☆ Mai ༺

The silence of the manor felt like a physical weight after you tucked Kai into bed. You had stayed with him until his breathing evened out, his small hand finally relaxing its grip on your hands. The moment you stepped into your own room, the mask crumbled. You kicked off the silver heels, watching them skitter across the dark wood floor, and immediately reached for the back of your neck.

Your fingers fumbled blindly with the clasp of the silver serpent. One hour passed. Then two. The metal was cold, but it felt like it was searing into your skin. No matter how you twisted it, the blackened silver wouldn't budge.

By 2:00 AM, the last of the carriages had rattled away down the gravel drive. You yanked the heavy velvet curtains shut, blocking out the moonlight and the memory of those vultures in silk. You didn't want to see a single glint of that world again.

The click of the door handle made you whirl around, your eyes flashing with a tired, jagged rage.

Mattheo stood in the doorway. He had discarded his formal outer robes, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

"Does the concept of knocking not exist in your world, or do you just enjoy trespassing?" you snapped, your voice trembling.

He didn't answer. He simply stepped inside and closed the door with a final, echoing thud.

"Get out," you hissed, backing away until your calves hit the edge of the bed. "I’m done for the night. The 'nanny' is off the clock."

He ignored you, his eyes fixed on your hands, which were still frantically clawing at the necklace.

"What the hell do you even want?" you demanded, your voice rising. "You said what you needed to say on the dance floor. You made it very clear where I stand. Now get this... this evil thing off my neck. I can't get the clasp open."

"No," he said, his voice a flat, dead calm.

You froze, your breath catching. "What do you mean, no?"

"I mean it stays where it is," he said, taking a slow step toward you. "It’s keyed to my magic. You won't get it off unless I want you to."

You didn't just boil; you detonated. Him standing there—in your room, at 2:00 AM—admitting that he had essentially magically handcuffed your throat to his ego was the final straw.

"Keyed to your magic?" you shrieked, the sound echoing off the cold stone walls. "What is this? A leash? Am I supposed to sit and stay on command now? Do I get a treat if I don't talk back to your trashy cousin?"

He didn't move, which only made you more insane. You reached for the nearest object on your bed—a heavy, silk-cased pillow—and hurled it at his face with enough force to snap a wand.

He caught it effortlessly, his expression unchanged.

"Get. It. Off!" you yelled, grabbing the second pillow and launching it, followed immediately by a decorative velvet cushion. "I am not one of your cursed artifacts! I am not a horcrux! I am a human being who is currently five seconds away from using a letter opener to settle this 'security measure' once and for all!"

Mattheo tossed the pillows aside, his eyes tracking your frantic movements. "You're being hysterical," he said, his voice a calm, oily contrast to your screaming.

"Hysterical?" You grabbed a heavy book from your nightstand—a thick volume on ancient runes. "Maybe if I hit you hard enough, the 'key' to your magic will just fall out of your head! Does it work like a concussion?"

"Put the book down, Y/N."

"Make me! I’m so sorry that my 'pretty mind' couldn’t grasp the complexity of your brilliant plan. Truly. I’m just a slowly nanny, right? I should be honored that the Great Mattheo Riddle decided to brand me with his family’s jewelry. It’s basically a promotion! Does this come with a dental plan, or just the creeping sense of dread?"

You stopped, pointing a trembling finger at him. "I want it off. Now. I don’t care if you have to rip it off. I don’t care if you have to break the spell and the stone along with it. I will not sleep another minute with your 'Keep Off' sign around my neck."

He took a step closer, his silence becoming more suffocating than the shouting. "Are you finished?"

"No! I'm just getting started! If you love marking things so much, go buy a dog! At least a dog won't tell you what a massive, arrogant, soul-sucking dick you're being!" You lunged toward him, your hands reaching for the front of his shirt to shake some sense into him. "Take it off! I mean it!"

His hands shot up, catching your wrists mid-air, and before you could blink, he swung you around. The air left your lungs as your back hit the wall with a dull thud. He didn't let go; he pinned your wrists above your head, his body slamming into yours to keep you still.

"You want it off?" he said, his face so close you could see the flecks of gold in his darkening eyes. "You want to be 'unclaimed' so badly? Tell me, Y/N—who exactly are you planning to run to the second this comes off?"

Your wrists were still pinned against the cold stone, your breath hitching as his weight pressed you firmly against the wall. You looked him dead in the eyes, refusing to flinch, refusing to let the heat of his body distract you from the venom in your heart.

"You want to know who I'm running to?" you spat, your voice a jagged blade. "It doesn't matter, Mr. Riddle. Because whoever I choose, I will walk out of that door and pick anyone I want. And that is absolutely none of your business."

His grip on your wrists tightened until it bruised, his jaw working as he fought to keep his temper from leveling the room.

"I will be with whoever I want," you continued, leaning in until your nose nearly brushed his. "I will sleep with whoever I want. I’ll find someone who knows how to treat a woman without using a curse as a collar. I’m tired of being your 'convenience.'"

He let go of your wrists so abruptly you nearly stumbled. He slammed his hand into the stone right next to your ear, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet room.

"Stop calling me Mr. Riddle!" he said, his voice cracking with a raw, agonizing frustration.

"Why?" you shouted back, smoothing your hair with trembling hands, your voice dripping with ice-cold sarcasm. "That is your name, isn't it? I’m your employee. You made that very clear. So from now on, I will act like one. And you? You act like the boss. Keep the boundaries, Sir."

He stepped back, his chest heaving as if he’d just run a mile. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a split second, the cold mask of the Riddle heir crumbled to reveal a man who looked utterly defeated. He gave a sharp, jerky nod, his eyes darkening to a shade of black that looked like death.

"Yeah," he rasped, his voice hollow. "Right. An employee. Of course."

"Right," you whispered, your heart feeling like it was being squeezed in a vice.

"Goodnight," he said flatly. He turned on his heel, his cloak swirling behind him like a shadow, and marched toward the door.

"I hope you have a horrible night, Mr. Evil!" you yelled at his retreating back, your voice cracking.

He didn't even turn around. He merely rolled his eyes, his silhouette framed in the doorway for one last, painful second before he stepped out. The door clicked shut with a finality that felt like a death sentence.

The moment the latch caught, you grabbed the heavy book of runes from the bed and hurled it with every ounce of strength you had left. It slammed into the center of the wooden door with a violent thud, falling to the floor in a heap of crumpled pages.

"I hate you!" you sobbed into the empty, silent room, sinking to your knees on the cold floor. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you."

The next morning did not bring comfort, only a very specific, localized brand of madness.

You had spent the hours between 3:00 AM and dawn attempting every Muggle and magical solution in your limited arsenal. You had tried:

1. Lube and Dish Soap: Resulting in a very slippery neck and a serpent that seemed to glisten with mockery.

2. A Metal File: The file snapped in half. The silver didn't even have a scratch.

3. Ice: Hoping the metal would shrink. It didn't. You just got a cold and a damp collar.

4. A Prying Bar (The Letter Opener): You nearly stabbed yourself in the jugular while the snake remained perfectly, smugly coiled.

By 7:00 AM, you were sitting on the edge of your bed, hair a tangled nest of frustration, staring at your reflection. The emerald eyes of the snake seemed to be laughing at you.

"I hate magic," you whispered to the empty room. "I hate heirlooms. I hate men with 'keyed' egos."

In a final act of pure, unadulterated desperation, you grabbed the heavy down pillow and shoved your face into it, letting out a long, muffled, soul-shattering scream that probably rattled the pipes in the cellar.

After a solid minute of screaming, you sat up, smoothed your hair back with aggressive efficiency, and marched to your closet. If he wanted to mark you, fine. But he wasn't going to get the satisfaction of seeing his handiwork.

It was mid-April and perfectly mild outside, but you reached for a thick, oversized wool scarf. You wrapped it around your neck once, twice, and then a third time for good measure, tucking the ends in until you looked like a very stylish, very angry marshmallow. You couldn't even tilt your chin down without hitting the wool, but the snake was gone.

You walked out of your room, head held high (mostly because the scarf forced you to), and stomped down to breakfast.

Mattheo was already there, looking infuriatingly composed in a crisp white shirt, reading the Daily Prophet. Kai was happily stabbing a pancake.

"Good morning, Y/N!" Kai chirped, then blinked. "Why are you wearing a blanket on your neck? Is it snowing in your room?"

"No, Kai," you said, your voice sounding slightly muffled by the wool as you sat down and reached for the coffee pot with a hand that shook from caffeine and spite.

Mattheo didn't look up from his paper, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Just a fraction. A tiny, microscopic movement that made you want to throw your fork at him.

"It’s eighteen degrees outside," Mattheo remarked coolly, turning a page. "You’ll overheat before noon."

"I’d rather spontaneously combust than catch a draft, Mr. Riddle," you snapped, pouring your coffee with terrifying precision.

He finally lowered the paper, his dark eyes trailing over the massive bundle of wool around your neck. He knew exactly what was under there. He knew exactly why you were dressed like you were heading to the Arctic.

"Suit yourself," he murmured, his gaze lingering on your face with a look that was far too knowing.

Kai looked between the two of you, his fork hovering in mid-air. "Y/N you looks like a very grumpy owl."

"Kai, sweetheart," you said, your voice vibrating through the four layers of wool, "could you please tell your father that your piano instructor called? The lesson has been moved to three o'clock."

Kai looked up from his syrup-drenched plate, his eyebrows furrowed. "But he’s sitting right there, Y/N. His ears work."

"I am aware, Kai," you said, staring pointedly at the centerpiece on the table.

Mattheo didn't even look up from his coffee. "Kai, tell the marshmallow sitting across from me that the music room is available, provided she doesn't choke on her own accessories before then."

"Kai," you snapped, "tell the evil Lord in training that my accessories are a personal choice reflecting the cold, heartless atmosphere of his house."

"Kai," Mattheo’s voice dropped. "Tell her that if she keeps using you as a messenger, I might have to deduct 'communication fees' from her next paycheck."

"Stop it!" Kai suddenly groaned, dropping his fork with a loud *clink*. "I’m not a telephone! And I’m not an owl! Stop sending me like a bird with letters. Just talk! You’re making my head spinny!"

Before the tension could snap, the heavy doors swung open and Theo sauntered in, looking entirely too cheerful for a man who had been drinking top-shelf firewhisky until dawn.

He stopped dead, his eyes fixating on your neck.

"Holy mother of Merlin," Theo blinked, walking a slow circle around you. "Are you alright? Did you have a run-in with a very aggressive sheep? Or are we expecting a blizzard in the dining hall?"

"I’m perfectly fine, Theo," you said, your chin tilted up at a sharp, awkward angle. "It’s a fashion statement."

"It’s a statement, alright," Theo chuckled, leaning against the table. "What’s really going on?"

"I have a cold, Theo," you said stiffly, the wool rubbing against your chin. "A very specific, neck-focused cold."

Theo walked over, circling your chair with a wicked glint in his eye. "A neck-cold. Right. Funny how those happen right after a big Gala where everyone was watching you two on the dance floor."

He leaned down, whispering just loud enough for Mattheo to hear. "Are you just hiding the evidence of a very successful night?

"Evidence? What are you saying, Theo?" you asked, genuinely confused by his smirk.

Mattheo finally lowered his cup, his eyes raking over your scarf-covered throat. "He thinks you’re hiding a hickey, Y/N,"

Your face went from pale to a shade of red that rivaled Kai's strawberry jam. "I am not hiding a hickey!" you screamed, your voice cracking.

Theo immediately reached out, slapping his hands over Kai’s ears. "Language, darling! There are innocent ears present."

"Theo, let go of my ears!" Kai muffled out.

"In a minute, kid," Theo joked, looking back at you.

Mattheo stood up too. "Theo, if you value your tongue, you’ll stop talking."

By mid-afternoon, the sun was streaming through the library’s floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the room into a literal greenhouse. Beads of sweat were starting to prickle at your hairline, and the wool against your skin felt like a swarm of stinging nettles. You were lightheaded, your face flushed a deep, glowing pink, but every time your hand drifted toward the scarf, you caught sight of the silver serpent peeking out from the top.

I am not giving him the satisfaction, you told yourself, gritting your teeth as you adjusted the heavy wool. I will pass out from heatstroke before I let him see that he won't let me go. I will be the first person in history to die of spite and a cashmere blend.

The heavy double doors of the library creaked open, and Kai’s face lit up with a glow that had nothing to do with the sun.

"Uncle Enzo!" Kai shrieked, abandoning his picture book and sprinting toward the tall, broad-shouldered man entering the room.

You looked up, squinting through the heat haze. You had heard the name Enzo before, but you hadn't expected... this. Enzo was Mattheo’s younger brother, but where Mattheo was sharp angles and shadows, Enzo was sunlight. He caught Kai in a practiced swing, laughing—a warm, genuine sound that felt completely alien in this house.

"Hey, little man! Look how big you've gotten," Enzo chuckled, ruffling Kai's hair before setting him down. He turned his gaze toward you, and his smile widened into something incredibly kind.

"Look, Y/N! My uncle is here!" Kai shouted, dragging Enzo toward you.

You stood up, trying to maintain your dignity while feeling like you were in a sauna. You were struck by how kind Enzo looked. He lacked the sharp, jagged edges that made Mattheo so intimidating. He looked... nice. It was almost hard to believe they shared the same blood.

"You must be Y/N," Enzo said, offering a wide, charming smile as he stepped closer. "I’ve heard so much about you. Theo says you’re the only person in this house with enough backbone to tell my brother to go soak his head." He paused, his smile faltering into a look of pure confusion as he stared at your neck. "Er... are you alright? Is there a draft in here that I’m not feeling?"

"I’m fine," you said, your voice a muffled squeak. "Just... a bit chilly."

Enzo blinked, looking at the bright sunlight pouring through the windows and then back at your heavy wool scarf. "Chilly? It’s nearly twenty-five degrees, love. You look like you’re about to go on a trek through the Alps."

Kai looked up at his uncle, his expression full of sage-like wisdom. "Oh, she’s not cold, Uncle Enzo. She’s hiding a hickey! Theo said so at breakfast!"

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. The heat of the scarf was nothing compared to the nuclear-level blush that exploded across your face.

"No! No, no, no!" you stammered, your hands flying to the wool as if to hold it in place. "I swear, it’s not! Kai, for the love of Merlin, don’t ever say those words again! Who taught you that? I will put Theo in a blender!"

Enzo’s eyebrows shot up so high they practically disappeared into his hairline. A slow, mischievous grin—the one Mattheo trait he did have—began to spread across his face.

"A hickey?" Enzo repeated, his voice full of delighted disbelief. "From my brother?"

"It’s not a hickey!" you yelled, the sound echoing off the bookshelves. "It’s a necklace! A cursed, possessive, blackened silver snake that I can’t get off!"

Enzo froze, his laughter dying instantly. His gaze sharpened, turning from playful to something much more serious. "A snake? You mean... the Crotalus? He put that on you?"

Before you could answer, a shadow fell across the doorway. Mattheo was leaning against the frame, his sleeves rolled up, looking at the three of you with a look of pure, unadulterated smugness.

His eyes were locked on you, specifically on the absurd mountain of wool around your throat.

"If you’re quite finished interrogating the staff, Enzo," Mattheo said, his voice a cool, low vibration, "we have matters to discuss."

Enzo gave your shoulder a sympathetic pat, his expression a mix of concern and lingering shock. "Hang in there, love. I’ll try to talk some sense into him, though I’ve had better luck talking to stone walls."

Mattheo turned on his heel without a word, and Enzo and Theo followed him like two satellites pulled into the orbit of a dark planet.

The heavy mahogany door of Mattheo’s office clicked shut, sealing out the rest of the house. The air in here was different—thick with the scent of old parchment, expensive tobacco, and the crackling, restless energy of Mattheo’s magic. Mattheo took his seat behind the massive desk, leaning back and tenting his fingers.

