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miryum · 4 months

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A Green and Silver Ring (Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

An arranged marriage between you and Mattheo, one that might lead to something beautiful

Word Count: 10.3k

I know I haven't posted in a long time but I have a plan trust the process. Also, this is me coming out and saying that I love Mattheo Riddle and he's amazing

Warnings: Swearing, bad and manipulative parenting from both Mattheo and reader’s parents, a lot of misogyny (a bit from Mattheo but he gets better by a lot and it’s not that bad), arguments, Tom isn’t Mattheo’s brother and Tom is a creep, arranged marriage, one bed trope, enemies to lovers, greek mythology reference, talk of kids, needing kids to carry on family lines, and kids. Mistress is the feminine term for master (so reader isn’t Mattheo’s side piece when I refer to her as mistress), old timey talk a bit, reader is a bookworm

From the desk of Ginevra

My dearest friend,

My parents have informed me of your engagement. I was ecstatic, yet surprised, when I heard the news. I was of the assumption that your parents were allowing you to choose your husband as your family line is secure in your brother and his wife. Yet, once I learned who your husband-to-be is, I was trepidatious.

My thoughts are with you, my darling friend, and I pray for you to write to me the moment you get my letter.

I hate to break the news, but you and your fiancé are the talk of high society. Never before have two such families been intertwined. Even I have had to scold my brothers for their gossip. They seem to forget that our families are close friends.

I do not ask why your parents have made such a decision. I know they are intelligent adults and surely must have a motive, but I admit that I am blind in that regard. Your engagement seems sudden and unwarranted to me. When questioned, my mother sighed and said I would understand when I grew older. My mother continues to baffle me. I have borne two children and a third on the way! If I am not mature now, I better gain some knowledge quickly.

Always remember that I am by your side. If you ever need anything, my door is always open to you. I am sure Harry will agree.

I love you, my friend.

Ginny

From the office of Lorenzo

Miss. L/n,

I believe we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m saddened to say that this letter is as formal as we’ll get - at least until your wedding. I am sure you must be taciturn and mercurial as of now. My father has told me much about you and I believe we’ll make excellent friends and confidants in our hectic world.

You’re to be my new half-sister, aren’t you? My relatives and friends are petulant to meet you.

Before any rumours (either about myself or your fiancé) hit your ears, I’ll put a rest to them. Bellatrix, your fiancé’s mother, had an affair with my father. They produced me and in return, I have the privilege of being your fiancé’s half-brother.

Being a bastard child, I’m no stranger to being ostracised and ridiculed. To be blunt, I’m sure that you will be ostracised alongside me and I believe that is one reason we can connect.

For rumours of my half-brother, I simply say this: do not fear him. He relishes in the consternation he places in other people, yet when he heard he was to marry you, I saw panic in his eyes like no other. It seems the tables have turned. He is hesitant to be wed, but you are not the problem. He simply doesn’t want to have the responsibility of another’s life on his. Your fiancé is used to belittling people - not supporting them as a husband should.

Any questions you have about your fiancé and my half-brother (whom in case I didn’t make clear, are one and the same), refer to me without any qualms. I am eager to meet you and hopefully make your transition into the Riddle family smoother.

I am well aware you have also lived your life in the upper echelons of society. But, as I’m sure you know, there are multiple circles in our complicated community. The L/ns, the Weasleys, and the Potters, for example, have grown their fortunes truthfully and innocently. They have earned the respect of their people and those whom they employ. The Riddles, Blacks, and Berkshires, on the other hand, have climbed the ranks in unconventional means and by skipping a few rungs on the ladder. They thrive and make their living on the terror and duress they cause those under them.

I’m looking forward to making your acquaintance.

Lorenzo Berkshire

P.S. I hope I haven’t scared you off.

From the office of L/n

Daughter,

You’ll be pleased to hear the engagement has gone through. Your mother and I met your fiancé last night. He seems like a nice man. He will be able to provide for you. His family is influential.

We will return home late tomorrow evening. You will depart for Riddle Estate in a week. Begin packing.

Your father

From the desk of Ginevra

Y/n,

You worry me with your lack of communication. Usually, you can’t wait to gossip with me. We have such fun at dinners and balls, yet with the most important aspect of yourself, you don’t respond. I’m simply worried, my friend. Are you alright? I can envision you curled in your bed, not letting anyone, even your nursemaid, into your room. Please do not let your impending marriage affect your state of health. It will turn out alright. Everyone I know (even me!) had apprehensions about their marriage. And with everyone I know, it turned out alright.

Misters Sirius and Remus visited Harry and I the day before last. They came to see James and Albus, but I know there was a hidden reason as well. They know of our friendship and came to ask if the rumours are true. As much as my husband adores them, Sirius in particular can be prone to gossip. The pair tittered and tsked when I told them of your fiancé. Sirius wishes to distance himself from his family, and I know he has pre-existing thoughts of the Black family, and by extension, the Riddles.

Sometimes I take a moment to gaze at the family tree upon my drawing room wall. It is full of interconnected lines and squiggles that sometimes, it makes my head hurt! The web of family ties is complicated and if we’re not somehow related already, I know that we will be once your marriage takes place. It seems the Black family spreads its roots into the Weasley family and the Riddle family- the latter of which you’ll soon be synonymous with.

Give yourself some grace. Your fiancé falls far from the tree; I am sure of it.

Please write to me. I need to make sure my closest friend is doing well.

Best wishes,

Ginny

P.S. Hermione wishes to inform you that, from what she’s heard, your Mr. Riddle is quite attractive. I have yet to hear any of the rumours myself, but at least your husband will be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it will make the marriage more bearable.

***

Mattheo strode leisurely through Riddle Manor. It was one of the many estates his family owned, and it was soon to be officially his. Just as soon as he married the L/n girl.

The manor was spacious, which Mattheo couldn’t help but detest. How was he and a wife supposed to fill this void of empty rooms and dark halls? He knew servants and cooks would move in, but they wouldn’t occupy the dozens of upper rooms that were vacated.

For a brief moment, Mattheo couldn’t help but envision a set of children running around the halls. One of the children would run up to him, shouting, “Papa! Papa!” Mattheo would scoop the child up, grinning, and would carry them to their room. The room would be bright and cheerful, and maybe, just maybe, you would be sitting on a settee, cradling a newborn or helping an older child with their school work.

But for now, the room was dark and uninviting and he had yet to meet his future wife. He had seen a portrait of the L/n family and while they were in lavish, colourful clothing, Mr. and Mrs. L/n seemed cold and stoic - just like his parents. The children, an older son and younger daughter (whom he presumed to be you), seemed kinder and by their body language, Mattheo could tell that the two siblings were close.

Mattheo slowly made his way down the hall. There were three wings of the manor; two were residential and the other was designed for taking guests. The East Wing - in which he and Miss. L/n would stay - was also fit with an office for him. He was expected to take over half of the family business once he got married. The West Wing would remain empty for now, sans for a large library and the furniture in the bedrooms.

The boy knew that his bride was to arrive later that day. She would stay at Riddle Estate until the end of the week. Just three short days before they were to be wed in name. Mattheo would move into Riddle Manor tonight, giving servants time to wipe the dust off of tables, shine the silverware, and fluff the pillows.

Mattheo walked the halls of his new home. His mind was devoid of any thoughts. Perhaps it was simply because he was always numb. Even when he heard of his engagement, Mattheo didn’t make a fuss. He didn’t remember thinking anything. Nothing such as ‘Oh, I can’t wait to meet her!’ or even, ‘I can’t believe mother and father are arranging my marriage! She better be obedient.’

No, Mattheo had thought nothing of the sort. He had spent his childhood quietly observing his father and mother, noticing the amount of fear they could inflict on people just by silence. You didn’t have to be loud and dramatic to be powerful. You simply couldn’t be afraid to follow up on your promises - however deadly they were.

The only question Mattheo had asked when Bellatrix informed him of his engagement was, “and what do we gain from the L/n’s?”

Bellatrix had shot him an callous and apathetic look. “Do not ask questions you needn’t the answers to, boy.”

Mattheo had glowered, but shut his mouth.

As he neared the foyer, Mattheo couldn’t help but think how marriage was a component in all aspects of his life. When he got married to the L/n girl, he would inherit a portion of his father’s estates, company, and wealth. Mattheo chucked to himself. Maybe he should’ve gotten married sooner.

***

“Pray tell, why weren’t you here when she arrived?” Bellatrix snarled as she gripped Mattheo’s arm. Her nails dug into his suit as she dragged him towards the drawing room.

“I was busy,” Mattheo replied harshly. Love was not a thing that came instinctively to his family.

“Doing what? Planning your suidide?” Bellatrix scoffed. “I would march to the Underworld and choke Hades to bring you back.” Mattheo glanced down at his mother, hesitantly surprised. But he knew better than to raise his hopes and dreams. “We need this contract with the L/n’s,” Bellatrix continued and Mattheo’s jaw ticked. Of course. She didn’t love him; she never had. Her son was purely business. He should’ve known better.

“Maybe if you would tell me what the L/n’s provide for us,” Mattheo pulled Bellatrix back before she threw open the door to where you were. “Then I would be more complacent.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You think you’re smart, boy. You think you have everything figured out in that pretty little head of yours. But remember: you’re nothing without the Riddle family name backing you up.” She paused and licked her lips. “But if you must know,” Bellatrix sighed, giving into Mattheo. “The L/n’s just came into some very… lucrative land that we could gain from if you marry Miss. Y/n L/n.”

Mattheo’s eyes flickered to the drawing room door. After a moment, he asked, “is that her name? Y/n?”

Bellatrix stared at him, aghast. “You didn’t bother to learn her name?!” She scoffed. “With a son like you…”

She pushed open the drawing room doors and Mattheo trudged after her, muttering, “at least I know her name now.”

You had been waiting for seven minutes and thirty nine seconds in the drawing room of Riddle Estate, the trackage of time dependent on the old grandfather clock standing ominously in the corner. Its pendulum swung back and forth continuously as its second hand ticked by. Mrs. Riddle had left seven minutes and thirty nine seconds ago to fetch her son.

While the room was perfectly clean, not a speck of dust on even the highest chandelier, it was still a cold and morose room, yet oddly epochal. The wood was the darkest mahogany you had ever seen and the lights cast odd shadows on the dark green wallpaper that had inlays of gold.

