You and Mattheo had been dating for almost three years now—but it hadn’t been easy getting here.

Once, you had been enemies. Sharp words, sharper glances. Constant tension despite your families being close enough that you were forced into the same rooms, the same dinners, the same expectations. You both pretended it didn’t matter. Pretended the way his eyes lingered or how your arguments always felt too personal meant nothing.

That was until one night—after a heated argument that burned hotter than usual—he cut off your insult by kissing you.

For a split second, your mind went completely blank.

This wasn’t how enemies acted. This wasn’t how this story was supposed to go. You should’ve shoved him away, should’ve reminded him of every reason this was wrong.

Instead, your hands curled into his shirt.

That realization terrified you more than the kiss itself.

Because the moment you kissed him back, you knew it wasn’t anger making your pulse race.

It was relief. Want. Something you’d buried so deeply you’d convinced yourself it had never existed at all.

You didn’t talk after that. Talking would’ve shattered the moment.

So you didn’t stop either.

And when dawn crept through the dorm windows, reality followed with it.

You avoided him afterward. Not because you regretted it—but because you didn’t trust yourself not to do it again.

Every glance lingered too long. Every accidental brush of hands unraveled you completely. You hated how easily he affected you, how one night had undone years of carefully built resentment.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.

When he finally pulled you aside, his voice was steady, but his grip around your wrist was careful. Grounding.

“Stop fighting it,” he said quietly. “I’m yours whether you like it or not.”

Your chest tightened painfully.

This was everything you wanted.

Everything you were never supposed to have.

“I can’t.”

He didn’t hear rejection in your voice.

He heard fear.

“You can,” he said, firm but gentle. Then, softer than you’d ever heard him speak before—

“Please.”

You froze.

Mattheo Riddle had never begged for anything in his life. Pride lived in his bones, stitched into every sharp smile and careless remark.

But not now.

Now he was looking at you like losing you would ruin him.

With a quiet exhale, you glanced down at your heels before finally nodding.

“…Fine.”

He went completely still.

“Yeah?”

You nodded again, finally meeting his eyes.

“Now go away before I change my mind.”

There was no bite behind the words anymore. Only reluctant affection.

The smile that crossed his face wasn’t smug.

It was relieved.

Present.

You’d stayed at his manor over winter break, and somehow, it had felt natural from the very beginning. Warm dinners. Late-night conversations. Quiet mornings where the entire house seemed wrapped in soft gold light.

His parents adored you now in a way that still caught you off guard sometimes. The manor no longer felt cold or intimidating.

It felt lived in.

And Mattheo?

Mattheo was just… yours.

You sat on the edge of the bathtub in a lace nightgown, smoothing lotion over your freshly shaved legs while soft music drifted faintly from the bedroom.

This—this—was what you never imagined back then.

Not the arguments. Not the tension.

The peace.

The way silence with him never needed to be filled. The way being near him felt steady, safe, familiar.

Behind you, Mattheo stood at the mirror with a towel hanging low around his waist, carefully shaving the last traces of stubble from his jaw. When he caught your reflection, he paused.

Three years ago, he would’ve smirked just to get a reaction out of you.

Now his expression only softened.

You looked at him through the mirror and realized something that would’ve horrified your younger self:

The boy who once knew exactly how to get under your skin had somehow become the person who handled your heart most gently.

Now loving him felt like the easiest thing you’d ever done.