The room is heavy with silence, the only sound the slow crackle of the fireplace casting long shadows against the RiddIe Manor’s stone walls.

Mattheo leans against the farthest wall, arms crossed over his chest, jaw set with frustration. Tom stands across from him, ever composed, hands clasped behind his back in that infuriatingly poised way.

They are brothers.

But only in name.

"You don’t get to act like we’re the same." Mattheo mutters.

Tom raises an eyebrow, unamused. "I don’t recall saying we were."

Mattheo scoffs, pushing off the wall, stepping closer, invading the space Tom values so much. "You know what I mean. The only thing we share is one last name. Nothing more."

Tom exhales. "A last name carries weight, Mattheo. You should be grateful."

"Grateful?" Mattheo lets out a bitter laugh. "For what? Being the family’s discarded experiment? The backup plan? The RiddIe no one actually wanted?"

Tom’s expression doesn’t change. "You think you’re the only one forced to bear this name? The only one who had expectations carved into his skin before he was even old enough to understand them?"

Mattheo clenches his jaw. He knows. He’s always known. But he doesn’t care.

"You wear the RiddIe name like a damn crown," *Mattheo growls, voice laced with resentment. "I wear it like a curse."

Tom tilts his head, studying him. "And yet, you never let it go."

Mattheo doesn’t answer. Because he can’t. Because despite it all—despite the hatred, the resentment, the endless cycle of trying to prove himself as anything but a RiddIe—