"Theo told me about the incident," Enzo began, bypassing the pleasantries."He told me about Kai’s outburst, the magic, and your decision to keep him locked behind these wards. No school. No outside world. Mattheo, you’re turning this house into a beautiful prison for a five-year-old."

"It is a sanctuary, not a prison," Mattheo retorted, his jaw tightening. "He is a Riddle. He is powerful, he is volatile, and he is a target. I will not have him scrutinized by the Ministry or mocked by children who can't handle a fraction of what he carries."

"He’s a child, Matt, not a weapon of mass destruction," Theo chimed in, leaning against the bookshelf, his usual sarcasm replaced by a rare, somber weight. "He’s angry because he’s lonely. He’s angry because he’s a mirror of you. You can't keep him in a vacuum forever."

Enzo stopped pacing and leaned over the desk, forcing Mattheo to look him in the eye. "Let me take him, Mattheo. Just for a week. A trip."

Mattheo’s eyes flashed. "Absolutely not."

"Listen to me!" Enzo insisted. "I have a friend in the Swiss Alps—a specialist, a therapist who works with magically gifted children who struggle with emotional regulation. Let me take him there. And then, let me show him the world he’s supposed to inherit. I’ll take him to see Hogwarts from the mountains—just to see the lights of the castle, to know it exists. I’ll take him to see Durmstrang in the north and Beauxbatons in the south. Let him see that magic isn't just something that breaks things in his room; let him see it’s a culture, a community."

"He is too young," Mattheo hissed, though his fingers trembled slightly.

"He is exactly the right age to realize he isn't a monster," Theo added softly. "Trust Enzo. He’s the only one of us who actually knows how to talk to people without making them want to hex him. He’ll keep him safe. He’ll use the family portkeys. No one will know the heir to the Riddle name is even out of the country."

Enzo reached out, placing a hand on the desk near Mattheo’s. "I will protect him with my life. You know that. But if you keep him here, surrounded by nothing but ghosts and your own temper, you’re going to lose him before he’s even old enough to carry a wand. He needs air, Matt. He needs to talk to someone who isn't afraid of his name."

Mattheo looked away, his gaze falling on a framed sketch Kai had drawn of a dragon. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. The conflict was written in the harsh lines of his face—the desperate need to control and protect battling the terrifying realization that his brothers might be right.

"He stays with Y/N?" Mattheo asked, his voice suddenly hollow.

"No," Enzo said gently. "He stays with me. Y/N needs a break from this madness, too. Let the boy have a week of being just Kai. Just a boy on a trip with his uncle."

Mattheo closed his eyes, a long, shaky breath escaping his lungs. The "Mr. Evil" you had yelled at him earlier crossed his mind again, maybe he’s too much.

"One week," Mattheo whispered. "If he so much as gets a scratch, Enzo, I will burn down every school you showed him."

"Duly noted," Enzo breathed, a look of immense relief washing over him. "He’ll be home before you even have time to miss him."

Theo smirked, though his eyes remained soft. "Oh, he’ll miss him. He’ll probably spend the whole week staring at the front gates like a lost dog. Or, more likely, he’ll spend it making Y/N’s life a living hell because he doesn't know what to do with the quiet."

"Also" Theo said, leaning against the doorframe with a wicked glint in his eye. "Now that the kid is going on a world tour, what are you going to do with all that free time? Finally admit that you’ve marked the 'nanny' because you can’t stand the thought of anyone else touching her?"

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, lethal beat on the mahogany. "Don't be absurd. The girl is a necessity for Kai’s stability. Nothing more."

Enzo laughed, a dry, knowing sound. "Come off it, Matt. You put the family serpent on her. You’ve barely taken your eyes off her since she walked into this house. She’s beautiful."

"She is an employee," Mattheo snapped, his voice dropping into a cold, cruel register that felt like a serrated blade. "You think I would lower myself to actually care for a girl like that? She’s a commoner with a loud mouth and an attitude that borders on insubordination. I would never, ever look at someone like her with anything but utility in mind.—I haven't lost my mind. I am a Riddle. She is a means to an end. I would never, ever truly look at someone like her. She’s beneath the bloodline, and once Kai is older, she’ll be forgotten like the rest of the help."

Outside in the hallway, your hand froze on the door handle. You had come to tell them that you were taking Kai to the gardens, but the words died in your throat. The coldness in his voice wasn't just mean; it was a calculated strike. You felt the weight of the necklace—the one he called a 'security measure'—and suddenly it felt like a lead weight dragging you into the dirt.

You didn't knock. You couldn't. You turned on your heel, your vision blurring with a sudden, hot sting of tears, and walked away as fast as your feet would carry you.

"Go in, Kai," you whispered to the boy waiting down the hall. "I... I forgot something. I have to go to my room. Stay with your uncles today."

Kai watched you go, his small brow furrowing in confusion, before he pushed open the office door.

The three men looked up as the five-year-old trudged in, looking uncharacteristically somber.

"Are you done talking?" Kai whispered, his voice small. "I feel lonely. The house is too quiet."

Mattheo’s expression softened instantly, but his eyes darted past the boy. "Where is Y/N, Kai? Why isn't she with you? I told her not to let you out of her sight."

Kai looked down at his shoes, shuffling his feet. "We were coming here... she said I needed to tell you we were going to the garden to see the birds. But then... she stopped. Right outside the door." Kai pointed to the hallway just inches from where Mattheo had been shouting. "She stayed very still for a second. Then she just... she let go of my hand. She said she needed to go back to her room and that I should stay with my uncles for today."

The silence in the office became deafening. Theo and Enzo exchanged a sharp, knowing look. The door had been ajar; the heavy velvet curtains hadn't muffled the sound of Mattheo's cold, biting voice.

Theo’s smirk vanished, replaced by a look of genuine guilt. "Damn, Mattheo. She was standing right outside."

Enzo sighed, shaking his head. "Well done, brother. You finally broke the only person in this house who actually gave a damn about you."

Mattheo’s face turned into a mask of stone, though his hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. He couldn't let them see the panic rising in his throat. He couldn't let them see that he wanted to run after you.

"Good," Mattheo said, his voice devoid of any emotion, though it sounded forced even to his own ears. "Then she finally knows her place. It’ll make the next week much quieter if she stops pretending she’s anything more than an employee."

"You’re a liar, Matt," Theo muttered, picking up his drink. "And you’re going to regret that tone when you’re sitting in this dark house alone for a week."

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Thank you so much for your kind words, hope you like it ^.^

The ballroom was a sea of shimmering silk and floating candles, the air thick with the scent of expensive champagne and ancient magic. You found Theo near the massive ice sculpture of a soaring dragon, with Kai perched on a velvet stool beside him.

Theo approached you , his usual mischievous smirk widening. "Well, look at you. You look beautiful, Y/N."

"Thank you, Theo," you said, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

His eyes drifted to your throat, landing on the blackened silver serpent. He froze for a second, his eyebrows shooting up toward his hairline. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. He turned his head toward the crowd and shouted, "Holy shit! Blaise! You owe me a hundred Galleons!"

A tall, impeccably dressed man with sharp features and a bored expression detached himself from a group of witches and sauntered over. "The famous Y/N," Blaise murmured, taking your hand and pressing a brief, polite kiss to your knuckles. He then turned to Theo, nodding toward your neck. "Why were you shouting? Oh..." He trailed off, staring at the necklace.

Blaise let out a sharp, short laugh. "Oh, He actually did it."

"What is that supposed to mean?" you asked, your hand flying instinctively to the cool metal of the snake. "Is there something wrong with the necklace?"

Blaise just shook his head, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Nothing for you to worry your pretty mind about, darling. Just a private wager between friends regarding a certain man's possessive streaks."

Theo checked his watch and straightened his jacket. "I have to go mingle—political duties and all that. But you tell me if you need anything, okay? Anything at all."

"I will. Thank you, Theo."

They walked away into the golden haze of the party, leaving you and Kai alone by the sculpture. You took a moment to look around the room. You had spent hours worrying about being overdressed, but seeing the women here—dripping in diamonds that looked like they cost more than a small house, wearing gowns woven from literal moonlight—you felt a sharp, uncharacteristic pang of insecurity. You weren't the type to feel small, but standing here, it was painfully obvious you didn't belong to this world of bloodlines and billions.

"What are you thinking about?" Kai asked, tugging on your hand. He was staring at you with those big, perceptive eyes.

"Just looking around, Kai," you said, forcing a smile. "There are a lot of people here."

Kai followed your gaze, squinting at a group of witches in high-collared, feathered dresses. "They look so hideous," he whispered loudly.

You gasped, your eyes widening. "Kai! That is so mean. We don't say things like that."

"But it’s true!" Kai insisted, crossing his small arms over his chest. "They have too much fluff on them. They can never be as pretty as you, Y/N."

You couldn't help the laugh that escaped you. "Aww, do you really think so?"

He nodded firmly. "Yes."

"Well, thank you, my little knight," you said, crouching down to his level. The anxiety was still there, but his innocence was a shield. "Do you want to play a game to pass the time?"

"What game?" Kai asked, his interest piqued.

"Let’s play 'Guess Who,'" you whispered, pointing discreetly at a very tall man with a monocle standing near the drinks. "See that man over there? Who do you think he is? What’s his story?"

Kai squinted. "That man is so ugly. Look at his teeth! They're all yellow and crooked. He looks like he eats rocks."

"Kai! Merlin, we can't say that!" you hissed, though you were struggling to keep a straight face.

"Why not?" Kai asked, genuinely confused. "It’s not a secret. He has rock-teeth."

"Okay, okay," you giggled. "What about that lady in the bright pink dress? The one with the hat

Kai giggled into his hand. "She's a spy! She hides things in her hat."

"A spy," you nodded solemnly. "And what about that boy over there? He looks about your age."

Kai looked at a blonde boy standing stiffly by his parents. Kai’s expression soured. "He looks bored. I bet he wants to go play with my dinosaurs."

"You're very observant today," you said, ruffling his hair.

"I'm just waiting for Daddy," Kai said, his gaze shifting back to the center of the room

Mattheo detached himself from a group of white-haired Ministry officials and glided toward you. He looked lethal in his black tailored robes, but his eyes immediately went to the serpent at your throat, then to Kai.

"Doing okay?" he asked. His voice was a low, private rumble that didn't reach the ears of the passing guests. He stepped into your personal space, his hand ghosting over the small of your back—not quite touching, but the heat was unmistakable.

"Yes, we're fine," you breathed, trying to ignore the way your heart hammered against your ribs. "But Mattheo... Theo and Blaise said something about this necklace. Does it mean something? Is there a reason they're acting like—"

"I told you to stop with the questions," he cut you off, his gaze dropping to your lips for a lingering, heavy second. His voice was a warning, dark and possessive. "Just wear it. It looks exactly where it belongs."

"shouldn’t you introduce me, cousin?" A voice said behind Mattheo.

From the look of Mattheo face you know he doesn’t like the man. "Y/N, this is my cousin, Cassian. He’s... family, unfortunately."

Before you could say anything, a sharp voice called his name from the center of the room. Mattheo’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to curse the man for interrupting.

"Go," you whispered, offering a small nod. "We're okay. I’ve got Kai."

Mattheo lingered for a heartbeat too long, his eyes searching yours, before he nodded and walked to them.

"Well," Cassian drawled, "I’m impressed. I really can’t blame Mattheo for being so high-strung tonight. You are breathtakingly beautiful. He has always been a lucky bastard, hasn't he?"

Kai’s head snapped up. "What does 'bastard' mean?"

Your eyes widened in horror. "Kai! Don't say that word. Never say that word again, do you hear me?"

Cassian let out a rich, booming laugh, raising his hands in a mock apology. "My mistake, little cousin. My tongue is a bit too loose around pretty women." He turned his gaze back to you, leaning in slightly. "So, how long has my cousin been keeping you hidden away?"

"It’s not like that," you said firmly, straightening your posture. "I work for Mattheo. I’m here to take care of Kai."

Cassian arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that so? Just an employee?"

"Yes."

"And does 'working for him' usually involve wearing the Crotalus mark?" He gestured with a glass of champagne toward the silver snake on your neck.

"The what?"

"The necklace, darling," Cassian whispered, his eyes glinting. "It’s an old family relic. In our circles, it’s a 'Keep Off' sign. It tells every man in this room that you are claimed by a Riddle. That you’re off-limits. Most men wouldn't even dare to breathe the same air as you once they see that silver coil."

You felt a wave of shock crash over you. Claimed. Mattheo hadn't just given you a gift; he had branded you in front of the entire Wizarding elite. You felt the weight of the metal grow heavier, warmer.

"He didn't... he didn't say that," you stammered.

"He wouldn't," Cassian chuckled. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a flirtatious murmur. "But if it’s truly just a job, and you aren't actually his... then that means you can dance with me later, doesn't it?"

"No! You can’t!" Kai shouted suddenly, stepping in front of you and pushing his small chest out.

Cassian looked down at the five-year-old, amused. "Oh? And why is that, little man?" He reached out, his hand going to ruffle Kai’s dark hair.

Kai jerked his head back violently, his face turning a bright, angry red. "Ew! Don't touch my hair! Only Daddy and Y/N can touch me!" He swiped at Cassian’s hand with his tiny fist. "She’s not dancing with you. She’s our Y/N. Go away, you mean man!"

You stood there, frozen in shock, looking between the fuming five-year-old.

Cassian just laughed, reaching out to tweak Kai’s nose. "Feisty little thing, aren't you? Just like your father."

"Don't touch me!" Kai snapped. He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with indignant tears. "I’m going to Daddy!"

"Kai, wait!" you called out, reaching for his hand, but he was already a streak of charcoal-grey silk darting through the crowd toward the center of the ballroom.

Mattheo was mid-conversation with a high-ranking Ministry official when a small, angry force slammed into his legs he he excused himself, then He looked down, his expression shifting from cold professional to concerned in an instant. "Kai? What on earth has gotten you this angry?"

Kai looked up, his face flushed. "Daddy, do you like your cousin Cassian?"

Mattheo’s eyes darkened. "No. Not particularly."

"Good," Kai said firmly, crossing his arms. "Because we have to kill him."

Theo, who had been standing nearby sipping champagne, choked on his drink, coughing violently. "Fucking hell," he wheezed, wiping his mouth. "As if one Mattheo wasn't enough to handle. Now we have two. How are we supposed to survive this?"

"Language, Theo," Mattheo said automatically, though his gaze was fixed on Kai. "Why are we killing Cassian?"

"Because he’s mean! And he’s ugly!" Kai shouted. "And he’s a bastard!"

The silence that followed was absolute. Theo’s jaw dropped. Mattheo’s entire body went rigid, a dangerous, icy stillness settling over him.

"Kai," Mattheo said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register. "Where did you hear that word?"

"Your ugly cousin!" Kai pointed back toward the corner where you were standing. "He said you were a lucky bastard. What does it mean, Daddy? Does it mean you’re lucky because you have me and Y/N? Because he said he wants to dance with her later! He called her beautiful and he was looking at her all weird! You have to stop him!"

Theo let out a low whistle, leaning toward Mattheo. "Well? Are you going to let him dance with her?"

Mattheo didn't answer. He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto Cassian with a look that would have withered a forest.

Back at the sculpture, Cassian was still hovering, seemingly oblivious to the death warrant Kai had just signed for him.

"I’m honestly glad Mattheo is finally letting someone in," Cassian said, his voice dropping to a more serious, conspiratorial tone. "Especially after everything that happened."

You felt a prickle of unease. "What happened?"

"I mean, with Kai’s mother," he said casually.

Your heart dropped. You took a sudden, sharp sip of your juice, the cold liquid barely registering. "Mattheo... doesn't talk about it."

"He didn't tell you, did he?" Cassian smirked, leaning in. "You’re doing a great job, Y/N. Truly. The boy really needed a mother figure. It wasn't his fault, of course, growing up with a dead mother."

