The common room was nearly empty, the fire in the hearth crackling softly. The scent of aged parchment and smoldering embers filled the air, mixing with the faint trace of Mattheo’s cologne as he leaned against the arm of the worn leather couch, arms crossed. His dark curls fell messily over his forehead, and his sharp eyes gleamed with something unreadable.

You stood a few feet away, heart pounding. The weight of his rejection hung between you. You weren’t one to beg, but this wasn’t just anyone—this was Mattheo. And you weren’t ready to let him walk away.

“Mattheo, give me a chance!” Your voice broke the thick silence, raw and insistent.

He scoffed, tilting his head as he studied you. “I am a ‘gangster,’ remember?” His voice was low, laced with amusement, but there was a warning underneath. He wanted you to back off.

Too bad.

A smirk curled at your lips as you took a slow step forward. “Baby, I’m a gangster too… and it takes two to tango.” The firelight danced in your eyes as you added, “You don’t wanna dance with me?”

His expression faltered, just for a second. A flicker of something—curiosity? Doubt? Desire?

“Dance with you?” he echoed, his voice quieter now, almost wary.

Your hand found the edge of his sleeve, fingers barely brushing against his wrist. “Honey, I’m in love with you,” you murmured, your gaze unwavering. “If you don’t feel the same… you don’t wanna mess with me.”

Mattheo’s lips twitched, his smirk returning full force. He reached out lazily, his fingers ghosting over yours before tilting his head. “Because you’re a jealous girl?”

You exhaled a small laugh, tilting your chin up. “You know me so well.”

A charged silence stretched between you, the fire crackling behind you both. Then, in one swift motion, Mattheo grabbed your wrist and pulled you down onto the couch beside him, his breath warm against your skin.

“Then let’s dance,” he murmured.

And just like that, the game had begun.