Mattheo and Theo had been given a new assignment from the Dark Lord—one that required precision, cruelty, and no mistakes. Together, they were a deadly force—calculated and merciless. No one ever lived to speak of them, not unless they wanted it that way. And this time, they didn’t.

Their target?

You.

A powerful witch. Influential family name. Aligned with the wrong side.

You had become an irritation the Dark Lord could no longer ignore. So, he sent his best. And the boys had been all too eager to accept the task. At first.

For months, they watched you. Studied every move you made. Every breath. Every glance over your shoulder. But you weren’t what they expected. You were unpredictable—always shifting routines, slipping through cracks, never quite where they thought you’d be. You were sharp. Cunning. Ruthless in your own quiet way. You fascinated them.

It was maddening.

They hated how their eyes lingered on you too long. Hated the way they started to notice the wind playing in your hair or how your laughter made something unfamiliar twist in their chests. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were the mission. Nothing more.

And yet.

Now it was time.

The sky above was cloaked in storm clouds, lightning flashing in the distance as a thick fog rolled down the cobblestone street. You had just stepped inside your home. The boys waited a few heartbeats before moving. Silent. Swift. Ghostlike.

They slipped through your wards with ease—spells spoken in hushed Latin, the wards unraveling like threads around them. The back door creaked softly as it shut behind them, the lock clicking back into place.

They moved like predators, every step up the staircase deliberate. And then they heard it.

Running water.

A shower.

Mattheo’s jaw ticked, a twisted smirk tugging at his lips. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice low.

Theo nodded, eyes dark with intent. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about.”

They pushed open your bedroom door just enough to slip in. The bathroom door was ajar, steam curling out like smoke from a fire. The sound of the water shutting off echoed like a countdown.

They raised their wands.

You emerged seconds later, wrapped in a single towel, droplets trailing down your skin. The moment your gaze met theirs, your body froze. Breath caught in your throat. Instinct screamed at you to move—but your feet wouldn’t.

Theo stepped forward first, his smirk laced with something sinister and silk-smooth.

“Well… look what we have here,” he said, his Italian accent thick, deliberate.

Mattheo chuckled under his breath, tilting his head with slow amusement. “Didn’t expect the view to be this good.”

Your heart pounded. Magic crackled just beneath your skin—raw, volatile.

But so did theirs.

Something unspoken charged the air between you all, like the calm before a catastrophic storm. And while their wands were raised… neither of them had cast a single spell.

Not yet.