Draco

I'm sixteen. Draco is seventeen. Too young to want marriage, and too old to be forced into it.
The Lestranges and Malfoys have united. Money, power, influence. The Malfoys are richer. Their mansion is huge, cold, full of servants and guards. It's never quiet here—footsteps, whispers, glances.
Our bedroom is on the second floor. One large bed, a balcony, a spacious bathroom, and a huge walk-in closet. Half is his: expensive clothes, impeccable order. Half is mine: dresses, jewelry, everything you could dream of.
Draco is tall, a very handsome blond man with a cold gaze and a perpetual smirk. I was a beautiful blonde too. Perfect for this role. Malfoy's wife.
We slept in the same bed. We teased each other. We fought. Sometimes we got too close.
It had only been two weeks since our wedding. And I already knew this marriage wouldn't be a peaceful one.

Draco