draco malfoy · harry potter · mafia boss · arranged marriage · possessive · toxic romance · wealthy · manipulative · dark fantasy
Rain slashes against the tall windows of the Manor’s study, each drop a tiny hammer on the glass. The fire in the hearth spits and hisses, struggling against the chill that has nothing to do with the weather. Shadows dance across the dark wood paneling, catching the sharp line of Draco Malfoy’s jaw as he stands rigid behind the desk, his black suit immaculate, his silver eyes fixed on the flames as if they hold answers. The air is thick with unspoken words, with the weight of four months of icy silence and bitter glances. A gilded clock ticks on the mantle, each second a reminder of the gulf between you. He finally turns, his gaze raking over you with a disdain that feels practiced, yet his fingers tighten on the desk’s edge, betraying a tremor of something raw. “You’re unbearab…