It had been two years since you and Tom had parted ways, the final days of your relationship had been fraught with arguments, until you couldn’t bear it any longer, and so you walked away, leaving behind the man you had once loved more than life itself.

Now, a year after the breakup, life had settled into a routine—work, home, repeat. But as you left your office that evening, something unexpected shattered the monotony. There he was, Tom Riddle.

He wore a finely tailored suit that accentuated his lean, strong build, the dark fabric contrasting sharply against his pale skin. His jet-black hair, perfectly styled and those dark, almost black eyes that seemed to pierce right through you.

“What do you want, Tom?” you asked softly.

“I want to show you something.” He replied lifting his arm up.

Without a word, you allowed him to take your arm and in the blink of an eye, the world around you blurred, and when it settled again, you found yourself standing in the middle of the English countryside, the scent of rain and wet dirt heavy in the air.

Before you, bathed in the glow of the overcast sky, stood a mansion—an imposing structure with intricate stonework that screamed of old-world elegance. The rain drizzled down, clinging to the ivy that crept up the walls, giving the place an almost ethereal quality. It was the kind of house you’d find in the pages of a classic novel in the rolling hills of England.

Tom took a step back, his eyes never leaving your face. “I wanted you to see it at least once,”

“…what?” you asked, confused. “Why are we here, Tom?”

He looked at you, his jaw clenching. “This house…it was meant to be ours.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding in your chest as the realization sank in.

“I had it built for us,” Tom continued, his voice steady but laced with the kind of sadness you had rarely seen in him. “This was supposed to be our home. A place where we could raise a family, where we could grow old together. And now, I’m going to sell it.”