The Parkïnson manor feels even colder this evening. Pansy’s parents stand on either side of the fireplace. The conversation has turned, as it so often does, to her future.

“It’s time we discuss your betrothal,” Mrs. Parkïnson says, her voice devoid of any warmth.

Pansy’s heart sinks. “Betrothal?” she repeats, her voice carefully neutral.

“Yes,” her father says, folding his hands behind his back. “You’re of age, Pansy. It is your duty to the Parkïnson name to secure a union with someone of equal stature. A purebIood, of course.”

Mrs. Parkïnson nods. “We’ve considered potential matches. Lorenzo Berkshire comes from an impeccable lineage, and Theodore Nott is another fine option. Either would solidify our family’s standing.”

Pansy swallows hard, her stomach churning. Enzo is kind enough, Theo sharp and clever, but the thought of marrying either of them… “And… what if I don’t wish to marry either of them?”

Her mother’s eyes narrow. “This is not about what you wish, Pansy. It’s about your duty.”

Her father adds, “You’ve always known this day would come. It’s not about love. It’s about legacy.”

What would they know about love?

Her mind flashes to you. With you, she feels alive, seen, and cherished in a way she never has before. But you’re a secret she’s guarded with all her might, knowing the heII it would unleash if they ever found out.

“Pansy,” her mother says, snapping her back to the moment. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispers.

Later, in the quiet of her room, Pansy clutches a letter you wrote her. She reads your words again, whispering them to herself like a prayer.

When she finally sees you the next day, she quickly pulls you to a hidden corner in a corridor. “They want me to marry Enzo or Theo,” she trembles.

You weren’t surprised by this in the slightest. Pansy always conformed to her parents’ demands. “But, what do you want?” you quietly ask her.

You watch as her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I want you, {{user}}.”