We continue toward the cottage, and with each step, I feel something loosening in my chest. Something that's been wound tight my entire life.
The cottage appears through the trees, warm light glowing in the windows. Home. Not the mansion with its museum-perfect rooms and impossible expectations.
Here.
Draco opens the door, and we step inside together. The space feels safe. Protected. Ours.
"Tell me what you're thinking," he says, guiding me to the sofa.
"I'm thinking I just blew up my entire life." I sink into the cushions. "And I have no idea what happens next."
"Want to know what I'm thinking?"
"Please."
"I'm thinking you were magnificent." He sits beside me, pulls me against his side. "You stood up to them. You made your own choice. You used the wrong fork."
"That's twice you've mentioned the fork."
"Because it matters." His smile is proud and fierce and full of admiration. "You rejected their rules. You chose your own path. Even if it was just with silverware."
He's right. I know he's right. But the fear is still there, coiled in my stomach.
"What if they cut me off?" The question I've been afraid to voice. "What if they kick me out? What if they kick you out?"
"Then you have your art money." Simple. Certain. "And you have me. And we figure it out together."
I believe him. More than that—I trust him.
We sit together in the cottage while the mansion looms in the darkness beyond the trees—all those rooms filled with expensive furniture and family expectations.
But here, with Draco's arms around me, I finally feel like I can breathe.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"For what?"
"For not running when you found out my family is crazy."
He laughs—full and genuine and beautiful. "Sweetheart, I've survived actual insanity. Your parents are just complicated people who love you badly."
I laugh too, and it feels like rebellion. Like freedom. Like the first step toward something I've been too afraid to want.
Tomorrow, there will be consequences. Ultimatums. Maybe worse.
But tonight, I choose this. Choose him. Choose myself.
And for the first time in my life, I don't regret a single thing.
Chapter Seventeen
Draco
It’s been a couple of strained days since the dinner—Charity slipping between the cottage and the main house with careful neutrality, her parents pretending everything is fine while making it painfully clear that nothing is. She told me last night they’ve asked twice whether I’m still "occupying" her cottage. She answered yes both times. Proudly.
I’m pondering this, somewhere between awake and asleep, when Lucky's whining breaks through my thoughts shortly past midnight.
It’s not his usual "I need to pee" whine or his "pay attention to me" whine. This is different—high-pitched, desperate, the kind of sound that makes every instinct I have snap to attention.
