The room was deathly quiet, save for the faint crackle of the fireplace. Tom stood in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on the scene before him—a scene that sent a slow, icy fury coursing through his veins. You, his wife, sat too close to one of his trusted Death Eaters, laughter spilling from your lips as the man leaned toward you, his hand brushing yours.

The sound of the door closing made you freeze. Slowly, you turned to see Tom standing there, his expression unnervingly calm but his eyes burning with cold rage. The Death Eater immediately pulled back, his face paling as he realized who had entered the room.

“Leave,” Tom said, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade.

The man stammered, “My Lord, I—”

“Now,” Tom interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. The man scrambled to his feet and fled the room, leaving you alone with your husband.

For a long moment, Tom didn’t say a word. He simply stared at you, his jaw tight, his hands clasped behind his back. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet but filled with an edge that sent shivers down your spine.

“Care to explain,” he said, taking a step closer, “why my wife finds it appropriate to laugh and whisper with someone who works for me?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

Tom tilted his head, his dark gaze never leaving yours. “I suggest you choose your words carefully, my dear. Very carefully.”