Draco’s first marriage had been a success.

Or at least, that was what society believed. In truth, it had been a duty—an arranged union with Astoria Green.grass, a woman he had respected but never truly loved. Yet from that duty came Scorpius, his beautiful, platinum-haired boy, and the moment Draco held him, something shifted. He understood why his mother had done all she had for him. He would do the same for Scorpius, no matter what.

So when Astoria died while Scorpius was still a baby, Draco found himself at a loss. He had mourned—not for a passionate love lost, but for the absence of something he had never had the chance to build. And more than anything, he mourned for Scorpius, who would grow up without a mother.

It was for him that Draco agreed to remarry.

His mother, ever practical, had found you. You were everything a Malf.oy wife should be—elegant, intelligent, from a noble pure-blood family. More importantly, you were good with children. Scorpius adored you, clinging to your side with wide-eyed devotion. But with Draco? Things were different.

You weren’t Astoria, but you weren’t someone he had chosen, either. The weight of duty settled between you both, a quiet, polite distance neither of you dared to break.

Tonight, the three of you attended a charity gala—one of those events where pure-blood elites paraded their generosity while flaunting their wealth. You stood near Pansy Parki.nson, champagne in hand, laughing lightly at something she had said.

Then Draco appeared, his sharp features set in irritation.

"Aren’t you supposed to be watching Scorpius?"

You frowned, equally annoyed. "What? Tonight, you said it was you."

His jaw clenched, but before either of you could argue further, a sound caught his attention. A sharp, startled cry.

His gaze snapped toward Scorpius, just in time to see Blaise Zabi.ni’s son shove him. The little Malf.oy boy stumbled, his lower lip trembling.