You were already in bed, curled under your blankets, trying to will yourself to sleep. The castle was quiet, the kind of silence that only came late at night—heavy and still. Your eyes had just started to close when you heard it.

Knock. Knock.

You groaned, irritated, dragging yourself out of bed with a sigh. Whoever it was, they clearly had no sense of time—or boundaries.

You opened the door, ready to snap.

But the words caught in your throat.

There he was—Mattheo Riddle.

Your enemy.

He stood in the doorway, bruised and bloodied. His face was marked with cuts, a dark smear of blood across his jaw. His shirt was torn, stained crimson. He didn’t say a word, just looked at you with a strange mix of exhaustion and defiance in his eyes.

For the first time, he didn’t look like the arrogant boy who constantly got under your skin.

He looked like someone who had just barely survived something.

And somehow… he had come to you.