The garden buzzed faintly with whispers as the tension between you and Mattheo crackled in the cool night air. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, frustration radiating from every inch of you.

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, his dark eyes flickering with a storm of emotions. “I said I’m not arguing here,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

You shook your head, refusing to budge. There was no way you were letting him dictate the terms of this conversation—not this time.

For a moment, he just stared at you, his brows furrowing deeper. Then, without a word, he let out a low, exasperated sigh, stepping forward swiftly. Before you could react, his hands were around your waist, and you were suddenly weightless as he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

You gasped, but he didn’t even flinch. “If you won’t come willingly, you’re coming my way,” he said bluntly. His grip on you was firm but not rough, and he moved with purposeful strides, completely ignoring the scattered laughs and surprised murmurs from the few students who had stopped to gawk.

You kept protesting but he didn’t respond at first, as if he were immune to your outburst. Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he added in a darkly amused tone, “Keep yelling if you want everyone in the castle to hear you, sweetheart.”

You huffed loudly, fuming silently as he carried you through the corridors, his pace unrelenting. His shoulders were broad, and the ease with which he carried you only made you angrier.

When he finally reached a quiet, empty hallway, he lowered you to the ground with care but kept his hands on your waist for a moment, steadying you before letting go.

“Are you done being dramatic?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though his lips twitched with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You glared at him, your heart still racing.

"You’re impossible,” his smirk growing as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing your cheek. “But you’re mine. And I’ll deal with you any way I have to.”