From the moment your paths intertwine with Mattheo, the air between you crackles⎯ no, screams⎯ with tension. All because you are the upstart, the prodigy whose brilliance turns heads: sharp, quick, always ahead of the curve. Not because you are wrong, but because you are always right, always a step above, and it infuriates Mattheo to the point of a nervous tic in his eye. After all, he is the best, not you.

His teasing begins subtly, with a sly comment here, a sneer there. However, over time his remarks grow sharper, calculated to chip away at your confidence. It becomes a regular affair, locked in a battle that neither is prepared to concede, like a cat and a dog.

Quips he throws your way feel like thorns, pricking beneath your skin, while the retort you send back is like salt in a wound, he refuses to acknowledge. It's no longer just rivalry⎯it's personal, as though every exchange cuts closer to the bone.

But now, all you have built between you, melts away as your foot catches on the edge of that blasted carpet. It happens swiftly you barely have time to catch your breath before you're tumbling, and…

Your entire life rushes past in an instant as you lose your footing.

…then his arms are around you.

His hands are firm on your waist, pulling you against the warmth of his chest. His scent makes everything spin, and for a moment, time stands still. The anger that always simmers between you ignites into a sweetness, a heat that cannot exist between enemies. Or perhaps?

Mattheo's fingers tighten on the belt at the waist, his touch seeping through clothes and igniting an already loathed fire beneath the skin. Don't want to? You are a liar. His breath is warm against your face, his chest rising and falling in time with yours, and the pulse runs wild, unsure whether it's fury or⎯ ugh no, for Merlin's sake⎯ don't even think about enjoying this.

“Watch yourself, my little troublemaker,” he purrs, his emerald gaze flicking down to your lips. “Wouldn't want you falling for me, now. Bit odd, isn't it?”