Entitled

Chapter 146

The morning was still and quiet, save for the steady rhythm of water cascading down from the shower. Iris stood under the stream, her head tipped back, allowing the warm water to wash over her bare skin.

She was calm, composed—almost serene, despite the dangerous game she was playing with the Dark Lord. She knew Voldemort would not let this situation rest easily, but she also knew that fear was not an option. Not now, not ever.

The door creaked open behind her, and she sensed him immediately, the oppressive, dark energy of Voldemort filling the room like a smothering fog. He stepped into the bathroom with purpose, his eyes narrowed, his presence an unmistakable intrusion. The sound of his footsteps echoed sharply against the tile, and the air grew cold despite the warmth of the steam.

Iris didn't flinch. She turned slowly, the water glistening on her skin as she faced him. Even in this moment, completely vulnerable and exposed, she held her ground, her bright green eyes meeting his crimson ones with unwavering defiance.

"Bring her back," Voldemort demanded, his voice a low growl that trembled with desperation. "Bring Violet back."

Iris raised an eyebrow, a small, mocking smile playing on her lips. "We're not playing that game, Tom," she replied smoothly, her voice carrying the weight of centuries of knowledge and power. "I am not bringing her back. Not just for you to torture our daughter again. I think not."

Her tone was calm, controlled—completely devoid of fear. She stood there, naked and vulnerable, yet entirely unafraid. She watched as his eyes flickered with frustration, the mask of control he wore so carefully slipping ever so slightly.

Voldemort's face twisted with anger, but there was a new emotion there too—something closer to desperation, a need to regain the upper hand. "What's stopping me," he hissed, taking a step closer, "from hurting everyone she loves? From killing Severus? The children? What's stopping me from breaking everything she holds dear?"

Iris didn't flinch. Her eyes remained locked on his, her smile unfaltering. "What's stopping me," she countered, her voice as cold and sharp as a blade, "from killing you, Tom? From tearing you apart, resurrecting Violet, and ending this once and for all?"

Voldemort's expression darkened, his lips curling into a sneer as he stepped even closer, the space between them closing in an instant. "You don't have it in you," he snarled, his voice dripping with contempt. "You wouldn't dare."

Iris tilted her head slightly, her eyes never leaving his. The water continued to cascade down her body, but she made no effort to cover herself or retreat. She was utterly still, composed, and entirely in control. "Oh, that isn't true at all," she replied softly, her voice now a low, dangerous whisper. "In fact, I've been fantasizing about how you would look begging for mercy while Violet stands over you. How it would feel to watch the fear in your eyes as you realize you're not in control anymore."

Her words hung in the air like a dagger, and for the briefest moment, Voldemort's eyes widened. His hand twitched toward his wand, but he hesitated, the confidence he had once carried now eroded by the weight of her words.

"You think you can scare me with threats?" Voldemort spat, but his voice trembled slightly. "You think you, a mere ghost of the past, can challenge me?"

Iris stepped forward, her wet body mere inches from his, and her smile deepened, becoming almost predatory. "You've spent your life obsessed with power, Tom, but the one thing you've never understood is that power doesn't come from fear alone. It comes from control. And right now, you have none."

Her voice lowered to a whisper, her green eyes boring into his soul. "You're the one who's scared. You can feel it, can't you? The loss of control. The slipping of your grip on Violet. And you know, deep down, that if you try to hurt her again, I will kill you. Slowly. Painfully. And there will be nothing left of you but a forgotten whisper."