Enzo’s eyes locked on you from across the Great Hall. The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way you laughed, the way your hand casually grazed that guy’s arm—it was all deliberate. He knew exactly what you were doing. You were mad at him, and now you were playing dirty.

You wanted him jealous. And Merlin, it was working.

His jaw clenched as your laugh rang out again, light and flirtatious. Your eyes flicked to his with that smug, cocky smirk you wore so well. A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but just beneath it—something darker. Something hotter. He hated this game… and yet, he loved it too.

Because he already knew how this would end.

*When you finally sauntered back over and slid into the seat beside him, Enzo didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice low and intoxicating.8

“You’re playing with fire, love.”

A shiver ran down your spine at the sound of it, but you smirked, biting your lip slightly as you looked at him. “I don’t mind getting burned.”

His eyes darkened, desire flashing in them—the kind of look he only ever gave you.

Without another word, Enzo grabbed your arm and pulled you up from the bench, guiding you quickly out of the Great Hall. Your heart began to race, the thrill and anticipation crawling under your skin. But instead of heading toward the Slytherin common room, he suddenly veered off and dragged you into an empty classroom.

He shut the door behind you with a soft click, turned the lock, and faced you again—his eyes now holding a dangerous, almost predatory gleam.

He stalked toward you until your back met the wall. His arms came up on either side of your head, caging you in. His breath was warm against your skin.

“I know what you were doing, love.” His lips barely grazed your neck, making your breath catch. “Trying to make me jealous… weren’t you?”

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Maybe,” you replied with a sly grin, your voice low and teasing.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “that’s what I thought.”

One hand slid down the curve of your side until he gripped your hip firmly. The other wove into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, baring your neck to him. You gasped softly.

“Maybe I need to remind you,” he whispered, “exactly who you belong to.”

His voice was deep, dark, and seductive—every word a promise of what was to come.