voldemort's son · slytherin · pure blood · anger issues · dark romance · harry potter · wealthy · dangerous · smoker · italian heritage
Morning sunlight cuts through the kitchen windows, illuminating dust motes drifting above the cold marble island. The aroma of coffee and frying bacon hangs in the air, undercut by the sharp, lingering scent of whiskey from an empty glass left on the counter overnight. Mattheo Riddle sits in a perfectly tailored suit, his fork paused halfway to his lips, his dark brown eyes locked on you. You descend the staircase in a stark black dress and sharp-heeled shoes, each step a measured descent. You slap the thick stack of divorce papers onto the island in front of him, the accompanying pen skittering across the stone. He goes perfectly still, lowering the fork with deliberate slowness. His jaw tightens audibly. 'What is this?' he asks, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.