A heart beneath the mark

28. Part

I was starting to get angry.
Not the loud kind. Not the kind that made you shout or slam doors.
The quiet kind.
The kind that sat heavy in your chest and refused to leave—growing stronger the more you tried to ignore it.
Because the more I thought about it, the less anything about Mattheo Riddle made sense.
"He said it didn't mean anything."
Cho looked up immediately, her expression sharpening. "Who?"
I gave her a look.
"Oh," she said slowly, closing her book. "Him."
I let out a breath, dragging my fingers through my hair. "He writes that letter—like it's something real, something that actually means something—and then suddenly it's just... boredom? Like I imagined all of it?"

Cho stayed quiet, watching me carefully.
"And then," I continued, my voice tightening despite myself, "he saves me in the corridor. Like actually steps in. And then acts like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter. Like I don't matter."
There it was.
The truth I hadn't said out loud yet.
I swallowed, but it didn't help.
"And he keeps looking at me," I added, quieter now. "Like—like there's something there. And then he says things like that." My jaw clenched. "Like I'm stupid for even thinking any of it could be real."
Cho leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable now.
"So yeah," I muttered, crossing my arms. "I think I'm allowed to be a little confused."
"A little?" she echoed.
I huffed out a humorless laugh. "Okay, fine. I'm angry. I don't get him, and I'm tired of trying to."

That felt better.
Saying it out loud.
Even if it didn't actually fix anything.
Cho studied me for a moment longer before sighing softly. "You know what? Good. Be angry. He deserves it."
I raised an eyebrow. "That's your advice?"
"My advice," she said, standing up and grabbing her cloak, "is that you need a distraction before you spiral into this for the next three days."
I frowned. "And what kind of distraction do you have in mind?"
She grinned.
"Party."
I blinked. "No."
"Yes."
"Cho—"
"Hannah," she cut in, tossing my cloak at me. "You've been stuck in your head for days. Come with me, stay for a bit, hate it if you want—but at least try to think about something else."
I hesitated.
Everything in me wanted to refuse.
But another part—louder now, restless and tired of thinking—just wanted out.
"Fine," I muttered. "One hour."
Cho beamed. "That's all I need."

⸻

I stood in front of the mirror longer than I should have.
My reflection stared back at me, uncertain.
I wasn't built like most girls. I knew that. Softer where they were sharp, curves where everything on them seemed effortless and straight. It made things like this—parties, of all things—feel like a challenge I hadn't agreed to.
Too tight felt wrong. Too revealing.
Too loose felt like hiding.
I exhaled slowly and adjusted my outfit.
A dark skirt, simple, falling just above my knees. Thick tights underneath to keep out the cold. And a soft sweater—slightly oversized, the fabric slipping just a little off one shoulder. Not on purpose. But not fixed either.
It was... me.
Or at least, close enough.
"Good enough," I muttered, grabbing my cloak.

⸻

The party was already in full swing when we arrived.
The moment we stepped inside, the noise hit me—laughter, music, voices blending together into something overwhelming. The room was warm, almost too warm, filled with bodies and movement and flickering candlelight.
I instantly regretted coming.
"This is perfect," Cho said, completely unfazed, handing me a drink.
"This is a nightmare," I corrected.
She ignored me.
I took a sip anyway.
Bad idea.
"That's not butterbeer," I said, wincing slightly as it burned.
Cho just smirked. "You'll live."
I wasn't convinced.

Time passed strangely after that.
I didn't relax—not really—but the edge of my thoughts softened just enough to make everything feel distant. I stayed near Cho at first, then drifted slightly when she got pulled into a conversation.
And then—
Of course—
I saw him.
Mattheo stood across the room, exactly where I would expect him to be. Slightly apart. Like he didn't need to try to be noticed.
But he wasn't alone.
A girl stood close to him. Too close.
Her hand rested lightly on his arm as she leaned in, saying something that made her smile. He looked down at her, head tilted slightly, that familiar almost-smirk playing on his lips.
My stomach twisted.
I looked away immediately.
"Of course," I muttered under my breath. "That's more like it."
What had I expected?
That he'd suddenly be different?
That I meant something?
I let out a quiet, bitter laugh and took another sip of my drink.
And another.
"Idiot," I whispered to myself. "You're such an idiot."
Because this—this right here—was who he was.
Not the boy on the Astronomy Tower.
Not the one who listened.
Not the one who hesitated.
This one.
Careless. Untouchable. Surrounded by people who meant nothing.
So why did it still bother me?
Why did it still feel like something was twisting painfully in my chest?

I leaned back against the wall, trying to ignore it, trying to ignore him.
It didn't work.
Because after a while—
I felt it.
That familiar, unsettling feeling.
Slowly, I looked up.
And there he was.
Not looking at the girl anymore.
Looking at me.
My breath caught.

The noise around me faded, just for a second. His gaze locked onto mine, steady, intense—nothing like the indifferent act from before.
And that was the worst part.
Because it didn't match.
None of it matched.
"Stop it," I whispered under my breath, tearing my gaze away.
This was exactly what I was angry about.
This.
The way he pulled me in without saying a word—
only to push me away the next moment.
Over and over again.

I straightened abruptly.
"I need air," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
This time, I didn't wait.
I pushed through the crowd, past voices and laughter and heat that suddenly felt suffocating, until I reached the door and slipped out into the corridor.
The cold hit me instantly.
Sharp. Real.
I inhaled deeply, letting it ground me.
But even here—
It didn't help.
Because I could still feel it.
Him.
Like his presence had followed me out anyway.