You'd come with Adrien, your hand in his, feeling like the luckiest girl in the castle. Now, you stood alone near the arched entrance, your fingers cold and numb, having just rounded the corner of the tucked-away alcove where the party's noise faded to a dull murmur.

There was a hiss of silk against stone. A soft gasp. Astoria Greengrass's silver-blonde hair was spilling over Adrien's arm as he pressed her against the darkened wall, his mouth trailing down her neck. His hand was tangled in her hair.

And he was wearing the ring you'd given him for his birthday.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat. You turned to see a familiar dark-haired boy leaning against the stone archway, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his sharp features. Mattheo Riddle was watching you with those dark, knowing eyes.