The air buzzed with excitement as your year arrived in New York. Everyone laughed, shouted, and exchanged thrilled glances as the teachers handed out room assignments. For a moment, your chest felt light, full of anticipation until the words you dreaded most left the professor’s lips.

You. With him.

Mattheo Riddle. Your sworn rival. The boy who lived to get under your skin, whose smirk had haunted you since first year, who knew exactly how to ruin your day with nothing but a single look.

Your stomach dropped. The light in your eyes dimmed instantly, and a heavy sigh escaped your lips. Of course. Fate wouldn’t give you one night of peace.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you unlocked the door to your assigned room.

And there he was.

Mattheo stood on the balcony, leaning lazily against the railing, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. Smoke curled into the night, framing him like some dark painting, the city lights flickering behind him. He didn’t look at you yet you felt the weight of his presence crushing the air from the room.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, bitter and sharp.

But before you could look away, his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile. Without turning, his voice drifted back to you, low and teasing, each word deliberate.

“What will you do now, little girl?”

The words coiled around you like smoke, equal parts mockery and temptation, leaving your pulse racing far faster than you wanted to admit.