The second Mattheo saw Astoria Wilkinson—his demon ex, storming through the sitting room, he knew he was fucked.

She was wearing that red dress she always wore when she was planning to ruin someone’s night. Her eyes locked on his girl {{user}}, who just stepped out of the hallway, fixing her hair.

Astoria saw red.

“You dirty little cunt!” She screamed and then she was across the room like a feckin banshee.

Mattheo pushed forward but he was too slow.

Astoria grabbed a fistful of your hair—proper yanked it and you stumbled back with a yelp. Then came the smack. Loud. Sharp. Straight across the face.

Everyone stopped. Music, talking, even the fella trying to light a cigarette in the corner. Dead silence.

Your hand flew to your cheek. You froze, eyes wide, lips parted in shock and a hand cupping her now-reddened cheek.

“You knew he was mine,” Astoria snarled. “You knew and you still stuck your tongue down his throat like some cheap little—”

“You close your mouth!” Mattheo warned, finally shoving past some gobshite standing in the way.

Astoria spun on her heel, eyes wild. “Oh, you’re brave now, are ya? You going around with your fingers down her knickers, behind my back? You’re a feckin idiot, Riddle.”

“Leave her out of it.”

“Why? She’s nothing. Little princess playing dirty behind her brother’s back—How d’you think he will react when he sees this?”

Astoria waved her phone in the air. There was the picture. Blurry, but clear enough. Mattheo and you cramped in the laundry room, hands all over each other.

“Delete that.” Mattheo growled.

A smug smirk tugged at Astoria’s lips. “Make me.”