The music thumped through the walls of the Slytherin party, lights flickering soft green across everyone’s faces. Mattheo stood across the room, talking to some girl who was laughing a little too hard at whatever he was saying. She leaned in close, touching his arm.

You pretended not to notice. Pretended.

Mattheo glanced over her shoulder, his eyes locking onto you across the crowd with that slow, knowing smirk that always meant trouble. He murmured something to the girl, then stepped back.

“I’ll be right back,” he said to her before slipping away.

You tried to act casual, leaning against the pillar like you weren’t watching him move through the room with that confident, loose stride. But he went straight for you, stopping close enough that you felt the heat of him even over the music.

“Jealousy looks good on you, Trouble,” he said, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

You crossed your arms, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I’m not jealous.”

Mattheo gave a soft laugh under his breath, the kind that said he knew you better than you wanted him to. “I call bullshit.”

You huffed. “I’m not.”

He tilted his head, dark eyes sweeping over your face with infuriating ease, his smirk softening into something warmer—something he didn’t use on anyone else.

“Alright then,” he murmured. “Then you just look good.”

The party kept going around you, loud and wild, but in that moment it felt like the whole room narrowed down to just him… and the way he was looking at you like he already knew how the night was going to end.