Your teacup that you were trying to hold steady was filled with a sad excuse for tea. There was a ring of gold around the mouth of the teacup. On the table beside you, a notch that looked as if someone dug a knife into the surface caught your attention. It was the little things like this that you noticed when you had nothing else to do. Your mind was trying to distract you.

The door then swung open and there stood your fiancé, his stare daring you to oppose him.

“Uh,” you stood, your teacup and saucer still in hand. You quickly placed them on the table, right over the knife nick. “Y/n L/n,” you introduced yourself. You bowed your head in an informal curtsy.

Mattheo’s eyes flickered over your face. “Mattheo Riddle,” he said coldly. His voice was practically velvet. You didn’t mean to look him up and down, but you couldn’t help it. He was to be your husband, after all.

Mattheo’s hair coiled at the end and his eyes were just as dark as his curls. His nose had a scarred cut on it that looked as if it was just beginning to heal. Your fiancés cheekbones were practically sculpted from marble and for a moment, you believed that the gods had simply breathed life into a statue. Did this make you Pygmalion and Mattheo Galatea?

If it weren’t for their lethal eyes and stern posture, perhaps more would be friendly to the Riddles.

Mattheo spoke, “you’re to be my fiancée.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” You had the urge to add ‘sir’ at the end, but you bit your tongue.

Bellatrix hissed something to Mattheo and thrust a small object into his hands. Mattheo rolled his eyes and stalked towards you. “My family ring,” he grumbled. He held out an intricate silver ring with three bands interweaving. A green jewel cut into a thin diamond shape sat steadily in the middle. “It has been in the Riddle family for generations. It’s tradition to pass it down to the wife of the firstborn son. And now that is you…”

He trailed off and handed the ring to you, it laying flat on his palm. You took it from him, trying to minimise contact with Mattheo. You nodded in thanks and slid it into your ring finger.

It seemed too concrete to fathom.

Mattheo stared at the ring on your finger. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “My… wife,” he murmured halfheartedly.

***

Three weeks had passed since the wedding and it was as if you had never gotten married in the first place. Yes, it was unsettling to wake up in a bed that wasn’t your own next to a man that you were supposed to call your own. But other than necessary, Mattheo had hardly uttered a word to you.

In the three weeks you had stayed there, you had seen Mattheo a total of twenty eight times, including mornings and nights when you were forced to sleep in the same bed.

Your mornings, afternoons, and nights were all incredibly boring. You took long meals, pushing your food around. Sometimes you just sat by the window and watched the wind blow bits of grass and dirt past the window. The servants were still extracting the dust between the couch cushions and you tried to stay out of the way, but it only made you feel more isolated.

Mattheo was holed up in his office day in and day out. He had now inherited a large portion of his father’s company and Mattheo was determined to uphold the honour bestowed upon him. He had drafted contracts, sold and bought land, and even hosted a few dinner parties for his associates.

You detested the dinner parties. Thankfully, Mattheo had yet to invite you to one - hell, he had yet to speak to you about the dinner parties. You had learned of the first dinner party when you had wandered downstairs one late evening because you were thirsty. You had stared at the group of strangers, all dressed in elegance, as they stared back at you in your night clothes. Not saying a word, you had sighed and returned upstairs.

You hadn’t been eager for the marriage, but wouldn't it befit Mattheo to show some affection? Or at least acknowledge your presence?

While you had continuously tried to get your husband to open up to you, his answers had been short and venomous.

It had been a long, monotonous day for you. You had returned to the master bedroom about two hours earlier than you normally would have if you were at home.

With the wealth that you came from, the opulence was sure to be evident, but you had underestimated the Riddle family’s prestige. When Mattheo had first shown you your shared bedroom, you had to allow a flicker of surprise break through your facade. The bedroom was larger than any room in your old home and had a large bed in the middle. The lamps on the bedside table were always dimly lit and the design of the room was the same as the rest of the house - dark and bereft of love and care.

Your hair had been brushed enough, but you kept brushing simply for something to do while Mattheo finished up in the bathroom. Mattheo walked out of the ensuite with a towel wrapped around his waist. His curls were plastered to his forehead and a bead of water ran down his sternum.

Your eyes flickered to his figure through the mirror, taking in the dips and curves of Mattheo’s muscles as he silently got ready for bed. You tore your gaze away, berating yourself.

You built up your courage and tried to think of a conversation starter. You commented, “my parents wrote to me today.” After no reply from Mattheo, you continued, “they asked me when we would give them grandchildren.” You set your hairbrush down and stared at Mattheo through the mirror, looking for some sort of reaction.

Mattheo hummed noncommittally and put on some sleep pants. He used his towel to begin drying his hair. “It would be behoove us to produce some heirs,” he spoke. His tone was dismissive, as if children were nothing more than an obligation or duty to fulfil.

“Right,” you muttered, knowing that an uninterested reaction was all you were going to get out of him.

You stood and moved towards the bed. “Goodnight,” you whispered, turning off the bedside lamp and tucking yourself into bed. Mattheo was still putting on his nightclothes and had yet to get into bed.

As you turned off the light and got into bed, Mattheo finished drying himself off and slid into his own pyjamas. He sat down beside you, but didn't bother turning off his own lamp. Instead, he laid against the headboard, reading a book. "Goodnight," he finally mumbled, not even looking at you.

You curled into your blanket. After a moment, you asked quietly, “what book are you reading?”

He looked at you over the top of his book. "None of your business," he replied curtly.

You simply uttered, “okay.”

Mattheo felt an unwanted and unusual feeling root itself deep in his stomach. He scoffed and said sarcastically, "fine. Go ahead and keep asking questions all night long if it amuses you so." He opened his book again and pretended to read.

A longing and lonely pang resonated in your chest at his harsh words. You didn’t respond and instead turned your face into your pillow. You had known that your marriage was to be loveless, but it still hurt at every unspoken word. Perhaps, if you had been five years younger when you married Mattheo, your spirit would still be alive with the juvenile belief that you could stand up to him.

Mattheo huffed and his gaze turned up to stare at the wall ahead of him. “If you’re so miserable, then why don’t you just leave?” he snapped, not even bothering to hide his bitterness. “I am sure your family would simply love to have you back.” He flipped another page in his book, not even bothering to look at the printed words.

“I never said I was miserable,” you answered quietly, even though Mattheo knew it wasn’t true. Perhaps, though, you believed it to be true. You took a steadying breath, closing your eyes.

Your husband smirked and leaned against the headboard. “What do you call your attitude, then? Why are you so downtrodden and defeated? Surely, you can’t blame me for being frustrated by it.” He knew that he should be taking account of making you feel this way, but he still tried to justify his behaviour.

“Goodnight,” you reiterated.

Mattheo sighed dramatically. “Whatever,” he grunted. He closed his book, threw it on the nightstand, and turned off his lamp. The room was encased in darkness except for the dim moonlight coming through the window. He shifted towards the edge of the bed, making sure a noticeable gap was between the two of you.

He thought back to your conversation. “Why don’t you just leave?”

It was too late now to apologise.

***

Mattheo let the door swing shut behind him, returning to Riddle Manor after an outing with friends. He glanced around, waiting for a servant to take his coat, but no one answered. An eyebrow cocked, Mattheo slowly walked up the stairs, hearing you instruct the servants on something, every other sentence of yours either containing, ‘please’ or ‘thank you’. Up on the landing, he found you directing a servant who was pulling a rack of your clothing. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Have you lost your damn mind? Are you trying to send a message or something?”

“You’ve made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in me, so I’m trying to make this marriage as civilised as possible,” you said diplomatically. “I believe that if I move to the West Wing and leave you in the East Wing, it will benefit our marriage.”

“What exactly do you hope to accomplish with this piteous attempt at attention?” he asked rhetorically. “Do you think it’ll make me want you more?” He stuck his tongue in his cheek, grinning incredulously. “You’re delusional if you think that’s even remotely possible.” He stepped closer to you, towering over you with anger in his eyes. “This is not some game, L/n. This is marriage. You’re stuck with me whether you like it or not.”

“I’m aware that we’re married, Riddle,” you retorted. “And don’t refer to me by L/n anymore. I am now a Riddle - just like you. However, I am not going to live in a state of constant sorrow and dejection. Having a wing of the mansion to myself may help.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened as he stared at you, irritated by your resistance. “Fine,” he growled. “But don’t expect me to come running after you when you decide you want attention. You’re on your own now.” He turned away from you and walked into his now solo bedroom. “Just remember - this is your choice.”

You felt your anger inflate. “I thought you would like this!” Your voice rose and you tugged a hand through your hair. It was the first time in your marriage that you had fought back. “I have done everything I can to please you, yet nothing is enough for you!” Your voice turned desperate. “What do you want from me?”

He stopped in his tracks, turning around with surprise and disgust on his face. “Dammit, Y/n! Don’t yell at me like that!” His voice thundered, stepping towards you. “I never asked for any of this! I didn’t ask for a wife or for you to try so hard to please me! All of this is ridiculous.” His hand slashed through the air to make a point. “All I want is some space. Space to figure out what the hell I want. But let’s make one thing clear: I don’t care about you.”

“Am I not giving you space?” Your fists clenched at your sides. “I am moving out of the bedroom and out of your way. Yet, you erupt at me and get angry over nothing! You send me mixed messages and I don’t know what to do.”

Mattheo took a breath, trying to regain control over his emotions. “I am not erupting! Lord, you are so sensitive!” he snapped, running a hand over his face. “Can’t you listen for once? I am not sending you mixed signals. I am trying to figure out my place in this unorthodox situation we’re in.”

After a beat of silence, you asked firmly, “did you talk about me?” After seeing a flicker of confusion on his face, you clarified, “when you were out with your friends, did you talk about me? Did you rant about how annoying I was? Did you complain about marriage?”

His lips parted before taking a breath. “Yes, I talked about you,” he admitted begrudgingly. “I complained about how frustrating I find you and how frustrated I am with my parents for arranging this senseless marriage.”

“What did they say?” you insisted. “Did they sympathise? Did they laugh at me? Did they add fuel to your fire by commenting about how… how ‘needy’ and ‘sensitive’ I am?”

