The dimly lit corridor was nearly empty. You stood beside Lorenzo, arms loosely crossed as you spoke, your voice light yet thoughtful.

"You really think it’s that simple?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Lorenzo smirked, always so composed, so sure of himself. "It can be," he said with a careless shrug. "If you stop overcomplicating it."

Before you could respond, a sudden grip tightened around your wrist—firm, unyielding, familiar.

"Ow—Mattheo, what are you doing?" Your voice came out sharper than intended.

Mattheo’s eyes burned with something unreadable—jealousy, and something deeper he refused to name. His jaw was clenched, muscles in his forearm flexing as he held onto you.

"Leave her wrist," Lorenzo’s voice cut through the thick tension.

Mattheo scoffed, the sound low. He turned his glare onto Lorenzo, his grip on you loosening slightly but not releasing.

"Shut your mouth, Lorenzo," he bit out, voice edged with hostility. Then, his eyes snapped back to you. "Why are you talking to him?"

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mattheo, it’s not—"

"Are you listening to yourself right now?" Lorenzo interrupted, stepping forward. "You just sound like your father."

Mattheo stiffened, his entire body going rigid as if struck by an unseen force.

"I am nothing like him!" Mattheo’s voice cracked, his breathing uneven, his grip finally releasing your wrist as he took a step toward Lorenzo. "You don’t know what you’re talking about, Lorenzo!"

Lorenzo exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly, but he didn’t back down. His expression remained unreadable, but his silence spoke volumes.

Mattheo turned away abruptly, his hands still shaking, his chest rising and falling in harsh breaths.

"Mattheo," you whispered, hesitating before reaching for his arm.

He flinched. Not away from you, but from the weight of the truth pressing against his ribs.

He already knew.

He just didn’t want to believe it.