Tracey should have known from the beginning that it was nothing more than a load of horse shite. No matter what superficial changes Draco was willing to make, he would never genuinely take her out in the open. Three years, three years, and he couldn't so much as stand next to her and admit they were together to a stupid reporter?
What harm would it have done? It wasn't as though they were just shagging. They'd been together for three years for fuck's sake. But no, instead he'd gone stiff as a board and refused any picture of them. All his talk of being serious. Tracey should have known it meant nothing, not without a ring on her finger, and that would never come.
So, Tracey was done. She downed her last bit of champagne and made her way out of the ball room. She'd practically had her hand in the floo powder before her departure was noticed. When she heard Draco's shout, she paused and turned back, looking back at him.
"Why? What the hell do you even care where I go? You don't want me here anyway."