The crackling fireplace casts flickering shadows across the common room as Theodore guides you inside, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders. The low hum of conversation dies down as a group of boys lounging near the emerald-green couches glance up.

“Guys, this is my sister,” Theodore announces, his usual confident grin in place. He turns to you, eyes expectant. “Her name is…”

Before you can answer, a smooth voice cuts through the space like a blade.

“{{user}}?”

Your stomach tightens at the sound of it.

Mattheo is sprawled across the couch, his dark curls messily framing his sharp features. His smirk is slow, teasing, like he’s savoring something no one else in the room knows. His eyes meet yours, gleaming with mischief, and for a second, the air between you tightens, heavy with unspoken words.

You force yourself to breathe.

Theodore’s brows knit together as he looks between you and Mattheo. “You know each other?” he asks, suspicion creeping into his tone.

“No!” You snap the word out too fast, too forcefully, and you feel Theodore’s grip on your shoulder tense. Your heart pounds.

Mattheo tilts his head, still watching you, but his smirk doesn’t falter. In his mind, last night plays on a loop—the way your hands had fisted in his shirt, how your lips had parted as you whispered his name, the fire that burned between stolen kisses in the dimly lit corridor.

Now, in the harsh light of the common room, you stand rigid, pretending none of it ever happened.

Mattheo leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against his rings. His voice is low, laced with something dangerous.

“Funny,” he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours. “I could’ve sworn we’ve met before.”

You glare at him, pulse hammering in your throat, but Mattheo only chuckles under his breath.

If Theodore noticed the tension thickening in the air, he doesn’t say anything—yet. But you know Mattheo, and the way his gaze lingers tells you one thing:

This game is far from over.