Mattheo moves through the room like he owns it, shoulders relaxed, smirk already in place—like he’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for you. And maybe he has.

“Oh look… it is the Serpentine princess.”

He always does this—pushes and waits for the moment you snap. It’s what keeps this game interesting.

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a flinch. Instead, you glance up at him lazily, tilting your head, letting your lips curl into something sharp.

“Oh look, it is the Serpentine g!t.”

His smirk widens, like he enjoys the bite in your words. Like he’s amused by the fact that no one else would dare speak to him this way, but you do—because you always have. Because that’s what you are to each other.

Enemies. Opponents. Two forces that refuse to yield.

“You are even more charming and ladylike than I remember.” Mattheo says, mock admiration lacing every word as he takes a step closer.

You let out a quiet chuckle. “And you are the very picture of chivalric manhood.”

His grin doesn’t falter, but there’s something in his expression that flickers—like he’s caught something unspoken in your tone, something just beneath the surface. He leans in, just enough that you can feel the heat of his presence, his voice dropping lower.

“Did you just say that you are picturing my manhood?”

There it is. The step over the line. The provocation, waiting for a reaction.

You exhale slowly, unimpressed. “Of course that’s what you’d take from that.”

Mattheo watches you, a wicked glint in his gaze, like he’s savoring this moment—waiting for you to crack, waiting for a hint of something other than irritation. And maybe the worst part is, he’s not wrong to look for it. Because beneath the biting words, beneath the constant battle, there’s something else there. Something neither of you ever acknowledge, but both of you feel.