Mattheo made a low sound in his chest and rubbed his temples, frustrated by your persistence. “They agreed with me, yes. A few believed that you are too emotionally attached and sentimental. Others chalked it up to the pains of an average marriage.”

Your anger flared up and you said, “Let me tell you this: I never wanted marriage either. But I at least tried. I tried to be a nice and loving wife and a kind human.” You turned on your heel, marching out of the bedroom and towards the West Wing.

Mattheo watched you go, an unwanted feeling of guilt washing over him. He sighed and walked over to the window. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Why is everything so damn complicated?”

For the next couple of weeks, you stayed true to your word. You avoided Mattheo and his office and stayed in your wing of the mansion. After a week or two, you decided to explore the mansion, stumbling upon a magnificent library. You inhaled in veneration when someone cleared their throat. Mattheo stood behind you, raising an brow. After a silence, you said recalcitrantly, “you never told me that Riddle Manor had a library.”

He smirked at your thinly veiled hatred, amused despite himself. “Well, now you know,” he said dryly. “It’s a perk of living in a Riddle household.” He walked over to a bookshelf and began browsing for a book he required for a contract that was being drafting. He showed no sign of embarrassment or discomfort at your presence. “You may use it whenever you want. But don’t expect me to join a book club or anything juvenile.”

“I would never dream of it,” you said sarcastically. You step further into the library and can’t help but gape at the vastness. You trailed your fingers over the book spines, breathing in the smell of old books. You crouched down to examine a series of poetry titles. “I can read any of these?” you asked hesitantly.

He nodded and leaned against the shelf behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. “Feel free to read whatever you would like. They’re here for the entire household. Well, the servants don’t have time to read books, so in a Riddle household, the parents and children use the library the most.” Your hand faltered over the titles. “If you find something that catches your eye, go ahead and take it. I won’t stop you.” There was a hint of curiosity in his voice, as if he wished to know what topics and books piqued your interest. You hummed quietly, not fully acknowledging his words. You were already picking up a book and leafing through it. Mattheo watched you for a moment, his eyes softening briefly.

Everyday, you returned to the library. It was an escape from the walls of your room and the walls that Mattheo had put up around his heart.

Eventually, the servants recognised your routine and began to start a fire in the fireplace to keep you warm. They moved a loveseat in front of the fire that you gratefully used. You devoured the poetry collection, including Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe, and started on the classics. Every once in a while, Mattheo would come into the library, but he wouldn’t talk. He simply took a book and returned to his study. Sometimes, you wondered if he remembered you lived in the mansion with him.

Mattheo found himself frequenting the library more often, looking for books he had never needed before. A swell of pride filled him whenever he saw you by the fire, knowing that something in his home brought you such comfort. He still refused to speak to you, maintaining distance and ignoring your existence, but he found himself increasingly drawn to your presence.

One day, on a whim, he decided to take a risk and left a stack of his favourite books on the table next to your chair. That afternoon, you found the stack of books. You smiled despite yourself, though you didn't make any comment to Mattheo. You picked up the first book, sat down in the chair, and began to read.

A week later, Mattheo was hosting a dinner party for his associates. He didn’t say a word about it to you, though you heard the servants preparing for it. You decided not to go, opting to stay in your safe haven of the library.

After an hour or so of faint music, you heard the door to the library squeak open and your head whipped up. You saw one of Mattheo’s friends, Tom, enter and look around. He spotted you and his lips curled up into a smirk. “So you’re the wife we’ve heard so much about?”

Your stomach clenched and you replied, “I guess so.”

Tom’s smirk grew wider as he took in your terse response, enjoying your obvious discomfort. He approached you with a lecherous gaze in his eyes before asking, “and how do you find life as Mrs. Riddle? Are you enjoying your… arrangement?” His words dripped with sarcasm, not believing for a moment that you and Mattheo were married for love.

You stared at him. “It has its perks,” you said simply.

Tom laughed derisively at your response, not convinced by your nonchalance. “And what are those perks?” he asked, moving closer to you. “Extravagant gifts? Luxurious vacations? Or simply the privilege of being married to such a powerful man?”

You squared your shoulders. “I am powerful without a man,” you said sharply. “I do not need a man to determine my worth and prowess.”

Tom scoffed. “Really? How exactly did you become powerful on your own?” he asked, challenging you. “I find it hard to believe that you could ever achieve anything significant without the backing of a powerful husband behind you.” He leaned in closer, grinning.

You closed your book with a snap. “The L/n family,” you said, talking of your maiden lineage, “has had control over many estates and affairs for decades. Without Mattheo Riddle, I would’ve inherited half of it, second only to my brother. I would’ve had four auspicious companies at my ready disposal, capable of doing most anything. So, yes, sir, I would have been momentous without him.”

Tom’s smirk faded as he recognised your family name. He remained undeterred, however, stating, “that explains why your husband was so eager to marry you. He must see you as a valuable asset to his business empire.”

As you opened your mouth to retort, the door banged open and Mattheo strode into the library.

Mattheo had noticed Tom’s absence from his party, but when it became too long to be excused as a restroom break, Mattheo had asked his brother, Enzo, if he had seen where he had gone. Enzo had smiled a small smile and whispered, “Tom went to the library. Where your darling wife stays hidden.”

Mattheo saw red.

He barged into the library, a deadly, lethal, and borderline possessive look deep in his eyes. When he saw Tom flanking you, Mattheo’s expression darkened and his hands clenched into a ready fist. “What the hell are you doing here?” Mattheo demanded, his voice low and dangerous. “This is a private wing of my home - not some place for you to bother my wife.”

Mattheo moved closer to you, placing himself between you and Tom as if to protect you from further harm.

Tom quickly stepped back and placed a confident demeanour on his face. “I was simply having a conversation with your lovely wife here,” Tom gritted his teeth.

You scoffed and rolled your eyes, showing clearly that Tom was lying and intruding. You saw Mattheo’s eyes flicker down to you, his eyes softening reassuringly before snapping back to Tom, malice in his gaze.

“Don’t lie to me,” Mattheo snapped at Tom. “There’s no need for any sort of interaction or conversation with my wife unless I am present.” Mattheo placed a hand on the top of your chair, his fingers gripping it and his bicep flexing slightly to warn Tom.

Tom’s eyes flicked with something you hadn’t seen before: fear. Fear commonly associated with the Riddle name. He adjusted his collar and straightened his posture. “Of course, Mr. Riddle,” he said bitterly.

You raised a brow. “I think it’s time for you to go now,” you said, your face stoic. Tom bowed his head slightly before exiting the library. You didn’t look up to meet Mattheo’s eye. You murmured, “you didn’t have to do that. I had it covered.”

Mattheo watched Tom until he completely left the room before turning to look down on you. His voice was threatening, “you may have been able to handle Tom, but I won’t tolerate anyone disrespecting or harassing you while you’re under my roof. Consider this a warning - if anyone tries to cross you again, they will regret it.”

“Perhaps you should tell your coworkers that. Not me,” you replied.

Mattheo’s expression was cold. “Fine. I will,” he growled. “I will not sit idly by and allow anyone to disrespect my wife.” He let go of your chair and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. As if in a business meeting, he said, “And consider this another warning: if you continue to act so stubbornly, I won’t hesitate to remind you of your place in this marriage.”

“My place in this marriage is your wife!” you cried out, finally standing up. “Your equal! Something you seem to forget until it’s convenient for you. Or until another man threatens your… your property! I doubt you see me any differently than this house or your assets.”

Mattheo grabbed onto your arm tightly, pulling you close and leaning down so his face was inches from yours. “Do not ever speak to me like that. You are not my equal - you are my wife and I decide what is best for both of us. If you cannot accept that, then you should reconsider your place in this marriage.” He released your arm and turned away from you, striding towards the door. “I suggest you reflect on your behaviour,” he added icily, leaving the room without looking back.

After he left the library, you let out a scream of frustration. You shoved the pile of books that Mattheo had carefully curated to the floor. They tumbled down, book after book, covers opening and pages bending. Tears pricked at your eyes as you examined the scene.

You slumped into your chair, the fire in front of your crackling softly, emitting a calming warmth.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the chair, tear stains on your cheeks. In the morning, you woke to the serene morning light filtering into the room - a vast contrast to your mood. The fire had dissolved into crackling embers. Tucked on top of you was a thick blanket and the stack of books that you had pushed over had been re-piled and stood majestically atop the table.

You sighed, knowing you should thank the servants for taking care of you and cleaning up.

After you walked to the kitchen, your footfalls heavy, you thanked the servants, who were finishing preparing breakfast. They exchanged glances and one piped up, “Ma’am, while we appreciate the sentiment, we didn’t do that. We weren’t aware that you were still in the library. We believed you had retired to bed before the social last night.” They paused and then added, “however, Mr. Riddle didn’t go to bed. He was in his study until morning light.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. You bid them an awkward goodbye before entering the dining hall.

Mattheo was already seated at the head of the table, his expression exhausted and distant. He didn’t acknowledge you when you approached, focusing instead on the uneaten plate of food in front of him.

You sat down opposite him and muttered, “the servants informed me that you blanketed me last night and cleaned up the books.” You hesitated and finally said, “thank you.”

Mattheo looked up briefly, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t respond directly. “It was necessary,” he said simply. “You should not be cold and uncomfortable in your own home.” He doesn’t make any effort to engage in conversation beyond that. Something was weighing heavily on his mind and he seemed preoccupied by it.

You hummed in response. Eventually, you stood and whispered to your husband before walking out, “you are not as cold as you want to seem. You needn’t keep the facade up with me.”

Mattheo looked up briefly before returning to his food. His expression relaxed, but he didn’t respond.

***

Later that day, Mattheo sat in his study as he always did. A knock came from the door and he glanced at the clock. It was a bit early for lunch to be delivered, but he announced, “come in.”

The door creaked open and your head peeked into the room. Mattheo’s brows furrowed - not with malice, but with scrutiny. You entered and sat in one of the two seats next to his fireplace. Silently, you cracked open a book you had brought and began to read.

