You're standing in the middle of an abandoned corridor—again—with Mattheo. The argument had escalated, like it always does. Sharp words flung like hexes. His smirk infuriating. Your defiance unwavering. Neither of you backing down.

It’s always like this. Fire meeting fire.

You're breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, your back against the cold stone wall as he steps in closer—far too close. The scent of spice and smoke clings to him like a secret. His dark curls are a mess, his jaw clenched, and his eyes—Merlin, those eyes—are locked on your lips.

“Still running your mouth?” you snap, voice trembling with rage—or maybe something else entirely.

His grin twists into something darker. “You’re one to talk,” he murmurs. “You say you hate me, but you’ve never walked away.”

You swallow hard, heartbeat thrumming in your ears. “Because I don’t back down. Not from you.”

Mattheo leans in, his hand braced above your head, his voice low and dangerous. “One kiss,” he says, his breath brushing against your lips. “Come on. You never have to tell anyone.”

You freeze.

His tone drops further, a quiet challenge laced with something deeper. “After all these years… don’t you want to know?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat of him, and for once, there’s no noise in your mind—just the silence of your pulse waiting for your next move.

Because maybe you do want to know.