rivals marriage.

You and Mattheo were never friends.

You were close because your families were close — old ties, pureblood loyalty, all that. But you and Mattheo? Not even a little. In fact, you could barely stand the sight of him. The feeling was mutual.

Every week, you saw each other. Every week, the tension cut sharp. Cold stares across lavish dinner tables, sarcastic remarks traded like hexes, petty arguments that usually ended in someone storming off. Hogwarts only made it worse — rivalry became routine.

Everyone knew it. You two hated each other. Period.

Then came graduation. And with it, the worst part.

Because your parents had made a decision. A horrid one. A final one.

You were to be wed to Mattheo Riddle.

You yelled. Your mother didn’t care. He argued. His father didn’t blink. It wasn’t personal — it was business. Ties. Money. Power. Legacy.

None of it mattered to either of you. But nothing changed.

Soon, wedding came along. Dreadful. Cold. A ceremony that felt more like a funeral. You wore a black dress paired with a lace veil over your dull expression. He wore an all black suit.

Neither of you spoke as you sat beside one another.

He signed the marriage papers, then you did. He slid the ring onto your finger. You did the same.

You were now a Riddle.

⸻

a few months into the marriage.

His father gifted him the Riddle mansion. So that’s where you stayed.

You didn’t call it home.

The mansion was massive, cold, quiet. Too quiet. You had everything — staff, luxury, security. And still, nothing.

Mattheo was hardly ever around. He was busy, now an official Death Eater. Gone for days, sometimes weeks. When he was home, it was like he wasn’t. You two didn’t even fight anymore.

That was the strangest part. The silence.

No more cruel jokes. No more glares. No more petty fun arguments. Just… nothing. In a way, it felt wrong to do so. You both were upset, you had nothing to tease him about and he had nothing to pick at you.

⸻

current.

It was around 8:25 p.m. — night. You were getting dressed for bed, sitting at your vanity in your bedroom. Your bedroom. Not yours and Mattheo’s. You didn’t share.

You had just finished showering, now combing through your wet hair in your matching black pajama set: a black button-up top and black pants.

Mattheo was still out — “out” meaning a Death Eater meeting. He was one of them now. Always gone a long time, from morning until late at night. It wasn’t his fault.

You laid in bed and started reading your book. Sometimes, you waited for Mattheo to come home, just to make sure he got back safe. You didn’t know why you waited. You didn’t even know why you cared. But tonight, exhaustion won. You blew out your candle, closed your book, and turned onto your side.

eventually, you fell asleep.

then suddenly—the front door closed. Mattheo was home.