Mattheo watched you intently, his gaze never wavering as he took in every detail of your face. He tried to find any acrimonious intent behind your actions, but you looked so peaceful. He found himself noticing the details of your face and your beauty as the fire cast warm highlights on your eyes. “What are you doing?” he asked eventually, his voice holding an armour of needed suspicion.

“Reading,” you said simply.

Mattheo frowned, not convinced by your answer. Why would you read in his study after the way he had been treating you? He leaned back in his chair, his work forgotten. “Isn’t there something more important that you could be occupying your time with?” he challenged.

“Not particularly,” you responded. “You’re in charge of the companies and estates. I have nothing to do. I thought I would accompany you. You must get lonely in a study by yourself.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, but ultimately nodded slowly. “Alright,” he agreed after a moment. “But don’t think I will stop working simply because my wife is here.” His posture grew taut as he began looking over documents again. “This is still my office and I expect you to behave accordingly.”

“I’m simply reading,” you murmured, a smile inching its way up your lips.

Henceforth, a routine was established. Every morning, you would knock on Mattheo’s study door, usually an hour or so after he began working. There was rarely conversation, the silence being broken by Mattheo’s scratch of a quill or you turning pages, occasionally being disrupted by the loud crack of a log in the fire.

One day, you had finished your book (it was an excellent book, one from the pile Mattheo had recommended) and stood to go retrieve another one. At the sound of your footsteps leaving his office, Mattheo’s head darted up and he suddenly asked, “where are you going?”

You paused and turned back to him. “I’m to get a new book. Unfortunately, as wonderful as this one was, it had an ending like all books do.”

Mattheo frowned and a hint of vulnerability broke through his exterior. “Get a servant to do it,” he offered.

“Well, I don’t know which one I want,” you counted, raising a brow in a smirk.

He huffed and shook his head, returning his eyes to his documents. He grumbled, “I will commission the servants to build you a small bookshelf for my office. You can keep your books there.” You stood, watching him for a moment, admiring him until his gaze snapped up. “Well, go get your book,” he said sharply. “… but hurry back,” he added in a mumble.

You finally smiled at him before exiting and Mattheo gazed at the place you once stood, trying to memorise how your lips curled up and your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

He rather liked it when you smiled.

***

“Are you alright?”

You sniffed and laughed. “Yes, yes. I’m being foolish.” You wiped some tears from your eyes. “My book is very good.”

Mattheo chuckled lowly. “And what made you cry, hm?”

“A daughter and father interaction,” you replied quietly.

“Was the father cruel to the daughter?” Mattheo laughed tersely, shaking his head at his documents. “Are your feelings not strong enough to withstand their wrath?”

You frowned at Mattheo, setting the book down. “No,” you corrected slowly. “The father was being kind to his daughter. He was supporting her and loving her; as a father should.” There was a pause as Mattheo looked up at you. “I know that the Riddles are a harsher family - I’ve known ever since I knew I was to marry you. But… but are you alright?”

You felt absurd asking the question. Yet, when Mattheo couldn’t meet your eye, a wistful sadness blanketing the room, you felt as if you should’ve asked the simple question weeks earlier.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then Mattheo turned in his chair so his back was facing you. "I'm fine," he finally answered, his voice rough and strained. "I am used to dealing with it, I suppose." Despite his insistence that he didn't need anyone's pity or concern, your words seem to have affected him more deeply than he wanted to admit.

“May I ask a question?” you asked softly.

Mattheo hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes never leaving the window as he spoke. "Ask away," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. He then cleared his throat and said, "but I won’t give a warm and fuzzy answer."

There was a pregnant pause in the air as you gathered your courage up and suddenly thrust your fears upon your husband. “If we ever have children, which we’re somewhat expected to,” you added hurriedly. “I don’t want them to grow up in a household where they feel as if they have to vie for love or attention. And I don’t want me to be the only one giving them attention.” Mattheo turned his head so his face was angled toward you, but his eyes could still stray to the window if need be. “If we have kids, can you promise that you’ll love them? Even if you don’t love me?”

Even though your voice was steady, Mattheo knew of the vulnerability deeply rooted within you.

He nodded cautiously, his expression serious. "I promise," he said firmly. "I may not love you, but I will love our children unconditionally. They will never have to compete for my affection or feel neglected. I may not be a fond father, but I will provide for them and protect them as best I can." A protectiveness filled his veins just at the thought of something happening to his future children.

You nodded once, a sad smile on your face. “Perhaps we’ll have a big family. Enough children to start a sports team.” You smiled at the thought, laughing lightly.

Mattheo smiled, despite himself, imagining a large brood of children running around the manor. It was an oddly appealing idea, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud. "We'll see," he said noncommittally. "I'd rather have lots of sons; they'll carry on the family name and ensure my legacy continues." He turned back around and attempted to focus on his work.

“And daughters too.” You frowned, staring at your husband, even if he wouldn’t spare you a glance. “Daughters can carry on the family name just as well as sons.” A muscle in your jaw ticked.

Mattheo scowled at your defiance, his eyes narrowing slightly. Why hadn’t you just fallen into line? "Fine, daughters too," he reluctantly agrees. "But make no mistake, they will be raised to be strong and capable like their brothers. The Riddle name demands nothing less."

“And the sons can be soft and caring and sensitive,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have to vie for affection. I thought we agreed that they wouldn’t have needless competition in their life. I don’t want them to grow up… like, well… you.” You finally uttered the words that had been hanging off your tongue dangerously.

Mattheo’s expression hardened as he clenched his fist tightly. "Fine!" he snapped. "They can be whatever the hell you want them to be! But don't expect me to sit back and watch while they become weaklings and failures. We need to teach them to be strong and ruthless like I am." He stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process.

You jump up after him, crossing towards him. You whirled to a stop in front of him, jabbing a finger towards his chest. “Listen here, Riddle. Just because someone is kind and vulnerable doesn’t mean they’re weak!” You growled, “and just because you grew up like that, does not mean that’s the type of household I am going to have.”

Mattheo stepped forward and his hand flew up to grip your wrist. His eyes blazed with anger, but then something changed in his expression and he took a step back, looking surprised at his own reaction. "You're right," he admitted begrudgingly. "I shouldn't have assumed that being vulnerable meant being weak." He ran a hand through his hair, looking embarrassed, yet resolute in his decision. "But don't expect me to be a pushover either. I'll still teach them to be strong and independent."

“Strong and independent are good qualities,” you conceded. “Both for the boys and girls.”

"Agreed," he said. Mattheo straightened his cuffs and cleared his throat. "Our children will be taught to be strong and independent, regardless of gender. They will know that they are loved and valued by both of us, equally." He held out his hand to you, indicating that the argument was over - for now at least. "Deal?"

“Deal.” You shook his hand defiantly. It was a business deal, but a good deal at least.

Mattheo exhaled and brushed past you. “I’m to a meeting,” he informed you. It was a simple comment , one that was an offhand remark, but to you, Mattheo had just let you into his life. It was something he had never done before. Even if it was just a response to where he was off to, it was a window into his life. A life that now may have enough room to hold you.

Mattheo paused when he reached the door. “I never knew the way I grew up was wrong until I saw other families. I saw the parents bending down to listen to their children instead of hushing them. I saw parents comforting their children after scraped knees, not pushing them to the kitchen for some rubbing alcohol. I saw parents beaming when their child could plunk out the simplest of tunes on the piano. No one else got berated for being out of rhythm or playing a D instead of an E. I never saw another child get slapped by their parents or scolded as harshly as I was. It was around then I realised that something was wrong. But what was I to do about it?”

Words dried in your throat. You wanted to cry at his words, but you felt dried out. How could someone treat their child like that? It explained so much…

Your husband was a fragile man, you were just realising. And he was trying to pick up the pieces and present them to you in the only way he knew how.

"The stars remind me of you,” he said quietly, the change in conversation sudden. “I mean that in the best possible way.” His voice was the softest and most tender as you had ever heard it. You hoped he would keep speaking the melodies that made your heart sing in tune.

“How so?” you asked, afraid to break the plane of existence that you and Mattheo were carefully standing on.

"They are so beautiful, yet so far away. I may see them, but I can never touch them."

***

The servants didn’t know what to do. The master and mistress, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, seemed to be at a ceasefire. The cooks lamented at how they had seemed to be doing so well. The maids thought they were destined to doom from the start. The butlers gossiped about Mr. Riddle’s letters to a Mr. Tom, terminating their long-term partnership. The scullery maid still had hope that the husband and wife would come to their senses and live a happy life.

It perplexed the servants when the mistress requested to move her belongings back into the master bedroom and the master looked on, a soft smile on his lips. It confused the servants when the Mr and Mrs began taking meals together and talking in hushed tones late into the night. And it bamboozled the servants when, one summer afternoon, the Lord of the household stood from his desk, cautiously moved to his Lady that was reading by the open window, and asked her to accompany him on a walk. She had accepted.

There was to be a dinner party, this time hosted at Mr. Draco Malfoy’s manor, that Mr. Riddle was expected to attend. Per usual, the master didn’t invite the mistress, but she was content to stay home. A maid briefly heard the madam whisper to her husband, “hurry home, please? I don’t like it when you’re away.” The maid had scurried away before she could hear the reply.

Mattheo returned home that night, just before the sun was setting. He climbed the steps, unbuttoning his cuffs and loosening his tie. The soft glow of light was still shining under your shared bedroom - something he still hadn’t gotten used to - and Mattheo couldn’t help but smile.

“Why are you still up?” he asked quietly when he entered the room.

“You promised to be home early and I wanted to see you before I go to bed,” you reminded him, a small book in your hands.

“Right, right.” Mattheo chuckled and shook his head, slinging off his tie and jacket.

“How was the dinner?”

Mattheo hummed noncommittally. “Not the worst. A couple of my good friends, Theo and Pansy, were there to help alleviate the pain of socialising. But… I found something odd happening.”

“And what was that, husband?” Mattheo took a moment to relish in the way that word curled off your tongue effortlessly.

“I found myself wishing you were there. Nay,” he quickly corrected himself. “I wished I was here with you.”

“Oh?” Your eyes flickered up towards Mattheo, a slight blush coming to your cheeks. “Why… what do you mean by that?”

