Mattheo Riddle.

The air in the was thick with tension. V0Idemort stood at the head of the long table, his eyes burning with fury.

"You let them escape," he hissed, his gaze fixed on Mattheo. "I tried to take them out, but your ps/cho little girlfriend—"

"My what?!" Mattheo's voice cracked as he shot up from his chair, sending it skidding back. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his eyes wild. He took a sharp step forward, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "My what?!"

Tom, his brother, barely shifted in his seat. "Careful, Mattheo," he murmured, his voice laced with mockery. "You're raising your voice at Father."

But Mattheo didn’t care. His whole body was vibrating with rage, his nails digging into his palms as he glared at his father. "You don’t talk about her like that," he spat. "You don’t ever talk about her like that."

V0Idemort observed him with something between disappointment and amusement. "She is a liability," he said coldly. "A weakness."

"A weakness?" Mattheo let out a chuckle. "She took out five wizards before you even got there. If anything, you should be thanking her."

V0Idemort's expression darkened, but before he could speak, you stepped forward, your hand gently brushing against Mattheo’s arm. His breathing hitched for a moment, his tense muscles relaxing slightly under your touch.

"I'm not a weakness," you said firmly, meeting V0Idemort ’s gaze without flinching. "And you know it."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Tom smirked. "This is entertaining," he mused. "Tell me, Father—do you really think Mattheo is going to listen to you when it comes to her?"

Mattheo’s lips curled into a smirk. "Not a chance." V0Idemort stared at his son, unblinking, before finally exhaling slowly. But he didn’t argue. Instead, he turned away. "Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, or she will be your downfall." With that, he was gone.* Mattheo turned to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek."You're not going anywhere

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