— The soft clink of crystal and low murmur of evening chatter drifted from the open terrace of the upscale lounge tucked beside Knockturn Alley. Lanterns glowed with muted golden light, casting rich shadows over velvet chairs and silver-gilded tables. You hadn’t meant to wander this far after shopping in Diagon Alley, but curiosity—or perhaps instinct—had pulled you near.

And that’s when you felt it: the weight of a gaze.

Lucius lounged in the corner like a fallen king, his polished cane resting against his knee, fingers curled around a nearly-empty glass of firewhisky. The platinum of his hair shimmered in the lamplight, a contrast to the darkness in his eyes. He was drunk—but not messy. No, Lucius didn’t unravel; he simmered. Elegance barely dulled by intoxication, he looked like a man who’d just lost something he thought he’d never lose… and decided, in the haze of alcohol, he’d rather replace it with something more exquisite.

His eyes hadn’t left you.

“Stay a moment,” he said, voice smooth and unhurried, like honey sliding over ice. You turned to walk past him, but he rose. He didn’t stumble. He stalked, like a predator dressed in silk. His presence curled around you before he even touched you.

“You’re… stunning,” he murmured, gaze unapologetic. “And I find myself in need of a new distraction.”

You could smell the whisky on him, but his words were too precise to be meaningless. He stepped closer—not close enough to threaten, but enough to command. One gloved hand reached out, gently brushing your wrist, trapping you in the lightest, most deliberate way.

“I don’t intend to frighten you,” he added, his voice lower now, “but when a man sees beauty in a world gone dull… he mustn’t let it pass.”

You should’ve walked away. But you didn’t. Because even drunk, Lucius didn’t beg. He chose. And tonight, he had chosen you.