Mattheo began to unbutton his shirt and moved towards his closet. “Well,” he admitted, mumbling to himself. “I simply mean that instead of having to socialise with people who are too tightly wound and whose only intent is to take my money,” he chucked his belt into his closet and rolled up his sleeves, “I would rather be at home with my darling wife.”

A smile inched up your lips. “Really? Tell me more about this darling wife of yours.”

Mattheo hummed, stepping towards the bed. He crawled down on the bed, leaning on his forearms to lean up towards you. “My wife… I’ve come to care deeply about her. She is a beautiful, elegant woman, one who has a fiery tongue about her and an intelligent brain that even I cannot rival. She always seems to get her way, even when I try to fight back. It’s as if my wife has a command over me that I have willingly submitted to. And I am not ashamed to say so.” He lightly caressed your arm, sending a trail of goosebumps up your skin.

“You must be careful, Mattheo,” you uttered. “That sounds an awful lot like love.”

Mattheo brought his eyes up to meet yours, the sting of tears building up behind them. His voice cracked as he said, “that’s the first time you’ve called me by my name, Y/n.”

Your lips parted in shock. “I- I didn’t realise. I’m sorry-”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mattheo demanded before reaching up to pull you into a kiss.

His lips were soft and meaningful against yours, hungrily trying to gather every ounce of love from you. His kisses were feverish at first, his strong hand coming up to cup your jawline, his fingers just teasing behind your ear, before his lips slowed. Mattheo was a starved man and he wouldn’t let anyone take away his only solace. He shifted so he could be closer to you, gently taking the book from your hands as you surrendered yourself to him. Your hands found his silk shirt, gripping it in your fists. He placed the book on the nightstand and moved so he was hovering over you, never once letting a second go by without feeling your skin against his.

Mattheo slowly, achingly pulled away from you and his eyes fluttered open to meet yours. “My darling, my love, my life,” he murmured, dragging a knuckle down your cheek. “I apologise for everything I have ever done or said that made you feel inferior. I would be happy to kneel for you in front of my associates and family members - just to show them how much power you have over me.” He took a breath before persisting, “I was foolish. I was incompetent. I didn’t realise how much love I held for you. It is, and always will be, only you. I will promise you this: you will be the only woman I ever touch, the only voice I ever want to hear, the only skin I will ever caress, and the only eyes I ever want to see. I will wake and fall, every morning and night, thinking of you. You are the other half of my heart, for it is you who I love. I will place the galaxies and stars in the night sky for you. If you are ever unhappy, my love, I will not rest until I see you smile again. If you are ever mad, my love, I shall smite whatever upsets you, even if it is I. And I would die a happy man if you could give me only an ounce of what I give you.”

Your breath shook and you swore Mattheo had injected ambrosia into your veins for you were sure your blood was singing with the love that was filling your soul. “I wrote a letter to your mother today,” you offered quietly, as if your mere words could ever compare to the love poem Mattheo had just gifted to you. “And I thanked her.” Mattheo’s eyes flashed with confusion. You continued, “I thanked her for birthing such a wonderful husband and for raising him. I know you u wish to renounce your family, but as of now, I want to thank them with all my heart. Mattheo, I love you.”

“And I you,” Mattheo whispered, bringing his forehead down to rest on yours. His nose bumped against your cheek and he couldn’t contain his grin anymore. “How did I ever get so lucky?” he mumbled.

You laughed lightly. “Luck? Fate?”

Mattheo shook his head and his nose brushed light curves over your skin. “No, my wife. Simply love. Pure, unconditional love.”

***

The house was bright, the curtains pulled as far open as they could be. Some servants scuttled around, holding laundry or preparing for dinner. Meanwhile, Mattheo strode leisurely through the halls, smiling lovingly as his nephews chased each other through the halls. “What do I say, boys?” he called after them.

“Have fun, be safe, and don’t get caught!” they yelled back before running around a corner.

Enzo jogged after them and grumbled to Mattheo, “it’s not your duty to rule them up.”

“As their favourite uncle, yes, it is.”

“Your wife is in Andromeda’s room,” Enzo told his brother before sprinting off after his sons. Enzo wasn’t usually at Riddle Manor, but today was a special day. It was Orion’s birthday.

Mattheo chuckled to himself before Orion raced up the steps, panting. “Papa! Papa!”

Mattheo grinned widely and scooped Orion up. “Are you alright, hm? What’ve you been up to?”

“Aunt Pansy’s carriage just pulled up!” Orion bounced in Mattheo’s arms, beaming.

“And you’re not even dressed,” Mattheo stared at Orion, pretending to be stunned. “Where’s your mother, Ori?”

“She’s helping Andy get dressed,” Orion announced. Mattheo nodded and carried his son to his daughter’s room. “Mum!” Orion cried out, seeing Y/n standing behind Andromeda, knotting her hair into a braid.

“Oh, my darling,” Y/n tied Andy’s hair up before crossing to Mattheo and taking Orion from his arms. “Are you excited for your birthday?”

Orion hummed excitedly and wiggled down from Y/n’s arms. He darted to Andromeda and wrapped himself around her in a tight hug. Andromeda grumbled, but allowed him to cling to her as she finished her hair and rouge.

Mattheo took Y/n’s hand and pulled her back toward him, nudging his nose against hers. “Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to play with the silver and green ring on your finger. “Mine.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. Slowly, as to not arouse suspicion from your children, he backed you up and caged you against the wall in his arms. “Seven years with you and two beautiful children to show for it.”

“Hey, mum? Where’s my- eugh!” Andromeda turned around and reeled back from the scene in front of her. “For the love of Salazar, please get a room!”

“We are in a room.” Mattheo smirked, glancing up from the crook of your neck.

“Aren’t you two, if I'm doing my calculations correctly, nearing thirty years old?” Andromeda tsked and rolled her eyes.

“You believe that simply because we’re getting older, I’m going to stop loving your mother?” Mattheo chuckled before pressing a light kiss to your jawline.

You shivered and tucked your face into your husband’s chest. “Matty, spare the poor children,” you chastised lightly. “What do you need, darling?” you turned towards Andromeda.

“You used to call me that,” Mattheo whined. He stepped back from you, letting you out of his embrace.

Andromeda sighed and asked, “where is my white shawl? It’ll go well with the dress I’m planning to wear to Orion’s party.”

“Why does it matter what you wear to Orion’s party?” Mattheo asked, puzzled.

“Because Albus Potter is going to be here,” you said as if it were obvious.

“Harry Potter’s son?” Mattheo asked incredulously. “That scumbag?”

Both you and Andromeda ignored Mattheo and Orion left the room at the sound of Aunt Pansy entering the foyer and shouting out for her favourite nephew.

“Your shawl should be in the library,” you answered. “Ori was using it as a blanket yesterday.”

Andromeda sighed and turned towards the door. “He needs to stop taking my things. Just last week he stole my candelabra so he could read in the dark. Perhaps you should accelerate his schooling. He’s getting bored, you know.”

“We’ll raise our own son, thank you, Andromeda,” Mattheo raised a brow. Andy huffed and and flicked her dress out behind her dramatically, exiting the room. Mattheo turned to you and said, “they get that from you. The love of reading.”

“Yes, but they get their flair for the dramatics from you. And lest us not forget, you keep fuelling our love of literature by buying more books and expanding our library,” you countered.

Mattheo hummed. “‘Tis true. But how could I live without spoiling my wife and children?” He whirled you around in his arms and pressed a long kiss to your lips. “Speaking of children, what would you think of expanding our family?”

You let out a laugh. “You simply like the act of making a bigger family.”

“I love my children too,” Mattheo defended.

You reached up and brushed some of his hair away from his face. “Yes you do,” you smiled up at him. “You love your family very much.”

“Always.”

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miryum · 2 months

Text

Always in All Ways (Mattheo Riddle x Reader) Great Gatsby AU

Warnings: angst!!!! (but a happy ending) Reader wears a dress (once) cause it’s the 20s. Talk of kids and a future together. For the sake of incest, we’re gonna ignore the fact that Enzo and Mattheo are half brothers… And if you squint, there could be a sign of domestic abuse (but it is so little there that I'm not sure if you can call it that). Reader is married (not to Mattheo at first) and it's not technically cheating.... it's hard to explain. As always, swearing. Not entirely proof-read, but will get it done soon

Lorenzo Berkshire had moved into a gated, two story house, surrounded by a thick forest. The neighbourhood he had moved into was affectionately called Diadem East.

Diadem East was surrounded by a large bay, which, in turn, separated it from Diadem West. Diadem East and Diadem West were similar in the fact that they were obscenely rich. Even though both had enough wealth to buy the island of New York, Diadem West looked down on Diadem East because of generational wealth. Diadem West had come from old money - long lines of families that treated life like a simple game of chess and they could move others like pawns. Diadem East were those who only recently came into money and spent it freely and without care.

Lorenzo had moved to Diadem East in hopes of getting away from his overbearing parents, and it helped that his cousin lived right across the bay in Diadem West.

Y/n Pucey was a recent newlywed to Adrian Pucey. Lorenzo hadn’t been able to make it to the wedding, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see his baby cousin married to a man fifteen years older than her. Y/n had always been Lorenzo’s favourite cousin; she was a bubbling, carefree girl, probably due to the fact that from birth, she had no restrictions with her father’s money. Now that she was married to the pretentious Pucey family, Lorenzo doubted she was familiar with the word ‘no’.

What Lorenzo did doubt, however, was Y/n’s happiness. He remembered a time, back when she was nineteen, that he had visited her over summer break. She told him tales of a man that had captured her heart. Lorenzo remembered how Y/n’s eyes gleamed and her cheeks burned with her extensive smiling. He remembered laughing with Y/n in the sunroom, saying, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy.”

“I’m in love, Enzo,” she had replied simply.

Needless to say, Lorenzo couldn’t wait to see his cousin again. He also couldn’t wait to return to a normal sleep schedule, given that his new neighbour wouldn’t stop having parties every single night that blasted light and music into Lorenzo’s bedroom window. It wasn’t until Thursday at four pm when a butler knocked on Lorenzo’s back door, holding a silver plate with a letter positioned on it. “Can I help you?” Enzo asked slowly, leaning on the door frame.

“Mister Riddle requests your presence on Friday night for a party he is throwing,” the butler said.

