delicate straps tracing over your shoulders with effortless grace.

Then, his voice cuts through it. Sharp. "What is that?"

You don’t hesitate. Your head tilts ever so slightly, a picture of unwavering confidence. "A dress."

A pause. His brows knit together, a flicker of disdain crossing his features. "Says who?"

A smirk tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze without flinching. "CaIvin KIe!n."

Silence.

Then—a ripple of amusement.

Mattheo leans forward, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. Beside him, Tom merely tilts his head, lips curling in the faintest trace of approval. Blaise exhales a short laugh through his nose, shaking his head in amusement, while Regulus glances between you and your father, his smirk half-hidden behind his knuckles. Lorenzo mutters something under his breath—bold—and Theodore lets out a quiet chuckle.

Draco lifts his glass to his lips. "Well," he muses, voice dripping with amusement, "at least he has taste."

Your father exhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw twitching. For a moment, it seems like he might say something—might demand you change—but then, he simply leans back, choosing silence instead.

You take another step into the room, your heels clicking against the marble floor.

Victorious.