Dead.

The word echoed in your head like a gong. You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You’d spent months wondering if she had left, if she was hiding, if Mattheo had driven her away—but the reality of it being final, being death, made your vision blur for a second.

"Is everything alright, cousin?"

Mattheo’s voice appeared out of the shadows, cutting through Cassian’s smugness like a blade. He stepped between you and Cassian, his presence overwhelming.

"I assume you've spent enough of your night here," Mattheo said, his eyes fixed on Cassian with a lethal intensity. "The bar is on the other side of the room. I suggest you find it before I find a reason to escort you out myself."

Cassian held up his hands, that irritating smirk still on his face. "Just being friendly, Mattheo. Goodnight, Y/N."

As Cassian walked away, Mattheo turned to you. His hand went to the small of your back, pulling you slightly closer. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing," you whispered, your voice shaking.

"I can see your face, Y/N. It changed. What did he say?"

"It’s just the noise," you lied, looking down at your shoes. "Nothing else. Just the noise of the party."

Mattheo didn't look convinced. He searched your eyes, his thumb tracing a small circle on your waist. Suddenly, the orchestra began to play a slow, haunting waltz. The lights dimmed, and couples began to move toward the center of the floor.

"Dance with me," Mattheo said.

You looked up, shocked. "What? Mattheo, everyone is watching. You said—"

"I don't care what I said," he rasped. He stepped into your space, his hand sliding from your waist to take yours, his fingers intertwining with yours. His other hand settled firmly on the small of your back, drawing you flush against him.

He didn’t wait for your permission; he simply drew you into the center of the gilded circle. One of his hands splayed firmly against the small of your back, his touch searing even through the fabric of your dress, while the other encased your hand in a grip that was both protective and unyielding.

You felt like a bird trapped in a storm. Your heart was hammering against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could feel it.

"I’m a bad dancer, Mattheo," you whispered, your eyes fixed on the silver buttons of his waistcoat because looking into his dark, intense gaze felt too dangerous. "I’m going to trip over your boots."

"You’re doing just fine," he rasped, his voice a low vibration near your ear. "Just follow my lead. I won't let you fall."

"Everyone is watching," you muttered, catching the glint of a dozen pairs of eyes—vultures in silk—tracking your every move. "I look ridiculous, they’re whispering, Mattheo. I can hear them."

"Let them whisper," he countered, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, pulling you an inch closer. The scent of him—woodsmoke, expensive ink, and the cold night air—swirled around you. "You don't look ridiculous. You look beautiful. More than anyone in this room."

For a moment, his words caught you off guard. He was being so steady, his movements fluid and graceful, the tension was a wire stretched to the breaking point.

You looked up then, the emerald eyes of the serpent at your throat catching the candlelight. The shock of what Cassian had said—about the "mark" and the "dead mother"—boiled over.

"Why did you really put this necklace around my neck, Mattheo?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and hurt. "Cassian said it’s a 'Keep Off' sign. He said it means I’m—"

The softness in his eyes vanished instantly. The mask of the cold, arrogant Riddle heir slammed back into place. He hated being questioned, especially when his own vulnerability had been exposed.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Y/N," he said, his voice turning icy and sharp, cutting through the romantic swell of the violins. "It’s a security measure. Nothing more. I have enough enemies in this room without having to worry about some bored aristocrat trying his luck."

"So it's for my safety?" you challenged, your eyes stinging.

"It's for my convenience," he snapped, his lip curling into a cruel, defensive smirk. "I just can’t risk you doing something stupid or getting compromised. I’m a busy man; I don’t have the time or the patience to go out and look for a new nanny because you were too naive to handle a party."

The words hit you like a physical slap. The "nanny." The "convenience."

"You are such a dick, Mattheo," you hissed, your voice thick with sudden rage. "A complete and utter dick."

"And you are an employee," he retorted, though his eyes flared with a brief flash of something that looked like regret before he smothered it. "Remember your place."

The final notes of the waltz drifted into the air. The moment the music stopped, you wrenched your hand from his, the heat of his touch now feeling like a burn. You didn't wait for him to offer an arm or a polite word. You turned on your heel and marched back toward the edge of the ballroom.

Thankfully, you found Kai rubbing his eyes near Theo, his small shoulders drooping with exhaustion.

"Do you want to go, Kai?" you asked, your voice tight as you reached for his hand.

The little boy nodded sleepily, leaning his head against your hip. "Yes. I’m tired."

"Let’s go home," you said, pointedly ignoring Mattheo as he watched you from the dance floor.

You didn't look back once as you led Kai out of the golden light and back into the shadows of the manor, the silver snake at your neck feeling like a heavy, cold shackle.

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@bookies16

You're standing in the doorway of the dimly lit room, the glow of Sukuna's gaming setup casting flickering shadows across the walls. The sound of gunfire and his friends' voices blaring from the headset fills the air as he hunches over the controller, completely absorbed in the screen. You've had enough of waiting around while he ignores you, so you march in, hands on your hips.

"Ryomen," you say firmly, stepping closer to the couch where he's sprawled out. "Mute it. Now."

He glances up at you, one eyebrow arched, but he doesn't pause the game. His fingers fly over the buttons, and he mutters into the mic, "Hold up, guys—one sec." Then he taps a button, silencing the chaos from his headset. His crimson eyes lock onto yours. "What is it?"

"Enough," you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "You've been playing for so long. I want your attention. All of it. On me."

Sukuna chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating through the room. Without a word, he reaches out with one massive hand, grabbing your wrist and yanking you forward. You stumble into him, and before you can protest, he's pulling you onto his lap, settling you right against his broad chest. His free arm wraps around your waist, holding you in place as he picks up the controller again, unmuting the headset with a quick flick.

"Back in a bit, idiots," he says to his friends, then focuses on the screen. But you're not done. You're still annoyed, squirming a little on his thighs, feeling the heat of his body seeping through your clothes.

"Give me attention," you whine, turning your face toward his. You lean in, trying to capture his lips with yours, desperate for his attention.

He pulls back just enough to dodge the kiss, his head tilting away while his eyes stay glued to the game. "Not now," he says casually, thumbs mashing buttons.

You pout, your hands pressing against his shoulders. "You're so mean."

That smirk widens into a full grin, all teeth and mischief. He glances at you sidelong, his voice dropping to a teasing growl. "If you want it so bad, help yourself, brat. Go on."

Your breath catches as you feel it—the growing hardness pressing up against you from beneath his pants. His cock is thickening, straining against the fabric as your weight shifts on his lap. You moan softly, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. "Oh fuck," you gasp, your annoyance melting into needy heat.

He shifts beneath you, adjusting his hips so you're positioned perfectly—straddling one of his thick thighs, your pussy aligned right over the bulge in his jeans. The friction is immediate and teasing, his hard length rubbing against your clothed folds through your thin shorts. He doesn't stop playing, but his grip on your waist tightens, guiding you subtly.

"Get what you want, baby," he murmurs, his voice husky over the game's audio. "While I finish this game. Make it quick."

You bite your lip, heat flooding your cheeks as you start to move. Your hips rock forward tentatively at first, grinding down on his thigh and that rigid cock outline. The pressure builds fast, your clit throbbing against the seam of your shorts. "Ryomen..." you whimper, hands clutching his shirt.

"That's it," he praises, not even looking away from the screen. One hand stays on the controller, the other slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair to tilt your head. "Ride it like you mean it. Show me how desperate you are."

Emboldened by his words, you pick up the pace, rolling your hips in a steady rhythm. Each grind presses his hardness right against your aching pussy, the fabric barrier only heightening the tease. You can feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties, the slickness making every slide smoother, hotter. "Feels so good," you moan, your voice breathy. "You’re so hard for me."

He laughs, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrates up through his body into yours. "Damn right it is. Keep going, brat. You're not done till I say."

Your movements grow more frantic, chasing that building pressure. You lean forward, forehead resting against his shoulder as you hump against him shamelessly, the couch creaking under the motion. His friends' voices chatter in his ear, but he ignores them, focusing on the way your body writhes on his lap. "Fuck, you're soaked already," he observes, his free hand slipping down to squeeze your ass, urging you harder. "Grind that pretty pussy on me."

"Sukuna, please," you beg, your breaths coming in pants. The friction is intense now, your clit swollen and sensitive, every roll sending sparks up your spine. "I need more... touch me."

"Nah," he denies, smirking as he dodges an in-game attack. "If you want my attention you will have to earn it."

You whine, but it only spurs you on. Your hips buck wildly, dry humping his thigh and cock with abandon. The heat builds to a fever pitch, your walls clenching around nothing as pleasure coils tight in your belly. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"

"Do it," he commands. "Cum on my lap like the needy little thing you are."

That pushes you over the edge. Your body tenses, and you cry out, a sharp scream tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashes through you. "Sukuna! Fuck!" Waves of ecstasy pulse through your pussy, soaking your shorts even more as you tremble on him, grinding through the aftershocks.

He finally pauses the game

His hand strokes your back soothingly as you catch your breath, still perched on his lap. "Good girl," he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. "Now, about that attention you wanted..."

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the tall manor windows felt almost too bright for the heaviness still lingering in the house. You found Mattheo in the breakfast nook, a cup of black coffee in his hand, staring out at the mist-covered grounds. He looked like he hadn't slept a wink, his eyes tracing the horizon as if looking for an enemy that wasn't there.

"He’s awake," you said softly, coming to stand beside him. "But he’s scared, Mattheo. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, and he won’t come down. He think’s he’s lost you."

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping to his coffee. "Maybe it's better if he stays up there for a bit. If I go in there, I might just remind him of why he was shouting in the first place."

"No," you insisted, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Go talk to him. He doesn't have the words to fix this on his own. It’s eating him alive that he made you upset. Please... go to him. I’ll be right there behind you if you need me."

Mattheo took a long, shaky breath and stood up. "I’ll handle this," he said, though his voice lacked its usual steel.

You followed him up the stairs to Kai's room. When Mattheo pushed the door open, the sight was heartbreaking. Kai was huddled at his small desk, clutching a green crayon so hard his knuckles were white, staring down at a coloring book but not actually drawing.

As Mattheo stepped inside, Kai’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide, swimming with instant tears, but he quickly looked back down at the floor, his small shoulders hunching up toward his ears.

Mattheo walked over, and sat on the edge of the small chair beside the boy. The silence was thick until Kai’s small, trembling voice broke it.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Kai," Mattheo replied, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

"Did you... did you read my letter?" Kai whispered, his bottom lip wobbling. "I wrote it all by myself. Every letter. And I drew the picture of us holding hands. Did Y/N give it to you?"

"She did," Mattheo said, reaching out to tilt Kai’s chin up so they were eye-to-eye. "I read every word. I have it right here in my pocket."

Kai looked at him, a tear finally spilling over and rolling down his cheek. "I’m the worst son ever. I said I didn't want your name. I said I didn't want you. I'm a monster boy."

Mattheo’s expression shattered for a second before a beautiful, sad smile touched his lips. He reached out, his large hand gently smoothing back Kai’s dark, messy curls—the same curls he had himself.

"No," Mattheo whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You aren't a monster, Kai. And you aren't a bad son. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are the best son in the whole wide world."

"But I get so angry," Kai sobbed, finally dropping the crayon and throwing his arms around his father’s neck. "I get hot and I want to break things and I hurt your feelings! I'm a bad, bad boy sometimes!"

Mattheo pulled him into his lap, tucking the boy's head under his chin, holding him with a fierce, desperate protectiveness. "So am I, Kai," Mattheo murmured into his hair. "I get angry too. I say things I don't mean, and I break things I should protect. We both have a little bit of a storm inside us. But that doesn't mean we aren't good."

Kai pulled back just enough to look at Mattheo’s face. "You aren't mad? You don't want a different boy?"

"Never," Mattheo said, wiping Kai’s tears away with his thumb. "Not in a hundred lifetimes. You’re a Riddle, Kai."

Kai clung to Mattheo’s neck, his small fingers digging into the dark fabric of Mattheo’s shirt as if he were afraid his father might vanish if he let go. The room.

"I’m sorry about Mommy," Kai whispered, his voice tiny and muffled against Mattheo’s shoulder. "I won’t ask about her ever again, Daddy. I promise. I don’t need her to come back. I only want you and Y/N. You’re my family."

Mattheo’s eyes closed tightly, a flash of raw pain crossing his face at the mention of the woman.

He squeezed Kai tighter, his hand resting protectively on the back of the boy's head. "Kai, you don't have to promise that. You can always ask me things."

"But I don't want you to hurt," Kai pulled back, his eyes searching Mattheo’s. "I tell Y/N every day how great you are. I tell her you’re the strongest wizard and you can make the stars stay up and you’re the best at everything!"

"Oh, do you now? You've been my little wingman while I’m not looking?"

"Yes!" Kai nodded, his dark curls bouncing. "Because I want her to love you! I want her to love you as much as I do."

Mattheo’s jaw practically hit the floor. "Kai... that’s... you shouldn't say that."

"But she need to!" Kai insisted. "When she love you, we can be a big, big family. And we won't be lonely in this big house anymore."

Mattheo cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, and gave Kai a small, playful squeeze. "Now, since you’ve decided to be a matchmaker, I suppose I should tell you the news. How would you feel about attend with me the big Gala?"

Kai’s eyes went wide "The castle party? With the robes and the magic music?"

"The very one," Mattheo added, "Y/N is taking you shopping today. You’re going to get a suit. And whatever else you want."

Kai let out a squeal of pure, unadulterated joy, throwing himself back into Mattheo’s arms. He buried his face in Mattheo’s neck, his small hands squeezing as tight as they could. "I promise, Daddy! I promise on my magic! I will never say the mean words again. I’ll never do anything to hurt you. You’re my bestest friend in the whole world."

Mattheo’s eyes shimmered with a rare, crystalline moisture. He didn’t just hug Kai back; he pulled him in like the boy was his only lifeline in a storm."You’re my bestest friend in the whole world."

An hour later, you were in the heart of Wizarding London, though you’d opted for the higher-end Muggle districts first to find Kai a suit that didn't look like a set of old-fashioned robes. Kai was a whirlwind of energy, skipping between the racks of velvet and silk, pointing at everything that sparked.

"Y/N! Look! A tie with little lions! Do you think Daddy likes lions? Or should I get the snake one?"

You laughed, chasing after him. "I think your dad is a snake man through and through, Kai. But maybe we go with classic Black so you look like a little gentleman."

As you were holding up a miniature charcoal blazer against Kai’s chest, your phone—began to vibrate violently in your pocket.

You sighed, a smirk playing on your lips. You answered it on the third ring. "The world hasn't ended yet, Mattheo. I checked five minutes ago."

"Are the guards in sight?" Mattheo’s voice came through, low and sounding like he was pacing his office.

"Mattheo," you said, rolling your eyes while Kai tried to put a pair of oversized sunglasses on a mannequin. "Please stop being worried. We are perfectly fine. No one has kidnapped us, no one is staring, and Kai is currently trying to start a fight with a plastic statue. We’re safe."

"I don't like the 'fine' tone," he muttered. "You’re too relaxed. It makes me nervous."

"That’s just your natural state of being," you teased, your voice softening. "He’s happy, Mattheo. He’s actually glowing. You did a good thing this morning. Try to sit down and breathe"

There was a long pause on the other end. You could almost hear him leaning his head against the wall.

"Now, hang up. I’m about to spend an ungodly amount of your gold on a tiny pair of Italian leather shoes."

"Buy the whole store for all I care," he said, and you could practically hear the small, tired smile in his voice. "Just bring him—and yourself—back to me in one piece."

"Always. Bye, Mattheo."

"Bye."

You tucked the phone away, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the shop's heating. Kai ran over, holding a tiny silk bowtie.

