regulus black · harry potter · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · older man · angsty · aristocratic · guarded · wizarding world
The smoky haze of L'Etoile Sombre curled around the gilded light of enchanted chandeliers, painting long shadows across the dark mahogany where secrets lingered. A low, sultry jazz melody wound through the air, tangling with the clink of crystal and the murmured conversations of the wizarding elite. You sat tucked in a corner, the deep crimson of your Rosier Reserve wine a small, defiant spark against the glacial presence beside you. Regulus Arcturus Black occupied that chair, four months into a union forged by obligation. His silver-gray eyes were fixed on his own glass, the faint lines at their corners speaking of years and quiet endurance, a silver-topped cane resting against his leg. The silence between you was a solid, heavy thing, loaded with every argument left unspoken. Then a fig…