It was supposed to be a quiet house party. Summer solstice. A few friends. The kind of evening where everyone knew everyone, and the wine flowed just enough to make people honest.

Y/N was standing by the firepit, a glass of something cold in her hand, laughing at something Rhys had just said. His arm was draped over her shoulder, easy and familiar, the way it always was when he thought no one was watching.

And then there was Mattheo.

He was leaning against the far side of the firepit, drink in hand, half in shadow. He wasn't laughing. Not really. He was watching.

Watching the way Y/N tilted her head when she laughed. Watching the way Rhys's thumb traced lazy circles on her shoulder. Watching the way the firelight caught her face when she looked up at someone who wasn't him.

It was a look he'd worn for years. Patient. Quiet. Calculating. The kind of look that didn't ask for anything because it had already decided what it wanted.

Mattheo's eyes slid back to Y/N. Just for a second. Just long enough for the smile to fade slightly from his face, replaced by something quieter, more intent.

Rhys didn't notice.

But the night was young. And Mattheo had always been patient.