--—

Kai didn't even wait for the guards to close the heavy oak doors before he was sprinting toward the drawing room where Mattheo stood waiting, looking like he’d aged five years in the six hours you’d been gone.

"Daddy! Daddy! Look at my bags! I have a suit with a shiny button."

Kai shouted, throwing himself at Mattheo’s legs. He spent the next ten minutes in a breathless whirlwind, explaining every mannequin, every street performer, and the exact flavor of the ice cream he’d convinced you to buy him.

"Wait!" Kai suddenly gasped, his eyes going wide. "I forgot! I got the green dinosaurs with the spikes! I have to go put them on my bed so they can guard the room!"

He scrambled up, grabbing a small shopping bag and bolting toward the stairs. "I’ll be right back!"

As his footsteps faded into the upper corridor, a heavy, quiet stillness settled over the room. You turned to Mattheo, who was still standing by the fireplace, his arms crossed over his chest.

"You see?" you said, a small, triumphant smirk tugging at your lips. "The world didn't end. No Death Eaters in the department store, no international incidents."

"You’re late by ten minutes,"

"Traffic," you lied easily. "And a very stubborn five-year-old who insisted on greeting every dog we passed."

"Sit," Mattheo said, gesturing to the velvet armchair opposite him. His tone shifted. "We need to talk. About tomorrow."

You sat, sensing the shift in the air. "The Gala."

"The Gala," he repeated. "It isn't a party, Y/N. It’s a battlefield dressed in silk. The people there... they are vipers. They will smile at you while they try to figure out exactly where to twist the knife. You stay at Kai’s side. You do not leave him, not for a second."

He leaned forward, his dark eyes burning with an intense, protective fire. "You are to speak to no one unless I am standing beside you. If a Lord or a Ministry official approaches you, give them nothing but polite silence. And under no circumstances," he paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "do you let anyone lead you into the gardens or the private wings of the estate. The shadows there aren't just shadows."

You felt a chill run down your spine. "Mattheo, you’re making it sound like we’re walking into a trap."

"For me, it always is," he admitted, his gaze drifting to the door where Kai had disappeared. "They will try to look for him in the boy’s eyes. You tell me if something feels wrong. If someone looks at you the wrong way, if a word feels like a threat—you tell me immediately. You don't trust anyone in that room. Not the hosts, not the guests. You trust no one but me and Theo. Do you understand?"

He reached out, his hand hovering near yours as if he wanted to take it but didn't quite dare. "Promise me, Y/N."

You reached out and covered his hand with yours, your fingers warm against his skin.

"I promise, Mattheo. I won't leave his side, and I won't trust anyone but you."

The night was a marathon of "what-ifs." The shadows in your room seemed to twist into the shapes of the people Mattheo described—vipers in silk, whispers in the dark.

Below, the manor had come alive with a frantic, rhythmic energy. You could hear the muffled thud of furniture being moved, the sharp crack of house-elves appearing and disappearing, and the distant, cold clinking of crystal. Every sound made your stomach do a nervous somersault. Dressing up felt like putting on armor that was far too thin for the battle ahead.

You were adjusting the strap of your dress, your hands trembling slightly, when the door burst open.

"Y/N! Look! Look at me!"

Kai skidded into the room, beaming. He looked impossibly small and incredibly grown-up in his charcoal-black suit, his tiny silk bowtie slightly crooked.

"Oh, my handsome boy," you breathed, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. You reached out, straightening his tie.

"You look like a princess," Kai countered, his eyes wide with wonder as he took in your appearance. He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight hug. "You're the prettiest girl in the whole world. Daddy said we can go downstairs as soon as you're ready. Everyone is starting to come!"

You sank to your knees, level with his face, and took his small hands in yours. "Kai, listen to me. I need you to promise me something. Do not leave my sight tonight. Not for a second. We stay together, okay, baby?"

Kai nodded, his expression mimicking your seriousness. "I promise."

A sharp, firm knock echoed through the room. The door pushed open, and Mattheo stepped in. He was already in his formal black suit.

He stopped dead for a heartbeat when his eyes landed on you, his gaze sweeping from your hair down to the hem of your dress. A flicker of something intense and unreadable crossed his face before he regained his mask.

"I was looking for Kai," he said.

"We were just chatting for a second," you said, standing up and smoothing your skirt. "We’ll be down in a moment."

Mattheo nodded, his eyes lingering on yours. "You remember what I said?"

You offered him a small, reassuring smile. "I do, Mattheo. No need to worry. I’ve got him."

"Kai," Mattheo said, ruffling the boy's hair. "Why don't you go show Uncle Theo your suit? He was looking for you."

"Okay!" Kai chirped, bolting out of the room with a final wave.

You felt exposed under Mattheo's gaze. You hugged your arms across your chest, a nervous habit. "The house sounds busy," you managed to say.

Mattheo didn't answer. He walked closer, the scent of his expensive cologne moving with him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet-lined box.

"What is that?" you asked, looking down at it.

"I need you to wear this today," he said. He flipped the lid open.

Inside lay a necklace of intricate, blackened silver. It was a serpent, its body coiled in a delicate, lethal circle, its eyes made of two tiny, glowing emeralds that seemed to pulse with a life of their own. The craftsmanship was ancient and heavy with magic.

"It’s beautiful," you whispered, reaching out to touch the cool metal. You looked up at him, but he wasn't looking at the necklace; he was looking at the line of your throat. "But why?"

"It’s important," he said shortly.

"Important for what? Is it a protection charm? Is it—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, his voice dropping into that dangerous, commanding register that usually silenced a room. "Stop with the questions. Just wear it."

You rolled your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks was undeniable. "Fine."

"Turn around," he commanded.

You obeyed, your heart hammering against your ribs. You felt his presence right behind you—the heat radiating from his chest against your back. He reached forward, his fingers cool as he brushed your hair to the side. His touch lingered on the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a jolt of electricity through your entire frame. You could feel his steady, warm breath against your ear.

You closed your eyes, your head tilting slightly as he worked the clasp. His fingers were surprisingly steady for a man who had been pacing all night. The weight of the silver serpent settled against your collarbone, feeling strangely like a brand.

He didn't move away. He stayed right there, his hands still resting lightly on your shoulders.

"Did you change your perfume?" he murmured, his voice sounding closer than before.

You opened your eyes, your breath hitching. "Uhh... yes. Is it bad?"

"No," he rasped. "It isn't bad."

The tension in the room was a living thing—thick, suffocating, and terrifyingly sweet. For a second, you thought he might turn you around and bridge the final inch between you. You could feel the pull of him, the gravity of a man who usually pushed the world away.

Then, he abruptly stepped back, the spell breaking with the cold air that rushed between you.

"Don't keep Kai waiting," he said, his voice regaining its sharp. "Theo is probably teaching him how to pickpocket the Ministry officials by now."

You nodded, unable to find your voice, and hurried toward the door. As you walked out, the emerald eyes of the snake at your throat felt like they were watching.

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The flight back had been quiet.

Too quiet.

Three days had passed since that night in his room.

Three days of avoiding each other.

You stayed on one side of the house.

Mattheo stayed on the other.

Every conversation was short. Careful. Necessary.

Neither of you mentioned what had almost happened against that table.

It hung between you anyway.

You find Kai sitting on the rug in the library, staring blankly at a set of moving Quidditch figures. He isn't playing; he’s just watching them fly in circles.

"Hey, Kai," you say softly, crouching down. "Do you want to go fly your broom? Or maybe we can put on that Muggle cartoon you like?"

Kai doesn't even look up. "No, thank you." His voice is small, devoid of its usual spark.

"How about we build a big fort? We can use the heavy velvet cushions from the drawing room."

"I don't want to play," he whispers, his lip trembling.

You heart aches for him. You reach out, brushing a stray dark curl—so like his father's—off his forehead. "What if we cooked something together? Just you and me. Anything you want."

Finally, he looks at you, his dark eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Can we... can we make the cheesy pasta? The yellow one?"

"Mac and cheese? Absolutely, Kai. Let's go."

In the kitchen, you pull a stool up to the counter so he can reach. You let him do the important jobs—pouring the dry pasta into the pot (and ignoring the handful that bounces onto the floor) and stirring the thick, gooey cheese sauce until his little arm gets tired. For a moment, the tension breaks. He licks a wooden spoon, a tiny smudge of cheese landing on his nose, and he offers you a microscopic smile.

“It smells good,” he said.

“That’s because Chef Kai made it.”

A few minutes later you both sat at the kitchen table with bowls of steaming mac and cheese.

Kai kicked his legs under the chair happily as he took a big bite.

That’s when footsteps entered the kitchen.

Mattheo.

He paused when he saw the two of you at the table.

For a second his eyes softened slightly.

Then he looked at Kai.

“Hey, kid.”

Kai didn’t look up.

He just kept eating.

Mattheo frowned a little.

“Kai?”

Nothing.

You shifted slightly in your chair.

“Kai, Daddy’s talking to you.”

Kai’s spoon scraped loudly against the bowl.

Then he muttered quietly,

“I heard him.”

Mattheo’s brows pulled together.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kai shrugged.

Mattheo stepped closer to the table.

“You going to say hello or what?”

Kai finally looked up.

But not kindly.

“Why can’t I be like everyone else?”

The question came out suddenly.

Sharp.

Both you and Mattheo froze.

“What do you mean?” Mattheo asked.

Kai’s small hands clenched on the table.

“Everyone has friends.”

“You have friends,” Mattheo said.

“No I don’t!”

The shout startled both of you.

Kai’s voice cracked.

“Yes you do,” Mattheo insisted, his tone tightening.

“No! Because you won’t let me go anywhere!”

You stepped in gently.

“Kai, hey, let’s calm down—”

But Kai shook his head hard.

“Other kids go places!” he said, his little face red now. “They go to school and play and sleep at their friends’ houses!”

“You don’t need to—”

“Yes I do!”

“Kai,” you said softly, reaching for his hand.

He pulled it away.

“And I don’t have a mom,” he continued, his voice getting smaller but angrier at the same time. “And now I can’t even go to Hogwarts!”

The room went still.

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed.

“Who told you that?”

Kai sniffed loudly.

“I heard you talking to Uncle Theo.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that conversation.”

“You said I can’t go!” Kai shouted.

“You’re too young.”

“But other kids go!”

“No they don’t.”

"I don't like you!" He screams, the volume shocking in the quiet room. He looks up now, his face flushed bright red. "I don't want to look at your face! Go away!"

Mattheo flinches as if he’s been hit with a physical curse. "Don't speak to me like that."

Kai suddenly pushed his bowl away.

Mac and cheese sloshed across the table.

“You won’t let me do anything!” he cried.

You stepped between them.

“Kai, sweetie—”

“No!” he shouted again.

His small hands grabbed the plate and hurled it to the floor.

It shattered loudly.

“Kai!” you gasped.

He knocked over his cup next.

Then another plate.

Crash.

Crash.

“You never let me go anywhere!” he cried.

Mattheo’s face had gone pale.

“Kai, stop.”

“I hate you!” Kai yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I don’t want you!”

The words hit the room like a bomb.

Mattheo froze.

You grabbed Kai’s shoulders gently.

“Kai, hey—hey—”

But the boy was sobbing now.

“I want to go to Hogwarts! I want friends! I want a mom!”

Mattheo looked like someone had punched him in the chest.

His voice came out quiet.

“You think I’m doing this to hurt you?”

Kai sniffled loudly.

“You don’t let me have anything.”

Your heart broke watching both of them.

"You're a mean man!" Kai wails, jumping down from his stool. "Why can't I be like the other kids? Why am I always alone? I don't have a mommy, and I don't have any friends to play with because you say everyone is 'dangerous'! It's because of you! You make me stay in this big, scary house!"

"I am keeping you safe!" Mattheo roars back, his own pain boiling over into anger. "You don't understand the world, Kai. You are a child!"

"I hate it here! I hate you!"

“Kai,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug despite his struggling.

Kai cried harder.

Mattheo didn’t move.

Just stood there staring at the broken plate on the floor.

Kai is sobbing now, deep, hiccupping gasps that break your heart. "I heard you! I heard you talking to Uncle Theo! You said... you said I can't go to Hogwarts! You said you’re gonna keep me here forever so nobody can see me!"

Mattheo pales, his breath hitching. "Kai, that isn't... I was trying to protect—"

"You're a liar!" Kai shrieked, grabbing a chair and trying to push it over with his small strength. "I want a different daddy! I want to go to the school with the owls and the magic, but you're mean and you want me to be sad! I wish I wasn't your boy!"

The words hit Mattheo like a Sectumsempra to the chest. He staggers back, his face turning a ghostly shade of white. To hear those words—I wish I wasn't your boy—from the only person he truly loves in the world is a soul-shattering blow.

"Kai, you don't mean that," you whisper, trying to pull the screaming five-year-old into a hug, but he’s a whirlwind of grief and rage, kicking at the air.

"I do! I do mean it!" Kai screams, tears streaming down his face as he looks at Mattheo with pure, unfiltered heartbreak. "You're a monster man! Leave me alone! I don't want you!"

Mattheo stands there, paralyzed, watching his son break things, watching the boy he would kill for look at him with genuine loathing. The room is a mess of broken glass and wasted food, a physical manifestation of the family falling apart.

"I don't want to be a Riddle!" Kai screams, his tiny chest heaving under his striped shirt. "I don't want your name! It's a bad name! Everyone looks at me like I'm a monster because I look like you!"

Mattheo flinches, his hand gripping the edge of the marble island so hard his knuckles are white. "You don't know what you're saying."

"I do! I do know!" Kai yells, his voice cracking with a high-pitched, innocent desperation that makes the words cut deeper. "You're the worstest dad in the whole world! You're a mean, scary man and I wish... I wish I lived with someone else! I wish I was anyone but yours!"

"Kai, that is enough!" You finally snap, stepping between them. The air is thick with their shared rage. "I said enough. You do not speak to your father that way, do you understand me?"

Kai looks up at you, his big, dark eyes swimming in tears, his face blotchy and red. "Why do you take his side? He’s mean! He won't let me go to school! He won't let me have friends!" Then, his voice drops to a painful, trembling whisper. "Is that why Mommy isn't here? Did she leave because he was mean to her too? Did she run away because he kept saying 'no' to her? I bet she's gone because of him! I wish she was here and you were gone!"

The silence that follows is absolute. It’s a physical weight. Mattheo looks like he’s been struck by a Killing Curse—stiff, pale, and hollowed out.

"Get out," Mattheo whispers, though it's unclear if he's talking to Kai or himself.

"No!" Kai yells, throwing a heavy silver spoon at his father's feet. "I'm going to my room and I'm locking the door and I'm never coming out until I'm a big man and I can fly away from you!"

He turns and bolts out of the kitchen, his small footsteps echoing down the hall followed by the sound of a door slamming so hard the portraits on the walls rattle.

You turn slowly to Mattheo. He is staring at the mess of mac and cheese and broken glass on the floor, his eyes vacant.

"Mattheo," you say softly, reaching out. "He's five. He doesn't know. He's just hurting—"

"Just go to him," Mattheo interrupts, his voice sounding like dry parchment. He won't look at you.

"No, you’re not okay," you insist, moving closer. "Mattheo, look at me."

"I said go to him!" He finally snaps his eyes to yours, and the raw, bleeding agony in them makes you gasp. "Don't let him be alone. He... he gets scared of the dark when he cries that hard. Go. Now."

"And you?"

Mattheo looks around the ruined kitchen—the shattered plates, the spilled food.

"I’ll handle this," he whispers, gesturing vaguely at the mess, though his hands are shaking uncontrollably. "I’m used to cleaning up disasters. Just... make sure he’s breathing. Make sure he knows he’s safe. Make sure he knows he’s safe."

When you reach Kai’s door, you hear the muffled, jagged sounds of a five-year-old trying to swallow his sobs.

