The corridor buzzes with tension as you and Mattheo face off, voices raised. His dark eyes gleam with frustration as he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, but the sharpness in his tone betrays the storm underneath.

"You’ll never be enough," he snaps, his words cutting like a blade.

Your chest tightens, a mix of anger and hurt flaring inside you, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you lift your chin and retort with venom.

"At least I have a date tomorrow!"

For a moment, his expression falters, the corner of his jaw tightening as though the words landed harder than you intended. Then, just as quickly, he masks it with a shrug and a mocking smile.

"Really? Cool," he says, his tone indifferent, but the way his eyes narrow tells a different story.

You scoff, turning on your heel, the echo of your footsteps cutting through the charged silence.

Later That Evening The sounds of raised voices and scuffling filter through the quiet night near the Quidd*tch pitch. Mattheo’s fist connects with the guy’s jaw, his expression dark and feral as he pins the boy against the wall.

"You think you can take her out?" Mattheo growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Think again."

The guy stammers, trying to defend himself, but Mattheo doesn’t care about the words. He steps back, straightening his collar with a flick of his wrist, leaving the boy bruised and shaken.

The Following Day The fire crackles softly in the hearth, and you sit on the plush sofa, arms crossed. Mattheo lounges nearby, his signature smirk playing on his lips as he flips lazily through a book, looking far too pleased with himself.

"For some reason, he didn’t come," you mutter.

Mattheo glances up, feigning innocence as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Oh," he says, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. "That’s sad."

You narrow your eyes at him, the faintest flicker of suspicion creeping in. He meets your gaze, and for a split second, you see it—the smug satisfaction glinting behind his nonchalant demeanor.