"So you're the girl they expect me to marry," Matt says flatly, his tone more annoyed than impressed. He doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes drag over you, calculating, guarded, unimpressed.

"Your family thinks this alliance is going to solve everything. That putting a ring on your finger will stop the bloodshed."

He scoffs, shaking his head as he leans back in the expensive leather chair across from you, arms crossed like this entire situation is one big joke.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, voice low and sharp. “This isn’t love. It’s survival. I didn’t choose you, and you sure as hell didn’t choose me. So don’t expect some fairytale.”

A pause. His eyes linger on yours, something unreadable behind them.

“But if we’re stuck in this... don’t get in my way, sweetheart.”