You push the door open. The room is dark, save for the glow-in-the-dark stars Mattheo charmed onto the ceiling for him. Kai is curled into a tiny ball under his heavy emerald duvet, shaking.

"Kai?" you whisper, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Look at me."

"Go 'way," he hiccups, his voice thick with snot and tears. "I’m a bad boy. Leave me."

"You aren't a bad boy," you say, reaching out to rub his back through the blankets. "But Kai... you were so mean to your daddy today. So, so mean. Do you know how much that hurt him?"

Kai pokes his tear-streaked face out from under the covers. His bottom lip is trembling violently. "He’s mean first! He says 'no' to everything! He won't let me go to the big castle school!"

"He says 'no' because the only thing he wants in this whole wide world—the only thing—is to keep you safe. He loves you more than his own life, Kai."

"I don't want him," Kai whispers, though he grips the edge of your sleeve. "I don't want a daddy who’s sad and scary."

"You don't mean that, Kai. You know you don't."

Kai wipes his nose with his sleeve, his eyes drifting to a moving picture on his nightstand. "Was... was your daddy like mine?"

You feel a cold lump form in your throat. You think of your own past, of the shadow your father cast. "No, Kai. My daddy wasn't like yours at all. He was the worst man alive. He didn't care if I was safe, and he didn't care if I was happy. He was cold, and he was cruel because he liked it." You lean in closer, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. "But you? You have the best dad ever. He’s only 'scary' because he’s terrified of losing you. He stays up all night watching your door just to make sure you’re breathing."

The anger finally drains out of him, replaced by the crushing weight of realization. Kai’s face crumples. The "big boy" act vanishes, leaving behind a heartbroken five-year-old.

"I said... I said I didn't want to be a Riddle," Kai wails, the sound ripping through the room. "I told him I want a different daddy! Is he gonna leave me now? I want my dad! I want him! I don't want him to hate me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He starts to scramble out of bed, his little legs tangling in the sheets as he tries to run for the door, pulling him into your lap.

"Listen to me, Kai. Stay still for a minute," you say firmly, holding his small, shaking shoulders. "You need to listen. You have a lot of power in your blood, and you have a lot of your father's temper. But you cannot let your anger be a monster that bites the people who love you. When you get mad, you feel like you want to break things and say the meanest words you can find, right?"

Kai nods, his chest heaving with fresh tears.

"You have to learn to handle that fire inside you. Because words are like spells, Kai. Once you cast them, you can’t always take the sting away. Your daddy has a lot of scars, but the ones you gave him tonight are on his heart. You have to be bigger than your temper."

Kai’s small body is trembling so violently in your arms that it feels like his little heart might actually shatter inside his chest. He buries his wet face into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in jagged, terrified hitches.

"I got so scared," he wails, the sound muffled by your sweater. "I didn't mean the words, they just... they just fell out of my mouth!"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

"I hurt you," he whispers, his lip wobbling. " then I hurt Daddy. Is he leaving because I said I don't want him? Is he gonna go away like Mommy did?"

You pull him tighter, feeling the dampness of his tears soaking through your clothes. "No, Kai. He isn't going anywhere. But you have to understand the weight of what you said."

You take a deep breath, looking around the room filled with hand-carved wooden dragons and enchanted books—all gifts from a man who spent his life being hated and swore his son would only ever know love.

"Kai, look at me," you say, your voice low and steady. "Your daddy... he grew up in a world so full of hatred and decided to give you all the love despite that. Do you know how much courage that took?"

Kai sniffs, wiping his eyes with the back of a small, shaking hand. "He... said I’m his best friend ."

"Because you are his only thing," you respond.

"I want to be his best friend again."

He clutches your hand, his tiny fingers digging into your palm. "My daddy is the best at magic. He makes the stars stay on my ceiling even when the sun comes up. He holds me when I have the bad dreams about the green light. He’s... he’s my daddy. I don't want another one. I don't want anyone else. I want him."

"Then you have to tell him that," you whisper.

"Can we go now? Can we go find him? I need to tell him he's the best dad in the world before he forgets."

The walk back down the stairs is quiet, save for the soft, hitching breaths Kai takes against your shoulder. He’s clinging to you like a barnacle, his small fingers twisted into the fabric of your shirt. His eyes are fixed on the kitchen door, desperate for the sight of his father’s tall, brooding silhouette.

But when you reach the bottom, the kitchen is empty. The mess has been cleared—scoured away by a silent Evanesco—leaving the stone floors cold and clinical.

Near the hearth stands one of the manor guards, his face unreadable behind a silver mask.

"Where is he?" you ask, your heart sinking as you feel Kai stiffen in your arms.

"Master Mattheo has departed," the guard says stiffly. "He said he had matters to handle. He did not say when he would return."

Kai’s little face crumples instantly. "He left?" his voice cracks, a tiny, fragile sound in the vast room. "He left because I'm a bad boy? He doesn't want to see me anymore?"

"No, no, Kai, that’s not it," you say quickly, pulling him closer and feeling the fresh heat of his tears against your neck. "He just... he needs a little air."

"But I didn't say sorry!" Kai wails, burying his face in your hair. "Now he thinks I hate him forever!"

You carry him back up to his room. You set him down on his bed, kneeling in front of him.

"How about we write him a letter?" you suggest softly. "A special one. So when he comes home, no matter how late it is, it’s the first thing he sees."

Kai wipes his eyes with his fists, looking miserable. "But... I can’t write the big words yet. I only know 'cat' and 'Kai' and 'no.' I’m not good at it."

"I'll help you," you promise, reaching for a piece of heavy parchment and a quill from his desk. "I will hold your hand, and we will move the quill together. You just tell me what your heart wants to say."

You sit behind him on the floor, pulling him into your lap. Your larger hand closes over his small fingers, guiding the quill into the inkwell. The scratching of the nib against the parchment is the only sound in the room.

Together, you slowly guide his hand to form the shaky, uneven letters:

Dear Daddy,

I am sorry I was a mean boy. I love you more than the stars on my roof. You are the best dad. Please come home. I want to hug you.

Love, Kai.

When the words are done, Kai reaches for his enchanted crayons. With a look of intense concentration, he draws a picture at the bottom. It’s two figures—one very tall with messy dark hair, and one very small. They are holding hands. He colors a giant yellow heart around both of them.

"There," he whispers, looking at the drawing. "Now he'll know. Even if I'm sleeping."

"He'll know, Kai," you say, kissing the top of his head. "He’ll know you're his best friend."

You tuck him into bed, the letter clutched in his hand until he finally drifts into a restless sleep.

The grandfather clock in the foyer has ticked past 4:00 AM, the sound echoing through the silent, cold corridors of the manor like a heartbeat. You finally stand from the chair by Kai’s bed, your limbs stiff from the vigil. The little boy is finally deep in sleep, his chest rising and falling in a rhythmic, peaceful cadence that belies the storm of the evening. You pull his heavy emerald blankets up to his chin, tucking the edges around his small shoulders, and press a lingering, soft kiss to his forehead.

You retreat to your own room, but sleep is a ghost you can't catch. You pace the floor, your eyes drawn repeatedly to the frosted windowpane. At 4:30 AM, the dull roar of an engine cuts through the Highland silence. Below, a dark car pulls up the gravel path. Mattheo steps out, his silhouette tall and jagged against the moonlight.

You don't wait. You slip out of your room, your bare feet silent on the cold stone, and follow the shadow of him as he trudges toward his private suite. You reach his door just as it clicks shut. You knock softly—three times, a hesitant rhythm.

The door swings open. Mattheo looks wrecked. His hair is a wild mess.

"Why are you awake?" he rasps, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed glass.

"I was waiting for you," you say softly.

He stares at you for a long beat, his guard momentarily down, before he steps back to let you in. The room smells of expensive firewhisky and the cold night air. As he reaches up to rub his face, the sleeve of his shirt slips back. You gasp, catching his hand in yours. His knuckles are raw, split open and bleeding, the skin an angry, bruised red.

"Mattheo," you breathe, your heart twisting. "Hey... what happened? What did you do?"

"Nothing," he says, trying to wrench his hand away, his voice hardening. "Just go to your room. Please. I don't want to do this right now."

You shake your head, refusing to let go, your thumb gently brushing the uninjured skin of his wrist. "No. I was so worried about you. I’ve been sitting by that window for hours."

He lets out a harsh, dry laugh that doesn't reach his eyes. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Because I care about you, Mattheo. Because I was scared."

"You hate me," he says flatly, looking away from you. "Everyone in this house eventually realizes what I am. You've said it yourself. I’m pretty sure you’ve said it at least a hundred times since we got back."

"Yeah," you whisper, stepping closer until you can feel the radiating heat of his body. "I’m lying. Every time I say it, I’m lying because it’s easier than admitting how much you matter to me."

Mattheo finally looks at you.

"Why are you even here?" he asks, his voice trembling with repressed emotion.

"I’m the monster who breaks everything I touch."

"Apparently, I’m the worst man alive. My own son thinks I’m a villain in his story."

"You should be running as far away from this name as you can get."

"I don't know how to be what he needs... I don't know how to be good."

Before he can get another word out, before he can spiral further into the dark, you step into his spacecupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. Your thumbs trace the sharp line of his cheekbones, and your voice drops to a soft, melodic whisper that fills the space between you.

"He doesn't hate you, Mattheo," you murmur.

"He wrote you a letter. He drew a picture. He’s waiting for his daddy to come home."

"Mattheo, look at me. Please... just let me in Let me help you, the same way you’ve helped me a thousand times when I felt like the world was ending. You keep calling yourself a monster, but you’re the man who gave me a home. You’re the one who gave me a place where I finally felt like I belonged."

"I’m not here because I’m trapped, or because I have to be. I’m here because I want to be."

You take a shuddering breath, your voice cracking just a little.

"Kai... he didn’t mean those words. He was just drowning in all that fire he inherited, and he didn't know how to swim. But we have to face it. We need help. We need to figure out how to help him control that anger before it consumes him, because this isn't the first time it’s happened. But you don't have to do it alone anymore."

You reach into the pocket of your robe, pulling out the slightly crumpled piece of parchment that Kai spent nearly an hour perfecting.

"He wanted you to have this," you say softly, pressing the paper into his bruised hands. "He wouldn't go to sleep until he knew it was ready for you."

Mattheo unfolds the letter with a cautious, almost trembling hand. As his eyes scan the shaky, oversized letters—the "I love you" and the giant, wobbly yellow heart surrounding the two stick figures—the hard line of his jaw softens. Slowly, a genuine, lopsided smile spreads across his face.

It isn’t the smirk he uses to intimidate or the dry grin of a cynic; it’s warm, boyish, and impossibly sweet.

Looking at him then, with the moonlight hitting his curls and that rare light in his eyes, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. Without thinking, the thought escapes your lips.

"You look so cute when you smile."

The silence that follows is deafening. Mattheo’s smile vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of utter, sheer bewilderment. He freezes, the letter still held between his fingers, as he slowly turns his head to look at you.

"What?" he asks, his voice low and incredulous.

You freeze, the blood rushing to your cheeks so fast your skin feels hot. You realize exactly what you just said to the most feared man in the Wizarding World. To the man who carries the weight of a dark legacy and a terrifying temper. You called him... cute.

"I—I didn't—" you stammer, looking for an exit that doesn't exist.

"Did you," Mattheo starts, a dangerous, playful glint suddenly sparking in his dark eyes, "just call me cute?"

"It was a slip of the tongue!" you squeak, stepping back. "I meant... you looked... less like you were going to hex someone. It was an observation of your facial muscles!"

Mattheo lets out a low, huffed laugh—a real one this time—and steps into your space, the letter tucked safely against his chest. "Cute. I’ve been called a monster, a murderer, and a disappointment this week. But 'cute' is a first."

You let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound breaking the last of the heavy tension that had hung between you for days.

"Let me be your friend, Mattheo," you said, your voice barely a whisper, yet steady. "I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending that I hate your existence. It’s exhausting to fight a feeling that isn't there anymore."

Mattheo’s dark eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. "Friends?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue.

"Yes," you challenged softly, a playful tilt to your head. "Why? You don’t think we can be friends?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved. It wasn't a fast movement, but it was deliberate, closing the small gap between you until you could feel the radiating heat of his skin. The air in the room suddenly felt charged, thick with a different kind of static. He looked down at you, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"I don't think I can be your friend," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, gravelly vibration that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

You felt your heart hammer against your ribs. "Oh wow," you managed to say, trying to keep your voice light despite the sudden flutter in your stomach. "I can’t be that bad to hang out with."

"Quite the opposite, actually," he murmured.

The silence stretched, heavy and hot, until you forced yourself to break the spell. You sat down on the edge of the velvet chaise beside him, reaching for the bowl of warm water and the clean cloth you had brought.

"Would you let me clean this?" you asked, gesturing to his battered, bloody knuckles.

"I can do it myself," he muttered, though the edge was gone from his voice.

"I know you can," you countered gently, dipping the cloth into the water. "But let me help."

He sighed, a long, weary sound, and finally extended his hand, resting it in yours. As you began to dab away the dried blood with soft, meticulous strokes, he leaned his head back against the upholstery, his eyes fluttering shut.

"I had to plan a gala tonight," he said suddenly, his voice hollow. "A meeting of the 'old families.' It was... a necessary evil."

"What kind of gala?" you asked, focused on the raw skin of his hand.

"A necessary one," he grunted, flinching slightly as you cleaned a deeper cut. "Otherwise, I would have never let it happen. I don’t like it when that world gets anywhere near Kai. Or you."

"Will you let Kai attend?"

Mattheo’s eyes snapped open, sharp and cold. "Absolutely not."

"Mattheo, you can’t just lock him in his room every time the world knocks on the door," you said, looking up at him.

"He would be safe. You would be with him," he countered.

You let out a dry, incredulous breath. "Merlin, I didn’t realize you were planning to lock me up too. Should I start measuring the windows for bars?"

He looked at you, a pained expression crossing his features. "Are you going to tell me how much you hate me now, too? For wanting to keep the vultures away from you?"

"No," you said softly, setting the cloth down and taking his hand between both of yours. "But Mattheo, you need to understand... your boy is growing up. He’s almost six."

"He’s still a kid," he snapped, though there was more fear than anger in it.

"I know he is. But you have to change your way with him. You saw what happened tonight. The more you pull, the more he’s going to push until something breaks. You need to remember why I’m here, Mattheo. He ran away before. He’s looking for air, and you’re suffocating him with safety."

Mattheo closed his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Maybe I’m just a shit dad," he whispered, the admission sounding like it cost him everything. "Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m just like him. No matter how hard I try to be different, I still end up being the shadow in the room."

"I'm pretty sure you're not like your father, Mattheo. For one, you actually have hair. And a nose. And, you know... a soul."

A surprised, genuine laugh barked out of him, and you smiled, the warmth returning to the room.

"Let him attend, Mattheo," you pleaded, leaning closer. "He thinks you’re ashamed of him. He thinks he’s a secret you’re embarrassed to keep. Let him see that he belongs at your side. I swear on everything I have, I will never leave him. I will be right there the whole time."

Mattheo looked at you for a long time, his gaze softening. He reached out, his hand—now clean and bandaged—moving to push a stray lock of hair back from your forehead. His touch was unexpectedly tender.

"Okay," he whispered. "He can go."

Your eyes widened. "Wait, are you serious? Really?"

"Yes," he said, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips.

The excitement surged through you like a spark of magic. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "Thank you! Oh, he’s going to be so happy! I can’t wait to tell him—no, wait, you tell him. Tell him in the morning over breakfast."

Suddenly, the reality of what you were doing hit you. You were draped over Mattheo Riddle in the middle of the night, your heart pressed against his. You pulled back abruptly, your face flaming.

"Merlin, I—I’m sorry. I just got excited. I didn't mean to..."

You started to stand up, but you froze when Mattheo’s hand caught your wrist. With a gentle but firm tug, he pulled you back toward him. Before you could process it, his arms wrapped around you, drawing you into a deep, slow hug.

