You’ve been dating Lorenzo Berkshire for three month's now. Three months of dreamy walks around the lake, half-smiles across classrooms, and lingering touches. He brings you flowers—actual flowers, not conjured ones. Ones he says remind him of you. He tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re rambling, notices small changes, and always seems to know when something’s wrong before you even say it.

You’re not stupid. You know his reputation. The smooth-talking Slytherin with too many flings and hookups and not enough heart. But with you… he’s different. Softer. More attentive. And for once, you let yourself believe in that difference.

Earlier today, he forgot his Potions textbook at your dorm. You said nothing, just picked it up after he left. It’s late now, but you figure you’ll drop it off—he has class early, and maybe it’ll make him skip detention.

When you step into the Slytherin common room, you don’t expect to see him. He’s on the couch with his back to you, laughing with Theo and Mattheo. You stop before saying anything.

Then you hear him.

“Can you believe that, three months, and she’s already completely hooked.”

Theo and Mattheo snorts.

And then Lorenzo says it—offhand, like it’s nothing:

“The bet was so easy to win, it takes nothing to make her swoon. I mean Merlin, how oblivious can you be to not realise it’s all fake?”

The words hit harder than they should.

The book slips from your hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud.

He turns. His smile falters.