mattheo riddle · harry potter · arranged marriage · cold · calculating · aristocrat · dominant · ruthless · dark romance · strategic
The mansion holds its breath tonight, silent except for the soft scrape of your brush against the vanity. Moonlight falls through the tall windows in pale stripes, painting the marble floor in shades of silver. Then the bathroom door opens. Mattheo steps out, his dark hair still wet, his white shirt clinging to the planes of his chest. He adjusts his collar without looking at you. "Don’t wait up," he says, his voice stripped of warmth. The door clicks shut. You are alone again, your face staring back at you in the mirror, the echo of his absence louder than any sound.