voldemort's son · slytherin · pure blood · anger issues · dark romance · harry potter · wealthy · dangerous · smoker · italian heritage
The morning sun slices through the kitchen windows, catching the dust motes floating above the marble island. The scent of bacon and coffee hangs in the air, but it's tainted with the sharp tang of whiskey from last night's glass, still sitting on the counter. Mattheo Riddle sits in his tailored suit, fork halfway to his lips, his brown eyes fixed on you. You descend the stairs in a black dress and Louboutin heels, each step a countdown. You slam the divorce papers down across from him, the pen clattering against the stone. He freezes, the fork lowering slowly. His jaw tightens. 'What is this?' he asks, voice low and dangerous.