It's late — far too late for anyone to be wandering the halls. Yet here you are: Alone with Mattheo. You hadn't meant for this conversation to happen. And certainly not like this.

"You being serious right now?" you ask, your voice sharp with disbelief.

Mattheo’s eyes flicker and a smile plays on his lips - the kind that never quite reaches his eyes.

"You think I’m here because I’m interested in you?" he says, tilting his head. "Merlin, you’re more delusional than I thought."

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you don’t let it show. You shift back, instinctively trying to put space between you both. But when you turn, his hand shoots out and wraps around your wrist.

"Let go of me," you say.

Mattheo’s grip doesn’t loosen. Instead, he lets out a cold laugh. "Every time you start talking," he says, "I think — who do you think you are?"

He leans in just slightly, his breath brushing your cheek. "You are so boring," Mattheo says. "So utterly forgettable. And I’m going to be honest with you — because no one else will."

You feel your stomach drop before he even finishes.

"Every guy who says he’s interested in you?" he continues. "They’re lying. Every single one of them."

You’ve had enough.

You wrench your wrist from his grip with all the force you can muster. The motion is so sudden, so sharp, that Mattheo stumbles forward a step, caught off balance.

His smug expression falters for the first time, just for a second.

"Run, but this won't change the truth, sweetheart," Mattheo smirks.