“Mister… Riddle?” Enzo reiterated. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Your neighbour, Mister Mattheo Riddle,” the butler explained. “He wanted to welcome you into the neighbourhood.”

“Right,” Enzo trailed off. “I’ll be there.”

“Mister Riddle looks forward to making your acquaintance.”

****

The next day, Enzo drove up to Diadem West, the hilltop Pucey Manor looming over everything. As soon as Enzo finished driving up the winding gravel road, the front door swung open dramatically. Y/n stood there, arms flung wide. “Darling Enzo!” she squealed. “Oh, how I’ve missed you!”

“My sweet cousin!” Enzo called back, bounding up the steps. He whirled Y/n up in his arms, swinging her back and forth, much to her delight. Her sundress flared around them in a swirling dance. “How have you been?”

“Lively,” Y/n answered simply. “How are those back home? You must tell me everything.”

Enzo flung his head back and said dramatically, “they miss you dearly, loving cousin. When I passed through town, everyone wept when they heard I was to see you. Jealous men came running down from their houses and begged me to take them with you. Mothers sobbed and cried out how they wished their daughters would turn out like you. Children dashed through the streets, racing after my carriage with joy.”

“They did?” Y/n beamed, gripping onto Enzo’s arms. “I do miss them, you know. Perhaps I should visit next summer.”

“They would all love to see you,” Enzo stated plainly. “Yet I have a question for you. Do you know of-”

“Lorenzo Berkshire,” a voice boomed from the front door. “What’s a man like you doing in these parts?”

Enzo stared up at Adrian Pucey, the esteemed husband of Y/n. “Adrian,” Enzo peeled himself away from Y/n and sauntered up the steps. “It’s nice to see you again.” He held out his hand for the man to shake.

“Get in here, good pal.” Adrian clapped Enzo’s hand and pulled him into a rough hug. Enzo let out a huff of air as he collided with Adrian’s chest. “Wonderful to see you as well. Tell me, how’s the stock business going?” Adrian placed a nonnegotiable hand on Enzo’s shoulder and led him inside the Pucey mansion. Y/n let out a noise of surprise and hurried in after them, determined not to be left behind.

“Good, good.” Enzo made senseless conversation with Adrian as he tried to take in the curated house he was in. All the doors and windows were open, letting in a soft breeze and the stinging smell of the bay water. The curtains fluttered around Y/n as she walked, her eyes cautiously on her cousin and husband. No matter how she acted, Lorenzo knew of the whip sharp mind that Y/n had.

“And you know where he’s living, Adrian?” Y/n cut in, moving to recline gracefully on the settee. “In Diadem East!”

Adrian’s brows rose and he turned to Enzo as the men sat on the couch. “Why not buy a house here? Hell, you’re welcome to stay in our guest room. Anything for a relative.”

“No, please.” Enzo held a hand up. “I’m perfectly fine on my own and I don’t want to intrude. It’s a nice, cosy house looking over the bay. In fact, if I look towards the right, I can see the end of your pier.”

“Really?” Y/n lit up, head turning towards Enzo. “How sweet. It’s almost as if we’re neighbours.”

“Speaking of neighbours,” Enzo took this opportunity to ask, “my own seems to be very eccentric.”

Adrian chuckled and poured himself some whiskey. “How so? Do you want any?” He gestured to the whiskey.

“No, but thank you.” Enzo adjusted in his seat and crossed his legs. “My neighbour throws these obscene parties almost every single night. I’m convinced that if it weren’t for the trees, I wouldn’t be able to get any sleep.” Y/n stretched out her legs and leaned her head back until it was resting on the arm of the chair. “But the oddest thing happened - he invited me to one tonight.”

“Really?” Adrian sipped his drink. “And who is this poseur?”

“A Mister Riddle.”

Y/n’s lips parted and, almost in slow motion, her eyes flickered to Lorenzo before going back to staring out the window to the gleaming blue water outside. “Riddle?” she murmured. Adrian glanced at her and Enzo’s brows furrowed. “I mean, there must be a thousand Riddles… why, in fact, just last month, I was introduced to a Ryder. Which is like Riddle, I guess.”

“Y/n, are you alright?” Enzo asked softly.

“Yes, are you well?” Adrian added on.

“I’m sure I’m fine,” Y/n said. “Perhaps just lightheaded. I’m going to go lay down now.” Her hand flit to her collarbone where a small chain was tucked under her dress.

“Okay.” Enzo stared after her, admittedly worried about his cousin, before standing and adjusting his suit. “Well, I'm afraid I have to go. Mustn’t be late to this fellow’s party.”

“Of course.” Adrian stood as well, in common courtesy, knowing that the two men had nothing in common or nothing to do with each other without Y/n as the mediator. “Riddle…” the man muttered. “I could’ve sworn I heard that name somewhere.”

“It’s a common name, you know.” Enzo chuckled as he swiped out the door.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Adrian closed the door behind Enzo almost as an afterthought.

****

“What do you want, my darling? Anything you wish and I will make it happen.”

“I’m happy with just you, Matty.”

“That’s not a good enough answer, and you know it. Now, I’m going to ask again: what do you want?”

“… I… I want a big house. Overlooking the water so our kids can play in the water.”

“Our kids, hm?”

“Oh, yes, Matty. Our kids.”

“Alright. And what else?”

“Hmm… and a big ballroom that we can dance in. And all the paintings will be our favourites. And big parties for every occasion. Perhaps a pool. Or a sunroom. And the largest bedroom ever.”

“Is that all?”

“As long as I have you, Matty, that’s all I ask.”

****

While everyone else arrived to Riddle’s party in new and shining cars, Enzo simply walked. People of all backgrounds were streaming in the doors and Enzo was pushed into the unrelenting mob of partygoers. Enzo shoved his way to the first butler he saw and presented his invitation. “Uh, yes. I have this invitation here…”

The butler glanced down at the letter and said stoically, “you needn’t one.”

“Pardon?” Enzo had never been to a party where he didn’t need to be invited.

“The guests come and go as they please - per Mister Riddle’s orders.”

“Alright,” Enzo pursed his lips together and nodded awkwardly. “Thank you. Do you know where I could find Mister Riddle?”

“No, sir,” the butler replied. “He likes to socialise with his attendees and be in the throng of things. He likes to make sure that everyone is comfortable and having a good time.”

Enzo hummed and nodded in thanks before allowing himself to be swept up in the current. He was carried further into the opulent mansion and Lorenzo needed to remind himself to close his mouth at the palatial nature of it all.

Practically every surface was plated with gold or made of marble. The ballroom opened up to a balcony that overlooked a large pool which was currently populated with dozens of people. On the other side of the ballroom, a large sunroom was occupied by a throng of people, cigarette smoke wisping up through the open roof. The stars were obscured by not only the smoke, but by the fact that every light in the mansion was turned on. Marble stairs led down to another open room which held a stage and a band whose music filtered up throughout the rooms. Congressmen, celebrities, and random people off the street were packed into the house, booze and drugs were passed around and waiters tried to filter through the crowd to hand out refreshments and food.

As he passed, Enzo heard tidbits of conversations about their host. “Did you know he was a bootlegger?”

“No, no, I heard he fought in the last war.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s all terribly romantic.”

“Well, I thought that he was chasing a girl-”

Enzo managed to fight his way to the balcony and snag a glass of champagne on his way. He sighed in relief at finding a bubble of air to himself. A man dressed in a finely pressed suit jostled into him and quickly apologised. “Terribly sorry, old friend,” the man said. “I didn’t see you there. It’s a rowdy party tonight, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Enzo replied loudly. “Is it usually like this?”

“Unfortunately,” the man grinned. “Although few frequent. I always find that many people come once and then never return.”

“You seem like you know an awful lot about Mister Riddle’s parties. Do you come here often?”

“Yes,” the man tsked. “As hard as I try, I can’t pull myself away from this old mansion. Something always draws me back. Did you know that Mattheo Riddle built this house from scratch?”

“I did not.”

“Yes,” the man laughed, his lips curing up. “Of course, he didn’t build the actual thing, but he bought the land and drew up the blueprints years ago. Six, to be exact.”

“Why is that?”

“No one knows for sure. There’s a lot of rumours circulating around Riddle.”

Enzo shouted over the music, “I was actually invited by Mister Riddle himself. But his butler seemed surprised by that.”

“Yes, it is very rare that one is personally invited to these gatherings.”

“Do you know where I could find him? Mister Riddle, I mean.” Enzo took a sip of his champagne.

The man laughed again and raised his own champagne glass. A smirk coiled up on his face and he said simply, “why, you’re talking to him, old friend. I am Mattheo Riddle.”

The party noise faded in Enzo’s ears. “Oh. I’m so sorry.” His hand shot out for Riddle to shake. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Pardon me, Mister Riddle.”

Mattheo Riddle shook Enzo’s hand, still grinning. His eyes held a mix of anticipation and happiness. Those who were close to Mattheo Riddle - which, really, was no one - had never seen such joy on Mattheo’s face. “Oh, call me Riddle. Or better yet, Mattheo. I feel as if I already know you, old friend. And, seeing as we’re neighbours, I hope to get to know you even better. How would you like to join me in my study?”

Enzo raised a brow and cliched his champagne fluke. “May I ask what for?”

“Oh, well, to tell you my life story, after all.” Mattheo clapped a hand on Enzo’s shoulder, much like Adrian had hours earlier. But unlike Adrian, Enzo found himself agreeing to go along with this man he only met today.

Mattheo led Enzo down the hallway and nodded to a butler who was standing guard over an oak door. The butler opened the door up to Mattheo’s study, which was more of a library. The library was a much different aesthetic than the rest of the house. While the mansion next to Enzo’s little cottage was energetic and extravagant, Mattheo’s library was dark and cosy. Instead of gold and marble, it was made of oak and the flickering flames of candles.

“An impressive collection,” Enzo commented, glancing around the room at the rows of books.

“Why, thank you,” Mattheo replied. “It overlooks the bay, you see?” He pointed towards the window that, true to his word, was directly facing the large water.

Enzo peered out the window and huffed a laugh when he saw Y/n’s house staring back at him. “That’s my cousin's house,” Enzo glanced back at Mattheo to see his gaze locked on the Pucey mansion.

“I know,” Mattheo said quietly.

“You know?” Lorenzo repeated questioningly.

