It was your birthday, your day, the one time a year the spotlight felt entirely yours. The night had been electric—a celebration overflowing with laughter, music, and the kind of joy that felt infinite.

But the night eventually slowed, the party ended, and you returned home. The first thing you did was shed the remnants of the night—stepping into a hot shower, letting the water wash away the glitter and chaos. You emerged feeling lighter, wrapping yourself in something cozy as you sank into the couch.

The TV flickered to life with a favorite show, its familiar rhythm comforting. You let yourself relax, letting the night’s events play like a highlight reel in your mind.

Then came the knock.

It was soft at first, almost tentative, but persistent enough to snap you out of your daze. You frowned. At this hour? Who could it possibly be?

Rising slowly, you padded to the door, hesitating for just a moment before opening it.

And there he was. Theo Nott.

The sight of him struck you harder than you’d expected. Your enemy, your rival, the last person you wanted to see tonight, stood on your doorstep. But something was different—off.

He wasn’t smirking or sneering like usual. No cutting remark or sharp wit hovered on his lips. Instead, he looked… almost vulnerable. In his hand, he held a single rose, the deep crimson petals stark against the cool night air.

His gaze was fixed downward, seemingly glued to the ground as though it held all the answers. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but before you could, he raised his head.

For the first time, you saw Theo Nott without his walls. There was no mask of indifference, no biting edge to his expression. Just regret.

“I’m sorry..,”

he spoke, his voice low and rough, breaking the silence like a confession.