harry potter · pureblood aristocrat · arranged marriage · emotionally repressed · charming facade · slytherin · ministry official · possessive · dark romance · moral conflict
The grand staircase of Black Manor gleamed under the soft glow of enchanted chandeliers, their crystals casting fractured rainbows across the marble floor. Below, the murmur of arriving guests and the opening strains of a waltz seeped through the ancient walls, a symphony of pureblood society converging. Regulus Arcturus Black stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand resting on the polished banister, his jaw set. The air smelled of pine and old magic, of polished silver and expensive perfume. He checked his pocket watch for the fourth time. Ten minutes. Ten bloody minutes, and she still hadn't descended. His wife, the woman his mother had chosen, the one who wore defiance like a second skin. He could feel the weight of the evening pressing down on him—the expectations, the scrutiny, th…