“Yeah,” Mattheo nodded. “You’ve heard rumours of me.” It wasn’t a question. Before Enzo could answer, Matthei continued, “but I can assure you, only one of those is true, old friend. I am… a helpless romantic.” Mattheo chuckled lowly, a sad layer in his eyes. Instead of sitting behind his large desk, Mattheo opted to lounge on a couch and Enzo sat in a loveseat next to him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“About… eight years ago I met this girl. God, she was absolutely perfect.” Mattheo gazed out at Diadem West. “I have been bereft of her for so many years… And I finally hope to make it up to her. I’ve become the man that will be good enough for her archaic parents.”

“Where did you meet her?” Enzo asked quietly.

“I was visiting her hometown one day, eight years ago. And I just…” Mattheo took a moment to wet his chapped lips. “She had all other eyes on her. She was simply walking down the street, yet she drew everyone to her. And when I was blessed enough to hold her in my arms… to kiss her lips is better than heaven.”

“May I guess her name?” Enzo’s smile grew larger. “Is this lovely, captivating woman my cousin, Y/n Pucey?”

“How did you know?” Mattheo’s voice was airy and wistful.

“Many men have tripped over their feet just to take a glance at my cousin. She is not only beautiful, holding the Berkshire genes, but witty, magnetic, and gentle.” Enzo finished his champagne and lit a cigar that Mattheo had offered him. “And, well, she might have mentioned you once or twice. She was in love with you when she was nineteen. Perhaps she still is.” Mattheo’s eyes snapped to Enzo. “Then she was married to Adrian Pucey. Honestly, I’m a little surprised that you’re living right across from her.”

“Yes, I’m aware of all that,” Mattheo stated. “But nothing has been an accident, Mister Berkshire. There’s a reason why I host parties every weekend, why I keep the lights on every night, why my home is directly across from hers, and why you, her cousin, is renting next to me.”

Enzo scrutinised this stranger across from him. “You’re obsessed with my cousin,” he stated, somewhat disgustedly.

“No,” Mattheo whispered. “I’m in love with your cousin. I have always been in love with her - in all ways. And she is me. Mention my name around her and you’ll see.”

“I have,” Enzo admitted. “She looked as if she’d seen a ghost. But she also looked guilty, Riddle. She’s married. She has a life. She wants children.” Mattheo’s jaw jumped as Enzo continued, “you can’t rip her away from that. It’s been years, Riddle. She hasn’t seen you for years.”

“I know…” Mattheo trailed off. “But just to see her again would fulfil any wish of mine. I have a vow I need to make due on. I- uh, I was wondering if you could invite her over for tea. And I could drop by. Just one day.” Mattheo’s eyes felt dry and he quickly blinked.

Enzo sighed deeply and after a long moment, said, “okay. Tuesday? At three?”

A weight lifted off of Mattheo’s shoulders. He now had all the time in the world. In his eyes, everything was finally falling into place. Mattheo would finally get to be happy again. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

****

Tuesday was outrageously cloudy. Lorenzo could hardly see the sun as he drove back to his house. As he pulled into his driveway, he came to see an ostentatious green Rolls-Royce convertible that was blocking his drive. Enzo stared defeatedly at the car for a long moment, knowing exactly whose it was.

Mattheo Riddle leaned on the hood and proceeded to wave at Enzo as if the man wasn’t hours too early to tea.

“You have a watch, don’t you?” Enzo called out, getting out of his car.

“I couldn’t wait,” Mattheo admitted. “I had nothing else to do today - well, that’s not true. I in fact cancelled some meetings that were set to take place today, but no worries.”

“You cancelled - you know what? Nevermind. Look, Riddle, I sure hope you know what you’re doing. Y/n… she’s changed from when you met her.” Enzo couldn’t look at his neighbour as he unlocked his door. Mattheo followed in after him, glancing around courteously, as if the real reason he was here wasn’t sending waves of nerves through his stomach. Enzo glanced back at Mattheo and moved to the kitchen to make some tea. Mattheo followed after him, his gait slow. “She used to believe that she could live any way she wanted,” Enzo continued. “But then she met Adrian.”

“Hm.” Mattheo made a low noise in his throat, fingers reaching out to play with the teacups that hung from a shelf.

“She’s not… unhappy with Adrian,” Enzo tried to explain. “But she’s putting her happiness aside for the grandeur of life.”

“I could give her that grandeur,” Mattheo muttered.

“Do you know how people back home would treat her if they found out she got divorced from Adrian Pucey just to marry a man who is rumoured to be a bootlegger?” Enzo asked, aghast. He roughly swallowed and said quietly, “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

“No, no,” Mattheo waved him off, still seemingly fascinated by Enzo’s teacups. “It’s perfectly in line. You make a valid point. Though I can assure you, I am not a bootlegger. Far from it.”

“Then what is your line of work?”

“Never you mind. When is Y/n coming?” Mattheo turned to Enzo, changing the topic at an alarming speed. The teacups were long forgotten.

Enzo exhaled and dunked a teabag in the teapot. “She said she’ll be arriving around three. However, that means that she’ll either be arriving at two-fifteen on account of wanting to escape Adrian, or she’ll arrive at four-thirty because Adrian needs something from her.”

“Let’s hope it’s the former,” Mattheo growled.

As if on cue, the two men heard the rumbling of a car approaching. The air in the room stilled. Mattheo’s face dropped and he turned pale, staring at the door. They heard Y/n’s honey voice call out, “Lorenzo!” Enzo quickly came to his senses and rushed to open the door. Y/n was driving up, waving her hat enthusiastically in one hand. A smile split on Enzo’s face as he rushed over to help her out of her car. “I must say, I was wary when you asked me to visit without Adrian,” Y/n chatted as Enzo escorted her into the house. “I couldn’t possibly think of anything you would need from me.”

“Can’t I just ask you over for tea?” Enzo chuckled. “Does everything I do need malicious intent?”

“Based on your past, yes.”

Enzo rolled his eyes playfully. After he took Y/n’s coat and hat, his eyes darted around his house, but he couldn’t find one trace of Mattheo anywhere. “Why don’t you sit down and I’ll… I’ll grab the tea,” Enzo muttered. He moved to his kitchen, and seeing his back door ajar, he shoved it open. “Where are you going?!” he cried out to Mattheo who was currently halfway across the lawn.

Mattheo spun back to Enzo, fear deeply rooted in his expression. “I can’t,” he whispered after he jogged back to Enzo. “I can’t do it. You’re absolutely right. She... she has a life. And probably doesn’t even remember me. It would be cruel to subject her to such emotions. I don’t want to cause her any harm.”

Enzo shook his head. “I will not have invited my cousin to tea under false pretences,” he said slowly and firmly. “You owe this to her,” he added.

A droplet of rain fell from a passing cloud and fell faster and faster until it splattered on Mattheo’s wrist. The water was absorbed by the cuff of Mattheo’s shift, but a small bit of the water rolled down onto his hand and drifted its way down to Mattheo’s ring finger. A thin gold band sat snug there. “Do you know what a pyrrhic victory means?”

“Yes.” Enzo frowned inquisitively. “It’s victory that cost the victor more than it did the defeated. But what does that have to do with Y/n?”

“My love for Y/n has cost me everything,” Mattheo muttered. “But she is everything. I'm used to people hating me for my wealth and how reserved I am. What I'm used to isn't people's love. And now, my love is with Y/n and I'm not letting anyone ruin that or take it away from me.” More raindrops began falling from the sky until a gentle pitter-patter could be heard all around them.

“So why don’t you come in and tell her that?” Enzo asked, gesturing towards his door.

Mattheo’s jaw jumped but he nodded, giving in. He shuffled through the door and into the living room where Y/n sat. Enzo grinned to himself and shut the door behind them before hearing Y/n gasp and the sound of a glass breaking. Enzo cursed to himself, knowing one of his precious teacups had now lost its life.

“M- Matty?” Y/n murmured, eyes wide. “Oh- oh, dear.” She stared down at the broken teacup on the carpet and bent down, hands shuddering. Mattheo crouched down as well, maintaining eye contact with Y/n the entire way. Y/n shook her head and focused on cleaning up her mess. Enzo noticed her whole body was trembling and he took a step forward as if to console her. Mattheo beat him to the punch. He grasped her forearms and helped her up, leaving the teacup behind. Y/n sniffed and repeated, “Matty?”

“Yeah, darling. It’s me,” Mattheo murmured, stepping closer to her. His hold on her arms softened and his cheek brushed against her forehead.

Y/n exhaled shakily. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, tipping her head to lean into a more intimate position with Mattheo. Enzo slid out of the room, smirking faintly.

“I live next to Enzo,” Mattheo said, neither one bothering to look for Y/n’s cousin.

Y/n chuckled humourlessly. “Tell me the real reason, Matty. I know you better than this.”

Mattheo smiled - the truest smile Enzo had ever seen on his neighbour’s face (not that Enzo was watching from the next room) - and leaned down to bump his nose against hers. “I could never hide anything from you. Not that I ever would, but I digress.” Mattheo reached down and gently lifted Y/n’s hand to his lips. He pressed featherlight kisses along her fingertips and confessed, “a year after you married Adrian, I built a house across the bay. The mansion whose windows are alight every single night with fireworks going off every weekend… that’s me, darling. Trying to get you to even glance over at me. Renting the neighbouring cabin to your cousin… that’s me. Every little detail, down to my car, is so I can see you again.”

“You did all that for me?” Y/n ran a soft thumb over Mattheo’s jawline, making the man shiver.

“And I will do so much more,” Mattheo promised. “I am yours, my love. Always in all ways.”

****

Y/n sat curled in Mattheo’s lap. The pair was under a tree on a picnic blanket, far from the L/n Villa. “I’m sorry I couldn’t spend my birthday with you, Matty,” Y/n murmured to him. “I know you had a surprise for me.”

“It’s alright, darling,” Mattheo whispered back, dragging his fingers through Y/n’s hair. “I know nineteen is a monumental birthday for your family.”

“But now you have me all to yourself,” Y/n lightly laughed, turning to grin at her lover. “What was the surprise you had for me? You’ve been awfully suspicious these past few days, Matty.”

