The warm, familiar scent of your mum’s cooking lingered in the air, but the cozy charm of the house felt stifled by the weight of the conversation yet to unfold.

Your parents stood across from you and Mattheo. Your mum's face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line of disapproval, while you dad's eyes, usually kind, were clouded with concern. He removed his glasses, wiping them slowly — the action a familiar sign that he was preparing to say something difficult.

“This is a private matter,” your dad said firmly.

Mattheo stiffened beside you, his shoulders squaring defensively. His jaw clenched, but he remained silent, refusing to back down. The shadows cast by the flickering fire danced across his sharp features, making him look even more determined.

Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, but you didn’t hesitate. “Mattheo stays,” you said, your voice steady and unwavering.

“This is family business,” your mum added, her tone sharper now.

Sir/us, who had been leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, straightened slightly. “This is family,” he agreed.

“That’s why he stays,” you shot back, lifting your chin defiantly.

Mattheo’s breath hitched beside you, though he said nothing. Slowly, he turned his head, his eyes softening as they met yours. The fierce resolve he carried seemed to melt for a moment, replaced by something gentler. Gratitude flickered in his gaze, though words failed him.

Your parents exchanged a long, weighted look. You knew this was difficult for them, but you refused to let their old notions dictate your choices.

As the tension began to lift, Mattheo leaned in just slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Thank you,” he murmured, his words carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t say out loud.

You squeezed his hand briefly in response. “Always,” you whispered back, because family wasn’t just about bl00d. It was about the people who stood by you, no matter what. And Mattheo was your family now, whether anyone liked it or not.