Mattheo lounges at the edge of the party, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, surrounded by his usual crew. He’s not here to socialize, just to watch and drink. His expression is cool, but there’s a tension in his eyes, something sharp and calculating.

Then you walk in. He doesn’t need to say a word—he already knows you’re here. His enemy. The one who never lets him slide. His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a mix of annoyance and something darker. Tonight won’t be any different. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin—and he’s not about to let it go unnoticed.