You went completely still, your breath hitching in your throat. This wasn't a quick hug of gratitude; it was grounding. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. He felt so solid, so real.

"Don't apologize," he murmured against your skin, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

"Maybe," he started, his voice a low, soothing rumble against your ear, "you and Kai could go out tomorrow. Go into the city. Get him a suit, and find something for yourself. Buy whatever you want—everything. It’s on me."

You pulled back just an inch, looking at him in surprise. "Mattheo, no. You don’t have to do that. I have plenty of things to wear_ ."

"I want to," he interrupted, his gaze softening in a way that made your chest ache.

You searched his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. "You trust me? To take him out of the manor? Out into the world?"

Mattheo reached up, his fingers lingering as he pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was hesitant, almost reverent. "Yes," he whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that felt like a vow. "I trust you. With him. With everything."

A small, genuine smile broke across your face. "Thank you, Mattheo. Truly."

"I’ll have a few of the guards follow at a distance," he added, the protective streak in him flickering back to life, though it felt less like a cage and more like a shield now. "Just to be sure. And you call me? If anything—anything at all—happens."

"I will. I promise," you said softly.

The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the air thick with everything left unsaid. Then, leaning forward, Mattheo pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm, and the gesture was so tender it made your breath catch in your throat. You froze, your heart stuttering a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

"Go back to your room, Y/N," he murmured against your skin before pulling away. "Get some sleep. You’ve had a long night."

You nodded slowly, feeling a strange, sharp pang of loss as the warmth of his embrace vanished. Your body felt heavy and cold the moment you stood up from the chaise. You walked toward the door, your hand lingering on the handle as you turned back to look at him one last time. He was still sitting there, watching you with an expression that looked remarkably like hope.

"Goodnight, Mattheo," you said softly.

"Night, Y/N," he replied.

As you walked down the darkened hallway toward your own room, the ghost of his touch stayed with you, a warm reminder that despite the broken plates and the shouted words, the walls of the manor weren't quite so high anymore.

Tag list:

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@rafessidemeal

You sift through the scattered papers on Choso's desk in his dimly lit dorm room, the faint hum of the university campus outside barely registering. The two of you have been dating for months now, stealing moments like this between classes and late-night study sessions. He's in the shower, giving you a rare chance to poke around his space—curiosity getting the better of you.

Your fingers trail over his desk, flipping through a stack of notebooks and sketches—he's always doodling, capturing the world in sharp, intense lines. One loose page catches your eye, tucked under a textbook. You pull it out, and your breath hitches.

It's a detailed drawing of a pair of breasts, rendered with such precision that it feels almost intimate, almost alive. The curve of them, the soft shading... and there, unmistakable, a small birthmark just below the left one, and dangling between them, the delicate necklace he gave you last month, the one with the tiny star pendant with his initial. Your heart races. This isn't just any sketch.

"Is this me ?" The door to the bathroom creaks open just as the question forms on your lips, and Choso steps out, towel-drying his hair. He's in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants that cling to his hips, the fabric damp and outlining the V of his pelvis. Water droplets trail down his toned chest, over the defined ridges of his abs, and you can't help but stare—he's so damn hot, His broad shoulders flex as he tosses the towel aside, oblivious at first.

"Hey, babe," he says, voice low and gravelly from the steam, a smirk tugging at his lips as he spots you on his bed. But then his eyes flick to the sketchbook in your hands, and his expression shifts—nervous, almost panicked. He crosses the room in two strides, snatching the book from your grasp. "What the hell? You going through my stuff?"

"Is this me, Choso? Be honest."

He freezes, his dark eyes widening. A flush creeps up his neck. "It's... it's nothing. Just a drawing. Give me that." He tries to play it off, but his voice wavers, and he turns slightly, like he's hiding more pages.

You stand, crossing your arms. 'Choso, I know it's me. Look—this birthmark? And the necklace you got me? It's right there. Honestly, I'd be so mad if it was some random woman's boobs.'

Choso's shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his damp hair, the bun loosening strands that frame his face. He looks so boyish in this moment, caught red-handed, but there's that underlying heat in his gaze as it drops to your chest. "Shit, Y/N... yeah, it's you. Okay? I couldn't help it. You're... fuck, you're always on my mind." He steps closer, the gray sweatpants shifting with each movement, the outline of his growing arousal already visible against the thin fabric. Before you can respond, he reaches down, his large hands gripping your waist, and pulls you effortlessly onto his lap as he sits on the bed's edge.

You straddle him instinctively, your thighs bracketing his hips, feeling the warmth of his bare skin through your shorts. His hands settle on your ass, squeezing possessively, and he leans in close, breath hot against your ear.

'Snooping through a guy's things? That’s not very nice baby,' he murmurs, 'You sneaky little thief,'

Before you can respond, his lips crash into yours. The kiss starts hungry, his tongue sliding against yours as his hands roam up your back, pulling you flush against his bare chest. You melt into it, fingers tangling in his wet hair, the heat of his body seeping through your thin shirt. He tastes like mint and something uniquely him, and you grind down slightly, feeling him harden beneath you.

His eyes darken, his grip tightening as he nips at your lower lip. 'Every time I see you, all I want is to touch them, kiss them, make you feel good just from this.' He pauses, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. 'Remember that night in my car? I had you coming undone without even taking off your pants. Just my mouth on these gorgeous tits, sucking and licking until you were shaking, begging for more. Fuck, Y/N, they're my weakness.'

Heat floods your core at the memory, your nipples hardening against the fabric. 'Yeah, I remember. You were relentless.'

'Because I can't get enough,' he growls, his hands fisting the hem of your shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he starts pushing it up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach inch by inch. The cool air of the room hits you, but his heated gaze warms everything. He doesn't rush, savoring the reveal, his fingers tracing the curve of your ribs. 'Look at you. So beautiful. I could draw you a thousand times and it wouldn't be enough.'

The shirt bunches higher, sliding over your bra, and he pauses to hook his fingers under the straps, easing them down your shoulders. 'Let me see them properly. Please.' His voice is pleading now, laced with that cheesy romance he saves just for you. 'You're my muse, Y/N. My everything starts and ends with these.'

You nod, lifting your arms to help him tug the shirt off completely, tossing it aside. Choso's breath hitches as he stares, his hands cupping your breasts gently at first, thumbs circling your nipples through the lace. 'Mine.'

He leans in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trailing down to the swell of your chest. 'I dream about them, you know. Waking up with my face buried here, feeling you arch against me.' One hand slips behind your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. His mouth descends immediately, lips wrapping around one nipple, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

You gasp, threading your fingers through his hair, holding him there. 'Choso...'

He hums against your skin, the vibration sending sparks straight to your pussy. 'Tell me if it's too much. They're so responsive, hardening just for me.' He switches to the other breast, sucking harder, his free hand kneading the one his mouth left, pinching the nipple between his fingers. 'And this necklace—' He traces the chain with his tongue before latching on again. '—it looks so fucking hot right here with my initial, drawing my eyes every time.'

Your hips rock against him instinctively, feeling his cock hardening beneath the towel. 'You're such a boob guy,' you tease breathlessly.

Choso pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his lips shiny and swollen. 'Damn right I am. Yours ruined me for anyone else. I'd worship them all night if you'd let me.' He dives back in, alternating between licks and gentle bites, his hands supporting your back as you lean into him. 'Come on, baby, let me make you feel that good again. Just like before—your pussy clenching around nothing while I fuck these tits with my mouth.'

The words push you closer to the edge, pleasure building from his devoted attention alone. He doesn't let up, murmuring praises between kisses—'So perfect,' 'Mine,' 'Can't live without them'— His obsession is palpable, turning the intimate moment into something raw and consuming, just the two of you lost in the heat of his room.

He hums against you, the vibration making you whimper. Releasing with a soft pop, he looks up, lips shiny. 'Tell me how much you like it. I want to hear you say it.'

'Love it,' you manage, voice breathy. 'Your mouth feels so good. Don't stop.'

'Never,' he promises, switching sides, lavishing attention with licks and gentle bites. His free hand roams your back, pulling you closer as he murmurs between kisses. 'They're addictive. The way they bounce when you're riding me, how they fit perfectly in my hands. I sketch them because I can't have you every second, but even that isn't enough.'

You laugh breathlessly, but it turns into a whimper as he sucks harder, the pressure building low in your belly. His obsession is palpable—the way his body trembles with restraint, hips rutting subtly against the mattress for friction. "I drew it after you left last time. Couldn't stop replaying how they felt under my hands."

He pushes your breasts together now, tongue darting between them, tracing the valley. His sweatpants are tented obscenely, pre-cum darkening the gray fabric, but he doesn't rush. Instead, he worships methodically: kisses peppered across the swells, gentle bites that leave faint marks, hands massaging until you're writhing beneath him. "Cum for me again, just like before," he urges, voice rough. "Let me feel you shake from this alone."

The intensity builds, his mouth relentless, and soon you're teetering on the edge, thighs clenching as waves of pleasure crash over you. "Choso—yes, fuck—" You shatter, body convulsing, his name a chant on your lips.

Morning arrives slowly, sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains in thin golden ribbons that stretch across the bed.

Your eyes flutter open.

For a moment you just lie there, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, your mind foggy with sleep. The soft sheets are tangled around your legs, the faint scent of salt drifting in from the open balcony door.

Then it hits you.

You push yourself up on your elbows, blinking.

Your room.

You look down at yourself, at the blanket tucked neatly around you, at the shoes that are no longer on your feet.

A memory flickers.

The car.

His jacket around your shoulders.

The quiet hum of the road.

Your brows knit together slowly.

…Did I fall asleep?

You sit up fully now, running a hand through your messy hair as realization creeps in.

He carried you.

Mattheo carried you upstairs and put you in bed.

You stare at the door for a second longer before a small smile slips across your face—soft, reluctant, almost shy.

Idiot_you murmur under your breath, though the warmth in your chest betrays the insult.

---

The shower helps clear your head.

Hot water cascades down your shoulders, steam fogging the mirror while you stand there longer than necessary, letting the tension from yesterday melt away little by little.

By the time you step out, wrap a towel around yourself, and get dressed, the house is still quiet.

Too quiet.

The early morning light paints the hallway pale gold as you head downstairs.

Kai is probably still asleep.

The thought makes your chest tighten slightly.

You’ll apologize again today. You have to.

---

The kitchen smells faintly of espresso beans and polished marble.

You move around comfortably enough now—grabbing a mug, filling the machine, waiting for the slow drip of coffee to begin.

But the feeling starts before the first drop hits the cup.

Eyes.

Watching.

You glance toward the doorway.

Two guards stand there.

Not unusual.

What is unusual is the way their attention follows every step you take.

When you move to the counter — they shift slightly.

When you open the cabinet — they glance at each other.

When you walk toward the fridge — one subtly adjusts his position.

Your lips press together.

You pour the coffee slowly, then turn.

“Okay.”

Both men stiffen slightly.

You walk right up to one of them.

“What's going on?” you ask plainly. “Why are you following me?”

Silence.

The man looks straight ahead like you didn’t say anything at all.

You blink once.

Twice.

“…Seriously?”

Still nothing.

You sigh heavily and rub your temple.

“Of course,” you mutter. “Mattheo.”

You grab your coffee and head upstairs again.

---

His bedroom door is closed.

You knock twice.

“Mattheo?”

No answer.

You open it.

Empty.

The bed is made, the balcony doors open slightly, the room carrying that faint scent of his cologne.

Your eyes narrow.

“Great.”

You turn down the hall, walking until you reach the last door on the right.

The gym.

You push it open.

And immediately scream.

“MERLIN—!”

You spin around so fast you nearly drop your coffee.

Behind you—

Mattheo stands a few feet away.

Very shirtless.

Gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a towel draped lazily over his shoulder, his dark hair damp like he’s just stepped out of the shower.

Your heart nearly punches through your ribs.

He raises an eyebrow slowly.

“Well,” he drawls, voice rough with morning sleep and amusement, “good morning to you too.”

You glare at the wall, refusing to look directly at him.

“Why are you like that this early?”

“Like what?” he asks innocently.

“Half naked!”

He glances down at himself.

“Well I’m not gonna work out with a suit.”

Your eyes flick toward him before you can stop them.

That was a mistake.

Water droplets still cling to his skin, sliding lazily down his chest, disappearing into the waistband of his sweatpants.

You immediately turn away again.

“you are so annoying.”

He chuckles quietly.

“You came into my gym.”

“I was looking for you!”

“Congratulations. You found me.”

You cross your arms, glaring over your shoulder now.

“Why are your guards following me?”

He tilts his head thoughtfully, pretending to consider the question.

“…Because you ran away last night.”

“I did not run away,” you snap. “I left. Big difference.”

He shrugs, completely unfazed, leaning casually against the weight rack.

“Call it whatever you want. Looked like running from where I was standing.”

You narrow your eyes.

“Am I your prisoner now?”

A smile spreads across his face.

“Prisoners don’t get coffee in the morning,” he says calmly.

“That’s not an answer.”

He pushes himself off the rack, walking toward you slowly.

Barefoot.

Quiet.

Too confident.

“It’s about safety.”

You scoff.

“For who?”

He stops a step away now, towering over you slightly.

“For both of you.”

Your brow furrows.

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

His eyes drop briefly to your lips before lifting again.

“Sure it does.”

“Explain.”

He leans closer slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You disappearing into a city you don’t know, in a country where you barely speak the language?”

His jaw tightens faintly.

“That’s a problem for me.”

Your pulse stutters.

“And apparently,” he adds, glancing toward the hallway where the guards stand somewhere out of sight, “for the men who have to explain to me if something happens to you.”

You stare at him.

For a moment neither of you moves.

Then you huff and look away.

“You keep reminding me why i don’t like you .”

His smirk returns instantly.

"That’s mutual then.”

Your arms stay folded as you watch him.

“Do you do that with everyone who works for you?” you ask, tone sharp. “Have guards shadow them everywhere they go?”

Mattheo reaches for a black shirt tossed over the back of a chair. For a second his back turns to you, muscles shifting under his skin as he pulls the fabric over his head.

The shirt settles against him slowly, clinging slightly to the dampness still on his skin.

Then he turns.

And walks toward you.

Not fast. Not slow either. Just deliberate.

You hold your ground, even as he closes the distance until there’s barely a step between you.

Too close.

His hand briefly adjusts the collar of his shirt, but his eyes never leave yours.

Dark. Focused.

“Only the ones my son cares about,” he says quietly.

The words land differently than you expected.

Your breath stalls for a moment.

You nod once, small, because suddenly you’re not sure what to say.

The tension between you shifts again — softer this time, but still electric.

He studies your face for a second longer before speaking again.

“You look like you didn’t sleep enough.”

You huff softly. “I slept fine.”

“And by the way! You should have woken me up yesterday I’m not a child.”

His brow lifts slightly. “You were already asleep, why can’t you just thank me?”

“You could’ve dropped me on the stairs.”

“That thought crossed my mind,” he says dryly.

You glare at him, but the corner of his mouth lifts.

God you hate this smile.

But you want to see it more.

Your fingers twist together nervously.

“I’m… scared to talk to Kai,” you admit softly.

His expression changes immediately.

The teasing disappears.

You look down at the floor.

“Can you be there?” you ask quietly. “When I talk to him?”

For a moment he just watches you — really watches you — the way your shoulders tense, the way your voice got smaller.

Then he answers gently.

“Of course.”

You glance up at him.

“I don’t want him to think I’m mad at him,” you say. “Or that I left because of him.”

“He already knows you didn’t,” Mattheo replies.

You and Mattheo walk side by side, though neither of you are speaking now. The early morning light spills across the marble floor, quiet and golden, and somewhere downstairs you hear the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen.

Your stomach twists tighter with every step.

