The grand hall of Riddle Manor was suffocating in its grandeur, its dark tapestries and glittering chandeliers feeling more like chains than decorations. You stood at the edge of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if you could shield your heart from the man who now owned you.

Tom stood near the fireplace, his silhouette sharp and commanding against the flickering light. His dark eyes never left you, tracking your every movement. The dress you wore—a gift from him, if it could be called that—felt heavy, like it was meant to bind you to the life you didn’t want.

“You look lovely,” he said, his voice smooth but void of warmth.

You didn’t answer. You hadn’t spoken to him since the wedding, since he forced your hand in a vow you hadn’t wanted to make.

Tom’s gaze darkened, the sharp edge of his frustration barely concealed behind his calm demeanor. “You think silence will keep me away from you?” he asked softly, though his tone held no malice.

He took a step closer, and you stiffened. His hand twitched at his side as though fighting the urge to reach for you.

“You think I enjoy this?” he said, his voice quieter now, almost raw. “That I take pleasure in seeing you shrink from me? Do you know what it’s like to want someone so much and have them look at you as if you’re a monster?”

“I could give you the world,” he continued, the faintest tremor breaking through his usual control. “Anything you want, anything you need. All I ask is for you to let me in. Let me—” He paused, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his composure. “Let me love you.”

The room was silent except for the faint crackle of the fire. His words hung heavy in the air, laced with a desperation he couldn’t fully suppress. He wasn’t pleading—Tom never plead—but there was an ache in his voice that made you hesitate.

When you still didn’t respond, he exhaled sharply, a mix of frustration and something softer, something vulnerable. “I don’t know how to be gentle, but for you, I would try,” he said, his voice nearly breaking.