You paced the length of your parents’ grand but hollow-feeling house, the soles of your slippers brushing against the polished floor with every tense step. The walls echoed with your movement, but otherwise the estate was silent—eerily so.

Your mind was a storm of worry and unease.

The wizarding world was unraveling. A new war was at hand. The Ministry was in chaos. Your father, high-ranking and ever-loyal, was rarely home—buried in political meetings and underground defenses.

And you? You were barely eighteen. You had chosen to finish your final year at home rather than return to Hogwarts. Too much had changed. Your closest friends were gone, vanished into the shadowy ranks of the Death Eaters—chasing a cause they believed in, or perhaps running from something worse.

But none had taken a deeper part of you than him.

Mattheo Riddle.

The love of your life. The one person whose absence left you aching in places no spell could heal.

It had been months since you’d last seen him—since his touch, his voice, the fire in his eyes that used to make the rest of the world fall away. Now, all you had were memories and the constant fear of hearing his name on a casualty list.

You climbed the staircase slowly, your limbs heavy with worry. The house felt darker than usual tonight, like it knew what weighed on you.

As you reached your bedroom, you flicked the light switch—but nothing happened.

“Typical,” you muttered, sighing. “Of course this happens when I’m in a bad mood.”

Moonlight poured faintly through the tall windows, casting silver beams across your room. The pale glow offered just enough light to navigate as you stepped inside, heading toward your dresser to find your wand.

But you didn’t make it.

Suddenly, arms wrapped around you from behind, strong and fast. A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream, and something hard—a wand—pressed against your throat. You gasped, your breath catching, body tensing as you were pulled back against a firm chest.

Your heart thundered in your ears. Every instinct screamed danger.

But you fought it, tried to stay calm—think. The masked figure behind you loomed in the moonlight, their cloak brushing your legs, their breathing slow and unhurried.

You tilted your head back just enough to glimpse their face—masked, unreadable. Your voice was barely a whisper against their gloved hand.

“What do you want?”

“Shhhh…” the figure murmured.

That voice. Low. Smooth. Familiar.

The wand at your throat began to drag down, featherlight, tracing the path from the hollow of your neck to your collarbone. The sensation sent a chill across your skin, and despite your fear, your body stilled.

Then came a quiet laugh.

You knew that laugh.

Your eyes widened—not in fear now, but in stunned realization.

“Did my princess miss me?” the masked figure purred.

Your heart skipped—no, leapt in your chest.

The wand slipped from your throat as he spun you around with ease, one hand still on your waist. He lifted his mask slowly, revealing tousled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and those burning brown eyes you’d missed more than you could ever admit.

Mattheo Riddle.

Your breath hitched again—but for entirely different reasons now.

His wand tilted under your chin again, this time more teasing than threatening. His eyes locked with yours, mischief and heat swirling behind them. That signature smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hello, my love.”