“What if he’s still mad?” you murmur.

Mattheo doesn’t stop walking, but his voice is calm beside you. “He’s five, Y/N. Five-year-olds.”

You glance at him. “That’s not reassuring.”

“It’s supposed to be.”

You exhale slowly.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you hear it.

A small voice.

“...but I said I was sorry already.”

Kai.

You freeze halfway down the last step.

In the living room, Kai is sitting cross-legged on the rug, his dinosaur toy in his hands. One of the house staff is trying—very unsuccessfully—to convince him to eat breakfast.

“I don’t want eggs,” Kai insists stubbornly. “I want pancakes.”

“You had pancakes yesterday,” the woman replies gently.

Kai crosses his arms. “That was yesterday.”

Mattheo huffs quietly beside you.

“Sounds like my son.”

You elbow him lightly without looking.

Then Kai glances toward the stairs.

And sees you.

Everything stops.

The dinosaur drops from his hands.

His little face freezes for a second—wide eyes, lips parted like he isn’t sure if you’re real.

“Y/N?”

Your chest tightens.

You take a small step forward.

“Hi, baby.”

The woman quickly excuses herself and slips out of the room, leaving the three of you alone.

Kai slowly stands.

“You… came back?”

Your throat feels thick. “Of course I did.”

He looks down at the floor suddenly, shoulders drooping.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts.

The words tumble out so fast they almost trip over each other.

“I didn’t mean it when I said I hate you. I don’t hate you. I was just mad. Daddy says people say mean things when they’re mad but they don’t mean them but I still shouldn’t have said it and—”

You’re already kneeling in front of him before he finishes.

“Kai,” you say softly.

His little voice stops.

You gently lift his chin so he looks at you.

“I’m the one who’s sorry.”

His brow wrinkles.

“Why?”

“Because I left without saying goodbye,” you tell him. “And that probably scared you.”

Kai shrugs awkwardly, eyes getting shiny again.

“…A little.”

Your heart squeezes painfully.

“I should’ve talked to you first.”

He sniffles.

“I thought you left because of me.”

Behind you, you hear Mattheo shift slightly but he doesn’t interrupt.

You shake your head quickly.

“No, sweetheart. None of this is your fault.”

Kai studies your face carefully, like he’s trying to decide if you’re telling the truth.

Then he steps forward and wraps his little arms around your neck.

You nearly lose your balance from the sudden hug.

“I missed you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You close your eyes for a second, hugging him back tightly.

“I missed you too.”

Behind you, Mattheo watches the whole thing quietly.

Kai eventually pulls back and rubs his eyes.

“…Are you still mad at Daddy?”

You blink, caught off guard.

Mattheo groans softly behind you. “Kid, don’t start.”

Kai ignores him completely and looks at you.

You glance over your shoulder at Mattheo.

He’s leaning against the doorway now, arms folded, watching you both with that unreadable expression again.

You turn back to Kai.

“No,” you say gently. “I’m not mad at your dad.”

Kai nods like that’s very important information.

“Good.”

Then he tilts his head.

“…Can we still build the giant sandcastle today?”

You laugh softly.

“The blob castle?”

Kai gasps dramatically. “It was NOT a blob.”

Mattheo finally speaks from the doorway.

“It was absolutely a blob.”

Kai whirls around. “Daddy!”

“What?” Mattheo shrugs. “Looked like a blob to me.”

Kai stomps his foot. “It had a tower!”

“You stuck a seashell on top.”

“That’s still a tower!”

You cover your mouth to hide your smile.

Kai turns back to you urgently.

“Y/N tell him it was a castle.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “It was a very impressive blob castle.”

Kai groans loudly and flops onto the couch.

“This house is full of traitors.”

Mattheo chuckles under his breath.

Then Kai sits up again suddenly.

“Oh! Wait!”

He runs over to the table, grabbing a piece of paper and a crayon before rushing back.

“I made this for you,” he announces proudly.

He hands you the drawing.

It’s… chaotic.

Crayon lines everywhere, a very questionable sun in the corner, three stick figures holding hands.

You point gently. “Is this you?”

Kai nods.

“And this is Daddy.”

You glance at the much taller stick figure with very aggressive hair scribbles.

Then your finger moves to the third one.

“And… this one?”

Kai beams.

“That’s you.”

Your chest goes warm and tight all at once.

Mattheo walks over now, looking down at the drawing.

“Huh,” he mutters.

Kai looks up at him suspiciously. “What.”

Mattheo points at the picture.

“Why am I so angry?”

Kai shrugs. “Because you yell a lot.”

You choke on a laugh.

Kai then climbs onto the couch again, completely satisfied.

Later that morning the garden was filled with sunlight and laughter.

Kai ran across the grass with a soccer ball, his little legs pumping fast.

“Pass it!” he yelled.

Mattheo kicked the ball toward him effortlessly.

You sat on the patio steps watching them.

Kai ran back toward you moments later, out of breath.

“Daddy is the best kicker ever,” he announced proudly.

“Oh really?” you said.

“Yes! He can kick it super far and he lifts me up with one arm and he knows how to make pancakes too but not as good as you but still good and—”

You looked over at Mattheo who stood in the yard watching you both.

He shook his head slightly.

The kid was basically his personal PR manager.

---

By afternoon Kai had exhausted both of you.

He plopped onto the couch dramatically.

“I want to watch a movie.”

“Okay,” you said.

“I want Daddy too.”

Mattheo, who had been halfway through opening a laptop at the dining table, froze.

Kai jumped up and ran over.

“Come on!”

“I don’t watch animated movies,” Mattheo said flatly.

Kai grabbed his hand.

“Today you do.”

Five minutes later he was dragged into the living room.

You were sitting on one side of the couch.

Mattheo reluctantly sat on the other.

Kai climbed between you like a tiny dictator.

Blanket. Popcorn. Movie playing.

He leaned against you first.

Then against Mattheo.

Then eventually wrapped his arms around both of you.

Halfway through the movie Mattheo glanced down.

Kai had grabbed your hand.

And then grabbed his.

And placed them together over his stomach like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mattheo stiffened slightly.

You froze.

Kai smiled sleepily.

“Family,” he mumbled.

Then ten minutes later—

He was asleep.

His head tilted against your shoulder.

The movie kept playing softly.

You whispered, “I’ll take him.”

Mattheo shook his head quietly.

“I’ve got him.”

He carefully lifted Kai into his arms.

The boy barely stirred.

Mattheo carried him upstairs, pushing the bedroom door open with his foot.

He laid Kai down gently, pulling the blanket over him.

Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead.

Mattheo turned the light off and stepped out quietly.

---

By the time he reached his bedroom he had just started loosening the collar of his shirt when—

Knock.

He opened the door.

You stood there holding his phone.

“It kept ringing downstairs,” you said. “You forgot it.”

He took it from you.

“Thanks.”

But you didn’t leave.

You stepped inside slowly.

Mattheo noticed.

He raised an eyebrow "Anything else?"

“Who’s Vina?” you asked.

He looked down at the phone screen.

Then back at you.

Then finally noticed you were still standing there in the middle of his room.

His eyebrow lifted higher.

“Are you asking me,” he said slowly, “who’s calling my phone?”

“Yes.”

A slow smirk spread across his face.

“And do you do that with everyone you work with?”

You crossed your arms.

“No.”

Your eyes held his.

“Only the ones whose sons I care about.”

For a second the room went completely still.

His smirk lingered as he looked down at the phone in his hand and then back at you.

You were still standing there.

Still watching him.

Your arms slowly folded across your chest.

“Vina,” you repeat, the name tasting slightly bitter on your tongue. “Sounds… close.”

He leaned back casually against the edge of the desk, studying you with open amusement.

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head.

“And why exactly are we discussing the women who call my phone?”

Your chin lifted a little.

“I’m trying to make sure Kai is safe.”

The words came out firm, controlled.

Mattheo’s expression shifted slightly.

“My son,” he said calmly, “is safe.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then explain it to me.”

You stepped a little further into the room, your voice steady but tight.

“If you’re going to introduce a woman into his life, we need to know about it. Children get attached. It’s not fair to bring people around him if they’re not going to stay.”

Mattheo stared at you for two seconds.

Then he laughed.

A low, quiet laugh that made heat crawl up your neck.

“Oh,” he murmured, pushing himself off the desk.

“You’re serious.”

You frowned.

“Of course I’m serious.”

He started walking toward you.

Slow.

“You think I’m introducing random women to my son?” he said, voice light with mock curiosity.

“I don’t know what you do,” you shot back. “That’s exactly my point.”

He stopped a step away.

Still smiling.

“You’re overthinking this.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Your jaw tightened.

“Well excuse me for caring about the emotional stability of a five-year-old.”

He leaned closer.

Your back instinctively moved a step back.

Then another.

Until the edge of the table pressed into your hips.

Mattheo placed his hands on the table on either side of you, caging you in without touching you.

The space between you disappeared.

“You’re spiraling,” he said quietly.

“I am not spiraling.”

“You are.”

His eyes flicked over your face, clearly enjoying every second of this.

“Let me see if I understand,” he continued lazily. “You came into my room… to question me… about a woman calling my phone… because you’re concerned about my son.”

“Yes.”

His smile widened.

“Right.”

You pushed your palms against the table behind you, refusing to look away.

“If it’s not serious,” you said firmly, “then there’s no reason for Kai to even know she exists.”

Mattheo’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

You continued before you lost your nerve.

“I mean—you’re a grown man. Obviously you have… needs.” Your cheeks warmed but you pushed through it. “But you can deal with that somewhere else. Not in the house. Not where Kai might get attached to someone who—”

Mattheo blinked.

Then leaned closer.

Very slowly.

“Are you asking me,” he said, voice dropping into something lower and rougher, “about my sex life?”

Your eyes widened.

“No!”

“Because it sounds a lot like you’re asking about my sex life.”

“I’m not asking—”

“You’re setting guidelines now?”

“I’m talking about Kai!”

His gaze dragged slowly over your face.

“You’re jealous.”

“I am not jealous.”

The words came too fast.

His smirk deepened.

“You are.”

“I’m not!”

“You absolutely are.”

You tried to step sideways but his arm shifted slightly, blocking the escape.

Your pulse jumped.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered.

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

He leaned even closer now, his voice dropping to a murmur near your ear.

“You walked into my room,” he said softly, “to interrogate me about another woman.”

“That’s not what—”

“And then you started giving me rules about where I’m allowed to sleep with people.”

Your face burned.

“That’s not—”

His eyes met yours again.

“Sounds like jealousy to me.”

You glared at him.

“Believe whatever you want.”

For a moment neither of you moved.

The air between you was thick. Charged.

Mattheo’s voice softened just slightly.

“You don’t have to worry about Kai meeting anyone.”

Your brow furrowed.

“Why?”

His gaze held yours.

“Because I don’t bring women here.”

Anger flared hot in your gut, sharp and unexpected. You pulled back slightly, searching his face. “So where do you take them, then?”

“You really want to know?”

Your jaw tightened, but you nodded, the words escaping before you could stop them. “Yes.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest as he straightened slightly but didn't pull away. His presence loomed, filling the space between you, the heat from his body brushing against your skin. "Alright then. Since you're so invested... I handle it outside these walls. Motels, their places, wherever. Quick and done. No strings, no repeats that matter."

Your stomach flipped at the casual way he said it, like it was nothing. Like scratching an itch. But the image it conjured—him with some faceless woman, tangled up and forgotten—made your cheeks flush hotter. "Quick and done? What does that even mean?"

He tilted his head, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. "It means exactly what it sounds like. I don't linger. Get in, get off, get out. If I see them again, I probably don't even remember their name. Or their face, half the time."

The bluntness hit you like a slap, your eyes widening as you processed it. He was laying it all out, no shame, no filter, and it stirred something uncomfortable in you—curiosity tangled with a jealous ache you couldn't shake. "That's... cold," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't you ever want more than that? Like, actually connecting with someone?"

Mattheo's expression softened for a beat, but then his smirk returned, teasing now. "Connecting? Is that what you're after here? Advice on my love life?" He leaned in a fraction closer, his breath warm against your temple.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but nothing came out at first. Your face burned, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mattheo watched you, his eyes darkening as he noticed the flush creeping down your neck. "You done asking?" he murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated through the scant inches between you.

You nodded, unable to form words, your gaze dropping to his lips despite yourself.

The heat between you surged, your body leaning in despite every rational thought screaming to pull back. Mattheo's fingers tightened on your jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of your lower lip, sending a shiver straight down your spine. Your breasts rose and fell with shallow breaths, nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your shirt, aching for contact. His free hand slid to your waist, gripping the curve there firmly, pulling you flush against him. You felt the hard length of his cock pressing through his pants, thick and insistent against your thigh, and a fresh wave of wetness soaked your panties.

His mouth inched closer, the promise of his tongue invading yours making your knees weaken. But just as your lips parted, trembling in anticipation, he froze. Then, with a low, frustrated growl, he yanked back, releasing you so abruptly that you stumbled slightly against the table.

“Go back to your room,” he said, his voice rough, edged with restraint as his eyes burned into yours, dark with unspent hunger.

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@gabbystardust

You walk.

That’s all you can do—just keep walking. One foot in front of the other through cobblestone streets that all look the same, the soles of your sandals scuffing on uneven stone. The city hums around you—honking cars, the distant buzz of a scooter, the smell of espresso and sea salt drifting through the night air.

You don’t even know where you’re going. Every sign might as well be hieroglyphics.

Someone brushes past you, muttering something sharp in Italian, and you turn automatically with an awkward half-smile. “Ciao,” you say, even though you have no idea if that’s appropriate. Probably not.

You laugh under your breath. It sounds a little wild. “Great. Lost, broke, and linguistically challenged. Nailed it.”

You pull your cardigan tighter around you as you walk deeper into the maze of narrow streets. The city feels alive, glowing with warm light from apartment windows, the murmur of voices spilling out of tiny trattorias. It’s beautiful—the kind of beauty that hurts when you’re heartbroken. The kind that makes you feel small.

You stop at a corner, trying to decide between left and right. Both directions look equally unpromising.

“Okay,” you mutter. “What’s the worst that could happen? I die in an alley. Cool. At least it’ll be in a beautiful city.”

You turn left.

The sound of soft music drifts from somewhere—a violin maybe, mixed with the smell of freshly baked bread. You follow it until you reach a small square where the light pools like honey. An old woman sits beside a cart overflowing with flowers—roses, daisies, tiny bunches of lavender bundled with twine. A little white dog lies curled at her feet, tail flicking lazily.

The woman looks up as you approach. Deep lines crease her face, but her eyes are bright, amused, like she already knows your whole story.

“Buona sera,” she says.

You blink. “Uh… hi?”

She tilts her head. “Not from here,” she says in broken English, the accent thick and melodic. “No Italiano?”

You smiled. “No.”

She laughs softly, a warm, crinkled sound. “Ah, bella, you lost?”

“I… yeah,” you admit. “Very lost.”

She gestures to the empty crate beside her cart. “Sit. Sit.”

You hesitate, then lower yourself onto the crate, grateful to get off your feet. The woman studies you for a moment, her gaze sharp but kind. Then she switches back to Italian, her voice slow and curious.

“Perché sei sola, piccola? Non sei di qui, sì?”

You blink, processing approximately none of that. “Um… sì?” you guess.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “Ah, no capire. Okay.” She tries again, miming as she speaks. “Why you… alone? Here?”

“Oh.” You look down at your hands, picking at your nails. “It’s… complicated.”

The woman narrows her eyes, then nods knowingly. “Uomo,” she says.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

She points at you, then makes a little stabbing motion toward her chest. “Man. Hurt.”

Your throat tightens. You laugh softly, but it comes out brittle. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, it’s a man. And… yeah, I was hurt.”

The old woman nods, lips pursed, as if she’s just diagnosed you with the world’s most predictable disease. Then she says a single word, firm and certain: “Amore.”

