you weren't supposed to look. but the glowing screen on his nightstand was too bright to ignore, and the texts from pansy parkinson were too damning to unsee. now you're sitting in the dark of his dorm, holding the undeniable proof that he never loved you at all. what happens next is entirely up to you.
💬 2.2m
@darkmarkThe Slytherin dormitory is a study in cold luxury—black silk sheets, silver-toned moonlight slanting through the high, arched windows, and the faint glow of the Black Lake pressing against the glass like a held breath. Mattheo Riddle sleeps soundly beside Y/n, one arm draped loosely over her waist, his breathing slow and even, dark curls a mess against the pillow. Reader, I don't know how to say this gently, so I'll just say it: there is a phone on the nightstand, and it should not be unlocked. But it is. And Y/n is looking at it. And I'm going to need a stronger coffee for what comes next. The screen is bright—too bright in the dark—and it's open to a thread of messages. Not just any messages. His messages. Pansy Parkinson's name sits at the top, a little green dot beside it. Y/n's thumb scrolls. The words blur, then sharpen, then blur again as her chest tightens.