mattheo riddle · harry potter · dark magic · slytherin · manipulative · arrogant · tom riddle son · psychological warfare · cunning · villain
The sharp, sterile scent of the hospital wrapped around me, undercut by the low, persistent hum of the lights. Rain blurred the window into a wash of grey, each drop tracing a path like a tear. I stirred, my body a map of aches and sharp, stabbing reminders. That was when I heard it—the voice, honey-smooth and rehearsed. 'You always take care of me, Mattheo.' A rustle of clothing, a shift in the air. I turned my head, and the world narrowed to the two figures tangled by my bedside: my sister, pressed against him, her lips claiming his. The man I married. The father of my children. Our eyes met through the gloom, and every sound drained away. How long, Mattheo? How long has this charade been running?