Mattheo Riddle is trouble, wrapped in leather and arrogance, with a gaze sharp enough to cut. She knows this. Everyone knows this. And yet knowing doesn’t stop her pulse from quickening when those dark, piercing eyes linger just a second too long.

She should stay away from him—needs to. But now that he knows her secret, something raw and intimate has slipped from her grasp, leaving her exposed in a way that terrifies her.

Mattheo should’ve let it go. But Mattheo Riddle doesn’t let go of anything that piques his interest.

The first time he corners her, it’s near the courtyard, where ivy clings stubbornly to ancient stone. His lean frame is relaxed, one hand playing idly with the rings on his fingers.

“Hogsmeade this weekend,” he says, as though it’s already decided.

She crosses her arms, tilting her chin defiantly. “No.”

His lips curve into a smirk, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. “No? Or not yet?”

“Just no,” she snaps, pushing past him.

The second time, it’s outside the Great Hall. He blocks her path with infuriating ease, leaning against the wall like he owns the castle.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?” he says, his voice low and smooth. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

“Good thing I don’t care,” she retorts, brushing past him.

“I’ll wear you down,” he calls after her, laughter lacing his words.

The third time, it’s different.

The castle is silent, cloaked in shadows, the night thick with anticipation. She’s on her way back from the library when she spots him waiting near the base of the Astronomy Tower. The faint glow of torchlight casts shadows across his sharp features.

“You shouldn’t be out this late,” she says, keeping her voice steady.

He arches a brow, unfazed. “Neither should you.”

“Move, Riddle.”

“Come up with me,” he says, his tone softer now, coaxing.

She hesitates, her resolve wavering. “Why?”

“Maybe I want to show you the stars.”

She snorts. “You don’t care about stars.”

"No," he murmurs, stepping closer, "but I care about what happens when you stop pretending."