You’d always written Enzo off as a cocky playboy—someone who thrived on charm, sharp smirks, and the shallow attention of every girl who glanced his way. He never stayed with anyone for long, and that only confirmed what you thought you knew: he wasn’t capable of being serious. It’s why the two of you clashed constantly. He was infuriating, smug, and entirely too good-looking for his own good.

But the truth was something you hadn’t let yourself see. Behind the arrogance, Enzo was sweeter than he let on. He just hadn’t found anyone worth showing that side to… until you. Neither of you wanted to admit it. So instead, you fought. Sparks disguised as arguments, attraction buried beneath venomous words.

Walking down the corridor after class, the sound of your shoes echoed against the stone floor. A very cute Slytherin boy had been walking you toward your next lesson, leaning in close, whispering something that made you smirk. But before you could respond, a hand shot out—firm, unrelenting—and yanked you into the shadows of an empty side corridor.

Your back hit the cold stone wall, and you looked up sharply—straight into Enzo’s storm-dark eyes. His jaw was set, expression sharp, but there was something else beneath the surface. Something possessive. Something dangerous.

“Don’t talk to him again,” he said, voice low, his grip still circling your wrist. His eyes locked on yours, daring you to challenge him.

Your lips curved into a defiant smirk despite the thundering of your heartbeat. You hated how close he was. You hated that he smelled like clean cologne and parchment and something distinctly him. And most of all, you hated that his jealousy thrilled you more than it should.

“And why not?” you asked, arching a brow, letting your voice drip with challenge. “Since when do you get a say in who I talk to, Berkshire?”

His gaze flicked down to your lips for half a second before snapping back up, sharp and hungry. He leaned closer, until his breath brushed against your cheek, his tone quieter now—dangerously intimate.

“Because he’s not good enough for you.” A pause. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate. “And because I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”

The silence between you cracked like lightning, tension humming in the air, waiting to see who would give in first.