Mattheo hummed, looking to the sky and rhythmically tapping his fingers against you. “Well, I don’t know, my love,” he teased. “What could I possibly get the most perfect girl for her birthday?” After your protests, he continued, not before kissing your temple. “I got you my heart,” he whispered. Out from his pocket, he pulled a thin chain. Dangling teasingly from the chain was a golden ring. “So I can be with you always,” Mattheo explained quietly.

Tears pricked at Y/n’s eyes as she gently took the necklace from him and thread the chain through her fingers. “You… you’re being serious right now?” Her focus was drawn to Mattheo’s own ring finger, where she noticed a new, immortal band lay proudly. “Are you…?”

“Only for you,” Mattheo reassured her. “Don’t worry. It’s my way of showing my devotion.” He twisted the necklace around her neck, clipping it there.

“Only for me?”

“Always in all ways,” Mattheo vowed.

****

Y/n frequented outings with her friends much more often as of late. Adrian only sent Y/n away with a half-committed kiss on the cheek and eyes fixated on his golfing or his business contracts. Y/n would get in her car (or Enzo’s if he was feeling nice), and drive down to Mattheo’s mansion. Most days, there would be other cars there, waiting for Riddle’s house to open to party. They would be carrying booze and wearing all fashions of clothes, and when they would walk up to his door only to be turned away, they would pout and groan. Mattheo’s house wasn’t blazing his lights anymore, nor were there any fireworks crackling each weekend. His car was kept parked in his garage and his smile was constant.

The first time Y/n had gone over to Mattheo’s mansion, so conveniently and coincidentally located across from hers, she had been in awe. “It’s exquisite!” she had exclaimed. She had run all over the house, marvelling at the floors and the ceilings, dragging Mattheo along behind her. Mattheo laughed loudly, his joy echoing off the walls. Of course, all of the art decorating his walls was accented to Y/n’s taste and the colour palette was exactly as Y/n had hoped for all those years ago.

“Dance with me,” she beckoned Mattheo one day, already spinning on the deserted dance floor. Mattheo would lock the doors to his manor and keep out the partiers forever and always if it meant he could see Y/n on his dance floor, waiting for him.

Mattheo stared at her, his eyes bright with love. He swept her up in his arms, pressing her close, and they danced to nonexistent music. Y/n rested her head on Mattheo’s chest and whispered, “this is nice.”

“This is very nice, indeed. I hope to do it more often.”

Y/n’s fingers gripped onto Mattheo’s shoulders. “Matty…” she whispered. “You know my feelings for you. But I- Adrian-”

“Please don’t speak his name,” Mattheo pleaded. “And I know about him. But I don’t care about him. Please tell me you don’t care about him either.”

“He is my husband, Mattheo.”

“That doesn’t mean you care about him.” Y/n took a breath and stepped slowly back from Mattheo. His mouth parted slowly and desperation filled his eyes. His hands reached out in anguish. “Please, my love. Don’t do this.”

“I will never love him as much as I love you,” Y/n clarified gently. “But I don’t hate him, either. Over the years, I have come to care for him. It’s a complicated feeling, Mattheo, I’m sure you understand.”

“Marry me,” Mattheo suddenly declared. “I promise, my dearest, I will give you all and more.”

“It’s not fair to Adrian,” Y/n protested, her hands dropped to her sides. “We don’t live in a life where one can just divorce their spouse to pursue another. You know of the rigidity and the silent rules that if we don’t follow, the exile we face.”

“Exile of what?” Mattheo cried, helplessness in his voice. “You can move in here. I can give you the life we dreamed of.”

“The life I dreamed of included my parents and my loved ones,” Y/n objected. “Not an isolated life with only one of the many I love.”

“Anyone you love can come visit you if they want,” Mattheo offered. “I won’t push anyone away. I just want you.”

“You know they won’t visit,” Y/n’s voice broke. “You know people will ridicule us. And I am so sorry, Matty, but I don’t know if I could live with that.” Mattheo didn’t speak for a long moment, staring at Y/n’s neck. “What’s wrong?” she eventually demanded. “Do I have something on my collar?”

“No,” Mattheo murmured softly. “It’s just… you kept it.” He pointed to Y/n’s neck and reached out to finger the chain around Y/n’s neck. The woman couldn’t help but shiver under his light touch. “You kept it,” he repeated. Carefully, as if afraid he might break her, Mattheo lifted the hidden necklace that was tucked under Y/n’s dress. “My ring.”

“I couldn’t bear to get rid of it,” Y/n’s breath hitched and she swallowed back tears. “I’ve never taken it off. Even- even on my wedding day.”

Beside himself, Mattheo chuckled, though it quickly turned to a gasp for breath. “So even when he made love to you, you always kept my ring around your neck?” Tears slipped down his cheeks and Y/n reached up to quickly wipe them away.

“I don’t want you thinking about that,” Y/n muttered, shaking her head at the absurdness of it all. “Please… just be here with me.”

“I’m here,” Mattheo could hardly get a couple words out. He pulled her close to him and pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. “You still haven’t said no to my proposal.”

Y/n laughed loudly. “I didn’t think you were being serious.”

“With you, I am always serious,” Mattheo grinned, bending down to look her in the eye. “And that wasn’t an answer. Why are you avoiding the question, darling?”

Y/n sighed, a coy smile on her lips. “Would I simply leave Adrian? What of my things? Adrian would come looking for me, you know?”

“I would buy you whatever you’re missing a thousand times over.” Mattheo stared at Y/n, his eyes holding all the tenderness that a lover was supposed to have. “I would protect you and Adrian would never know where you are. He will never harm you, I promise.”

Y/n tapped Mattheo’s chest thrice and hummed. Mattheo’s heart fluttered and his lips brushed against her temple. Silently, he begged all the gods he knew of that Y/n would agree to be with him. His lips moved wordlessly, pleading, before Y/n said, “I will call you tomorrow, Matty. I’m sure Adrian already knows of our endeavours, but give me one night to collect my thoughts. Can you give me that much?”

“Of course, my love. Whatever you need.” He kissed Y/n’s forehead again. “Always in all ways.”

“Always in all ways,” Y/n repeated.

****

“Where are you going?”

Y/n’s shoulders tensed and she slowly turned around to face Adrian. A packed bag was on her bed. “Enzo, the sweetling cousin he is, invited me to stay with him,” she said. “I thought it would be fun to spend a night in East Diadem. To see how others live.”

“You? In East Diadem?” Adrian chortled a laugh. “And why, pray tell, would you do that?”

“Because I love my cousin,” Y/n reiterated firmly. “Are you forbidding me to see my family?”

Adrian’s head hung and he shook his head. “I may be rich, but I’m not stupid.” He hesitated before stating, “I know about Riddle.”

“My old friend?” Y/n asked smoothly. “Yes, he was a friend of Enzo’s. That’s how I met him, you know.” She cleared her throat and zipped up her bag.

“You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” Adrian then suddenly shouted out, his hair flying out of place and his face turning red. “He’s fucking my wife, that bastard! Why, I should- I outta- you bitch!” He growled and whirled around, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Adrian.” Y/n held up her hands, trying to soothe his emotions. It was the only way she learned how. “I haven’t been unfaithful to you, I promise. I made a vow on our wedding day and I have since upheld it.”

Adrian grunted and demanded, “so tell me you love me.”

Y/n swallowed. “I- I love you, Adrian. Just not in the way you want me to.”

Her husband let out a yell of frustration and slammed his hands down on the back of an armchair. Y/n flinched. After a tense moment, he hissed out, “go, then. Leave me.” His voice rose to a crescendo and he shouted out, “but know that I will never let you back into this life again! No one will ever let you step inside Diadem West without rumours and hatred trailing behind you.” He let his voice drop and as Y/n shuffled back, he raised his head and looked at her, pleadingly. “I want to make you stay,” Adrian whispered. “I want to tell you all the ways I love you. But… But I think we both know I can’t.” He took a step towards her and held a hand out as if he wanted to cup her face in his palm. “You are so beautiful, Y/n,” he muttered. “But he makes you feel alive. You- you deserve that.”

“So do you, Adrian,” Y/n choked out.

“I know,” he nodded once, conceding. “I know.”

****

It took four weeks for Y/n to officially move into the house across the bay. Immediately, she had sought out her cousin and stayed with him for some time. She spent many of those days sitting out on the lawn, staring out to the bay and her old house. Her hair would whip across her face and sometimes, Mattheo would come and sit a couple feet away from her, not saying a word. Mattheo knew she was experiencing the eroding feeling of guilt. He didn’t dare disturb her thoughts if, eventually, it would lead to him. What’s a couple more weeks when he had been waiting years?

Then, one day, Y/n turned towards Mattheo and said, “you promised to love me always and in all ways.”

Mattheo’s head whipped toward her. The shame in his eyes was deep. “Yes,” he uttered.

“I think I’m ready to take you up on your offer.”

Mattheo broke into a smile.

A year later, the pair was married. The band that had been around Y/n’s neck was now around her finger. Y/n’s parents refused to attend and she had spent the night crying in Mattheo’s arms. Enzo had taken the place of her father and walked her down the aisle. The wedding was sparse and while Mattheo’s aunt had come to offer her congratulations, as had one of Y/n’s old friends, the couple knew that their life would be a lonely one until they either made new friends or Y/n’s old friends in Diadem West came around. But they were happy.

Grand parties weren’t a frequent occurrence, though every month or so, Mattheo threw a celebration for an unimportant holiday, simply to show Y/n off. He finally had the pleasure to kiss her in a room full of people and not be ridiculed. However, parties weren’t needed. As long as Mattheo woke up with Y/n in his arms, he would call it the most wonderful day ever.

And when years had passed and their children would move out to begin their own endeavours, the house would lay empty. After decades had gone by and the mansion was simply a statement of extravagant wealth and the jubilance of society, people would wander in the house, marvelling at the gold and marble. Whispers would echo the hallways of the great love story that transpired within its walls. A large, dusty old portrait of the couple still hung above the fireplace, their eyes holding as much love as there was water in the bay.

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle x you #harry potter fanfic #harry potter #adrian pucey #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire #x reader #great gatsby #great gatsby au #but with a happy ending #angst #flashbacks #loooveeeee #I love this and worked so hard on it #6.4k

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