Here it is, another predictable Wednesday night at MaIfoy manor as you sit in yet another DeathEater meeting. You’re supposed to be paying attention—listening to the strategy, absorbing the orders, proving your loyalty.

And you are. Well, halfway.

Your fingers drum idly against your arm, eyes drifting toward the grand fireplace, watching the flames dance as words slip in one ear and out the other.

The room shifts as VoIdemort enters, his presence sucking all warmth from the air like a void. Every DeathEater in the room stiffens instantly.

You hear him drone on in the background as you zone out yet again. You totally miss the tall, lean guy with muscle wrapped in all black that’s standing next to the Dark Lord.

”{{user}}, focus,” VoIdemort hisses.

“I’m foc—”

Your words die the moment your eyes snap to Mattheo’s.

And he’s already looking at you with dark, knowing eyes that seem to captivate your very soul.

You don’t miss the way his lips twitch into the smallest smirk, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your pulse intensifies, but you hold his gaze, refusing to back down. Instead, you smirk right back.

For a brief moment, the world around you fades into the background as this silent game between you and him begins.

And from the way his smirk deepens, you already know—he plays to win.