Barty’s cruel laugh echoed through the stone chamber, a twisted symphony to the man’s screams that ricocheted off the cold walls. The sound was like a song to him—one of control, of power. He knelt beside the bl00died wizard sprawled on the floor, breathing shallow and labored, skin slick with sweat.

“Pathetic,” Barty muttered, rising to his feet and dusting off his robes . His eyes gleamed, sharp and wild beneath the dim light of the torches lining the dungeon walls. Interrogation had always been one of his talents—precise, relentless, and thorough. It was why he had earned his place in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, a position few could ever dream of touching.

The iron door creaked open behind him, and a cold hush settled over the room as the Dark Lord himself entered.

“You’ve been quite busy, Barty,” Tom Riddle said smoothly, his voice like silk laced with steel as he approached, eyes narrowing at the trembling figure on the ground.

“He’s close to breaking, my lord,” Barty replied confidently, not even looking at the man anymore—his attention solely on his master.

Tom studied the scene for a moment, then placed a calm hand on Barty’s back, guiding him toward the door. “Yes, well, even the most dedicated soldiers need to rest. I think it’s time for you to take a break.”

Barty hesitated, already ready to object, but Tom raised a hand before he could speak.

“No, no—I insist,” the Dark Lord said with a smirk. “Besides… you may want to check the time.”

Barty glanced at the old grandfather clock across the room, and his heart plummeted. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

Tom chuckled darkly. “Go on, call her. Let her know you’re still alive.”

Despite his usual disdain for sentiment, Tom didn’t seem to mind Barty’s attachment to you. In fact, he was intrigued by you—by the quiet sharpness in your eyes and the way your presence softened the otherwise volatile man. He suspected you had the makings of a force just as ruthless as Barty, and he hoped you would join.

With a brief bow, Barty left the chamber and made his way to a quieter corridor. Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number. But it went to voicemail.

He exhaled slowly, his tone shifting into something softer—something he reserved only for you.

“Hello, my little dove,” he murmured, a faint smirk in his voice. “Seems I missed you. I can already picture you curled up in bed, probably wearing one of my shirts again. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you before you fell asleep. Things got… intense here, but I’m alright. I promise.”

There was a pause, and then a quiet chuckle. “Did you miss me today? Of course you did—who wouldn’t?”

Another pause. Then his voice dropped lower, warmer. “I missed you. I hope today wasn’t too hard on you. But if it was, don’t worry—tomorrow’s a new chance, a new path. And tomorrow night… I’m making it up to you.”

You could practically hear the smile in his voice now.

“Dinner at your favorite place. And don’t even think about what to wear—I’ve already picked out a new dress for you. You’re going to look divine in it. Sweet dreams, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket, letting the silence settle around him for a moment. Then, with his usual swagger, Barty turned and made his way back down the corridor—to finish what he’d started. ⸻

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your bedroom curtains, the warm golden beams pulling you from slumber. You stirred beneath the blankets, stretching with a quiet yawn before your eyes drifted toward the empty space beside you in the bed.

With a sleepy sigh, you reached for your phone, a small flicker of hope in your chest. Sure enough One new voicemail.

You pressed play—and your heart melted.

His voice—teasing, smooth, that blend of arrogance and affection only he could pull off—filled the room. You smiled despite yourself, laughing softly But it was the last part that made your breath catch—the promise of dinner. The mention of a new dress. The way he said he missed you.

Tonight, he’d be home.