The greenhouse pulsed with vibrant life, warm and humid, the air thick with the sweet fragrance of blossoms and damp soil.

Mattheo didn’t belong here.

This place was wild and chaotic, filled with fragile things that thrived despite the odds. He was a creature molded by shadows—trained to break, not nurture; commanded to dominate, never to admire. His father had carved softness out of him long ago.

Yet something had drawn him in, tugging at a restless ache he couldn’t name.

He lingered near the entrance, tension humming beneath his skin. He was ready to leave—his foot already shifting toward the exit—

Then he saw you.

You knelt among the overgrown plants, hands carefully prying a stubborn vine from delicate stems.

Mattheo’s instincts told him to remain unnoticed, to slip back into the shadows where he was safest. But then—

“You here to help or just going to stand there?” you asked without looking up.

The unexpected question made Mattheo blink, caught off guard by your directness.

“I’m not much for gardening,” he said after a beat.

You glanced up at him then. “Well, guess I’ll handle this mess myself.”

Mattheo stayed rooted where he was, torn between leaving and helping you. Against his better judgment, he stepped forward, dropping to his knees beside you.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he muttered, reaching for the tangled vine.

“Oh?” You shot him a playful look. “And you’re an expert now?”

“Something like that,” he said, smirking as his fingers brushed against yours.

“Careful,” you warned softly, your lips curving into a grin. “These guys bite.”

“Good,” he murmured. “So do I.”

You didn’t flinch at his words. Instead, you met his sharp gaze with unwavering steadiness, as if you weren’t afraid of the edges he carried.

And that unsettled him. Because in that moment, Mattheo realized something terrifying—he was already falling for you.

From beyond the greenhouse, cloaked in shadows, a figure lingered in silence.

Tom.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Always watching.