You inhale sharply, almost choking on air. “What? No. No, God, no. Not—” You shake your head, words tumbling out in a flustered laugh. “Not love. Definitely not love. That would be… yeah, no. Absolutely not.”

She just laughs, eyes twinkling like she knows better. You groan and cover your face with your hands.

“Fantastic,” you mutter. “Now I’m being psychoanalyzed by a florist.”

The woman says something in Italian you don’t catch, then gestures toward the dog. “Mangiare,” she says, handing you a little bag. “Feed.”

You take it, grateful for the distraction. “Sure. Hi, buddy,” you say softly, kneeling down beside the little dog. He perks up immediately, tail wagging. “You’re the first guy tonight who doesn’t yell at me,”

He licks your fingers, and you laugh—a small, real sound that you didn’t expect to come out.

The woman watches, smiling faintly as she arranges her flowers, humming something that sounds like an old lullaby.

You sit there for a while, feeding the dog, the rhythm of your breath finally slowing.

Maybe you’re still lost. Maybe you’ll always be a little lost. But for the first time since the door slammed behind you, you don’t feel like you’re falling apart.

"Damn you mattheo riddle." you said and the dog wagged his tail in agreement.

MATTHEO POV

The headlights caught a flash of something soft—pale, familiar, fluttering in the corner of his vision like a ghost.

His foot slammed the brake before his mind even caught up.

There.

By the flower stand, bathed in the warm halo of a streetlamp.

He’d know that hair anywhere.

Didn’t need to see your face. Didn’t need proof. The way it caught the light, wild and a little tangled from the wind, was all it took.

He was out of the car before the engine even stopped.

And there you were—sitting on the curb next to a cart full of flowers, feeding biscuits to a scruffy dog while an old woman hummed beside you.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

He dragged a hand down his face, somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. He’d been driving around like a lunatic, heart breaking open in his chest, imagining you hurt, lost, or worse—and you were here. Feeding a dog. Like some goddamn fairytale.

Because of course the animals adored you.

And yeah, if there was anyone who could make a stray mutt smile or make a florist’s entire evening better, it’d be you. Hell, there were probably rainbows following you around right now just to prove a point.

He muttered under his breath, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” and slammed the car door shut.

The sound made your head lift.

When you turned, when your eyes met his, it hit him square in the gut.

Those eyes.

Fuck. Those goddamn eyes.

“Mattheo?” you breathed, rising to your feet. “What are you—what are you doing here?”

He didn’t answer right away. He just walked to you, fast and determined, eyes raking over every inch of you—your face, your hands, your knees scuffed from the cobblestones. His fingers twitched like he wanted to touch you, just to make sure you were real.

You weren’t hurt. Thank fuck. You weren’t hurt.

He exhaled hard, tension bleeding out of his shoulders for the first time in hours. But then you stepped back, your arms crossing protectively.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice tight. “Just—don’t.”

His jaw clenched. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

You laughed once—bitter, small. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Mattheo? For me to leave? You told me to go. Congratulations—you got what you wanted. Kai hates me now, so there’s really no reason for me to stay.”

Something in him snapped.

“Jesus Christ, you really think that’s what I wanted?” he bit out.

Your chin trembled, but you stood your ground. “Why do you care? You made it pretty clear you didn’t.”

He laughed once, harshly, running a hand through his hair. “You have no fucking idea what I—” He stopped, teeth grinding. “Get in the car, Y/N.”

“No.”

“Y/N.” His voice dropped, dangerous, a low growl vibrating in his chest. “I’m trying to be patient, as much as I can. Don’t tempt me.”

“Go away.”

He stepped closer, crowding your space. “And what, you’re going to start a new life here? With a flower cart and a fucking dog?”

Your mouth twisted, defiant. “Wouldn’t be the first time I had to start over.”

He stared at you, breathing hard. He was this close to throwing you over his shoulder and being done with the conversation entirely.

Before he could move, the old woman straightened from behind her flowers, squinting between you both.

“Che succede qui?” she asked sharply, waving her hand. What’s going on here?

Mattheo forced a tight smile, switching to Italian like a reflex. “Niente, signora. Sono solo un idiota che ha litigato con sua bellissima moglie durante la luna di miele.” ____ Nothing, ma’am. Just an idiot who fought with his beautiful wife on their honeymoon.

The woman gasped, hand flying to her chest. “Oh, no! Ma che sciocco!” Oh, no! What a fool!

You blinked. “What? What did she say? Mattheo, what are you telling her?”

He smirked. “Nothing.”

“Mattheo—”

He ignored you, reaching into his wallet and pulling out a thick wad of cash. He pressed it into the woman’s hand, smiling politely. “Per i fiori, signora.” For the flowers.

The woman beamed. “Ah, giovane amore,” she sighed happily, nodding like she’d just witnessed some grand romantic reunion.

Your jaw dropped. “What are you telling her?”

He turned back toward you, eyes glinting with mischief. “Pull your arms up.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it, and I’ll tell you.”

You glared. “You’re insane.”

“Up, Y/N.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but lifted your arms anyway. “Fine. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said—then hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you clean off the ground.

“Mattheo—! You fucking idiot! Put me down!”

He grinned, turning to the old woman, who was watching the entire scene like it was her favorite soap opera. “Arrivederci, signora. Tutto risolto, vede? L’amore vince sempre.” Goodbye, ma’am. All fixed. Love conquers all.

The woman clapped her hands, delighted. “Bellissimi!”

“Mattheo!” you shrieked, kicking your legs, palms pounding weakly against his shoulders. “I swear to God, I will kill you! Put me down right now!”

He only laughed, carrying you toward the car like you weighed nothing, your hair brushing against his cheek as you squirmed. “Goodnight, signora,” he called back.

“Buona fortuna, ragazzo!” she called after them. “Don’t mess up again!”

He slid you down only when you reached the car, your back pressing against the cool metal door, your breath ragged, eyes blazing fire.

You shoved at his chest. “You are an idiot and I—!”

He tilted his head, lips curving into a slow, infuriating smile. “Kill me?” he asked, voice low, teasing. “That what you said?”

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “Gladly.”

You were still pressed against the car, hair a wild halo around your face, cheeks flushed with fury. Mattheo stood a breath away, too close, that insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“What,” you snapped, voice cutting through the heat between you, “did you tell her?”

He shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Told her I was an idiot who fought with his beautiful wife on our honeymoon.”

You gaped. “You what?!”

He only laughed, low and warm, the sound curling down your spine like smoke.

“Are you insane?” you shouted, gesturing wildly toward the street where the old woman was still watching with delighted approval. “You can’t just—Mattheo! What the hell is wrong with you?”

He took a small step closer, the scent of him—leather, salt, something darker—closing in. His smirk deepened, lazy and wicked. “Tu mi fai impazzire.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

He tilted his head, eyes hooded. “Nothing you’d repeat in public.”

“Mattheo—”

“Sei così testarda quando sei arrabbiata,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, the words curling off his tongue like a caress.

You blinked. “What are you saying?”

He smiled like sin. “Non potrei mai smettere di guardarti.”

Your breath caught, irritation twisting into something else entirely. The tension stretched between you—thin, tight, dangerous.

You squinted. “Are you—are you insulting me right now?”

He laughed softly, leaning one hand against the car beside your head. “No, bella. Far from it.”

You hated the way your stomach flipped. “I swear to God, if you’re saying something —”

He cut you off again, his voice a rough whisper: “Sei così bella così.”

You glared, jaw tight. “What are you saying now?”

He paused, the smallest flicker of amusement sparking in his eyes before he translated, flat and teasing. “I said… you’re so fucking annoying. And it’s tragic that I have to deal with you.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Yeah. That sounds more like you.”

He only smiled, because you were still standing there—red-cheeked, furious, and alive—and it was the first time all night he’d felt like he could breathe.

“Why are you here, Mattheo?” you asked finally, quieter now, exhaustion creeping into your voice.

He didn’t answer, just opened the passenger door and jerked his head toward it.

“Get in.”

You stared at him. “What—no, I’m not—”

“Get in the car, Y/N.” His tone left no room for argument.

You glared, but you knew better. He wasn’t bluffing; he never bluffed. So you slid into the seat, muttering curses under your breath the whole time.

When he rounded the hood and climbed in beside you, the air shifted again—thick, electric, the tension simmering right under the surface. He started the car, the engine growling low.

You folded your arms, staring straight ahead. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t respond.

“Mattheo.”

Nothing. The sound of the tires crunching on gravel filled the silence.

You exhaled shakily. “Kai hates me,” you whispered. “He—”

“He doesn’t,” Mattheo interrupted, voice firm. “He ran to your room to apologize. Said he didn’t mean it. Said you left because of him.”

Your heart sank like a stone. The world outside blurred. “So… it’s because of Kai?”

He glanced at you once, just long enough for your eyes to meet. “Yes,” he said.

The lie came easy. Too easy.

But when he saw the flash of disappointment in your expression—the way it dimmed something bright in you—it hit him harder than he expected.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw working.

He hated that he’d noticed.

Hated that part of him wanted to take it back, to tell you the truth.

That it wasn’t just Kai that brought him here.

It was you.

The car hummed low beneath you, the air between you and Mattheo thick enough to breathe in.

The city fell away behind the windows—narrow streets fading into open road, lamps smearing into long golden streaks.

For a while, there was nothing but the sound of tires against stone and your pulse in your throat.

Then, quietly—almost too softly to believe it came from him—he said, “I was worried.”

You turned your head, eyebrows lifting. The corner of your mouth twitched. “You?”

He glanced over, his jaw tightening, eyes flicking from the road to you. “Yeah. Me.”

You couldn’t help it—the laugh came out sharp and disbelieving. “You were worried?”

He looked at you fully this time, one brow arched, a dangerous calm spreading over his face. “You don’t believe me?”

You shook your head, still laughing under your breath. “No. Not even a little.”

He shifted gears, voice lowering, every word deliberate. “I was so fucking worried.”

The laughter died in your throat. You stared straight ahead now, hands gripping your knees, your reflection dim in the glass. The air turned heavy again.

His hand tightened on the wheel. “Don’t ever think about leaving again, Y/N.”

That got your attention. You snapped your gaze back to him, eyes flashing. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t look at you. “You heard me.”

“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m not telling you,” he said, his tone deepening into something darker, slower. “I’m warning you.”

You could feel the edge beneath his words, the quiet danger that lived in them. You sat up straighter, meeting his gaze full-on. “Are you threatening me now?”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. “No. I’m reminding you of reality. You don’t know what kind of man I am when I’m not Kai’s father.”

You swallowed, pulse spiking. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, turning his head just enough for the streetlight to catch his eyes, “you’ve only seen the tame parts of me. The rest… isn’t kind.”

Silence stretched, pulsing.

Your voice came out quieter, but steady. “Are you dangerous?”

His lips curved. “Very.”

You hesitated, eyes narrowing. “Should I… should I be afraid of you?”

He looked at you for a long moment—really looked, gaze dragging over your face, your trembling lip, the defiance still flickering in your eyes.

“Yes,” he said finally, voice low and rough as gravel. “You should.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t look away. “Would you ever hurt me?”

The answer came instantly, fierce, cutting through the tension like a blade. “No. Never.”

Your heart stuttered. “Would you ever let anyone else hurt me?”

His jaw flexed. He turned his head toward you again, eyes gone dark and bright all at once. “Not while I’m breathing,” he said, each word like a vow. “I’d burn the whole fucking world down before I let that happen.”

You blinked, caught between fear and something that felt too much like longing.

He exhaled through his nose, a faint tremor in his hand when he reached for the gearshift again. The road stretched ahead, endless, silent.

And you sat there, pulse still racing, every nerve alive, knowing damn well that whatever he was—dangerous, damaged, furious—you were already too far gone to run.

The highway blurred into a smear of gold and shadow, the hum of the tires the only sound filling the car. You hadn’t spoken since his last words—the ones that still hung between you, heavy and dangerous—but your mind wouldn’t let go of what really mattered.

Your voice came out quiet, but it cut through the silence. “Stop the car.”

Mattheo glanced at you, brow furrowing. “What?”

“Stop the car,” you repeated, sharper this time. “Mattheo, please.”

He slowed, easing the vehicle onto the shoulder of the road. The engine ticked softly when he shifted into park. The night outside was still—no cars, no lights, just the faint hiss of the sea in the distance.

You turned toward him, hands twisting together in your lap. “I need to talk about what happened this morning. About Kai.”

He sighed, leaning back, eyes closing for a second. “Y/N—”

“I wasn’t trying to play his mom,” you said before he could interrupt. “Like you said.”

His eyes opened. The edge in them softened a little. “I didn’t mean that.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He watched you, jaw tight, as you took a slow breath. “Kai… he asked me something. About—about babies.”

That caught his attention. His brows lifted, but he said nothing.

“He said he wanted a sister,” you went on quietly. “And then he asked how people get babies. And I just—I froze, Mattheo. I didn’t know what to say.”

A hint of amusement flickered at the corner of his mouth. “And what exactly did you tell him?”

You glared. “Shut up, okay? I panicked. I said… I said that when two people love each other very much, they decide to have a baby.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Lovely. I’m sure that cleared everything right up.”

“I’m serious,” you said, your voice rising. “I don’t want that to happen again. You need to tell me how to handle it when he asks about her. I can’t keep pretending like—like she doesn’t exist.”

His face hardened instantly. “He shouldn’t be asking about her. That’s what you need to work on.”

You blinked at him, disbelief and frustration colliding. “Mattheo, I’m serious.”

He turned toward you, closing the distance in one slow, deliberate movement. His eyes flicked to your lips, his voice dipping lower. “Either that,” he murmured, “or we just give him the sister he wants.”

Your eyes went wide. “What—what the hell, Mattheo?”

He grinned, quiet laughter rumbling out of him. “Relax. It’s just too easy to mess with you.”

You folded your arms across your chest, scowling. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” he said softly, still smiling. “But right now, you need rest. It’s been a long day.”

You turned toward the window, muttering, “I don’t want to talk to you.”

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Y/N.”

Nothing.

“Y/N.”

Still nothing.

He huffed a laugh. “What are you, ten?”

Your shoulders lifted in the faintest shrug. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.”

He shook his head, half amused, half exhausted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the way your shoulders trembled.

Without a word, he reached behind him, grabbed his jacket, and draped it over you.

You startled slightly, glancing at him.

“You’re cold,” he said simply.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, even as your fingers curled into the warmth of his jacket.

He didn’t argue. Just smiled a little, eyes back on the road as he started the engine again.

The rhythm of the car, the hum beneath you, the weight of his jacket—somehow, it comforts you. The exhaustion hit all at once. Your body eased into the seat, your head tilting toward the window, lashes lowering until your breath evened out.

By the time the gates of the house came into view, you were fast asleep.

He parked quietly, cutting the engine. For a long moment, he just sat there, watching you in the half-light. The lines of tension in your face had finally disappeared; your hair spilling over his jacket. Something in his chest twisted painfully.

He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. His fingers lingered a moment too long.

“Fuck” he muttered under his breath, smiling despite himself.

Then he unbuckled his seat belt, moved around to your side, and carefully lifted you into his arms. You stirred faintly, head falling against his shoulder, breath warm against his neck. The scent of you—jasmine, vanilla —hit him hard enough to make his throat tighten.

He carried you inside, each step quiet, deliberate. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Into the room you’d left behind just hours ago.

He set you gently on the bed, easing you down onto the sheets. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you—like he was trying to convince himself you were really there.

Then he crouched, slipped off your shoes, and pulled the blanket over you. His fingers brushed your wrist, the skin warm beneath his touch.

He hesitated, then leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead. His breath lingered there, inhaling the soft scent of your hair.

When he straightened, his throat felt tight.

He stared at you one last time before stepping out of the room, the door closing quietly behind him.

Tag list :

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@pluto-9456

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