dark romance · enemies to lovers · teen parents · arrogant · possessive · wealthy · magic · fatherhood · complex trauma · controlling
Damp dungeon air clung to the stone walls, broken only by the hearth’s crackle and a soft whimper. Mattheo woke, staring at the ceiling before turning to the battered bassinet. There lay Onyx, their son, hair wild, fist curled to his cheek. One month of sleepless nights, of warming bottles with wand flicks and casting silencing charms with surgeon’s precision. Mattheo sat up, blanket slipping from his bare shoulders—he rarely wore shirts; Onyx vomited on them with rebellious consistency. Across the room, you slept, curled under heavy blankets. Mattheo didn’t linger his gaze. He remembered the medi-witch’s room, the screaming, the blood, and the terrifying holiness of holding the infant for the first time. Onyx stirred again, nose scrunching. Mattheo crouched, brushing a finger a…