~ Immortality unveiled ~Tom Riddle x Reader 🐍🌶

Chapter 47 ~ Left Unsaid

LAST update in this book!!!!
CONTINUE THIS STORY IN THE 2ND BOOK -
THE DARK LORDS AMBITION 🌶🌶🐍🐍

(No pictures or GIF's here, only in the new book- the story continues there)

Severus Snape's POV:

The mark is as damning as it is mesmerizing. It coils across her pale skin like a shadowed serpent, a cruel reminder of the ties that bind. For the briefest moment, I allow myself to stare, taking in the evidence of her allegiance—the Dark Mark, etched in flesh.

It doesn't shock me. I knew. I've known all along.

And yet, seeing it displayed so carelessly, so vulnerably, stirs something unexpected within me. She's unguarded, trembling, her wide eyes darting between her arm and my face as though searching for a flicker of sympathy or betrayal.

I offer neither.

"Miss Orlov," I say, my voice low, controlled, like the surface of a frozen lake. "What a revelation."

Her lips part, her breath uneven as though she's about to say something—anything—to explain herself.

But I won't allow it.

"Spare me," I interject, my tone sharp enough to slice through her desperation. "I don't need your excuses, nor your attempts at justification. Do you take me for a fool?"

Her mouth snaps shut, and her gaze falls to the floor.

"Severus, please—"

"Don't." I step closer, my robes sweeping across the stone floor like a phantom. The air between us is suffocating, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of her shame.

"I don't want your pleas or your explanations." I lower my voice, leaning in so my words pierce like needles. "This—this mark—tells me everything I need to know."

Her breath catches, her shoulders trembling. For a moment, I wonder if I've pushed her too far. Then again, she's already standing at the precipice, and I'm the only thing stopping her from falling entirely.

"I..." she starts again, weaker this time. "I didn't mean for you to see—"

"You didn't mean for me to see?" I echo, a cruel smirk tugging at my lips. "How gracious of you. Tell me, Miss Orlov, how long have you been playing this little game? Flitting between worlds, dangling yourself in the Dark Lord's court?"

Her head snaps up, her eyes blazing. "I'm -"

"What" I sneer, folding my arms as I tower over her. "What are you? A mistress? A confidante? Or merely a distraction for his amusement?"

The words strike their intended nerve. She flinches, her fists clenching at her sides.

"I am loyal," she hisses, her voice trembling with restrained fury.

"To whom?" I press, my voice deadly quiet.

The silence that follows is deafening.

The silence stretches, taut and unyielding, as I wait for her response. Her chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, and her gaze flits back to her arm—the incriminating mark—and then to me. It's a calculated dance of defiance and desperation, and I watch it with cold amusement, masking the turmoil beneath my stoic façade.

"I am loyal to him," she finally says, her voice trembling yet resolute.

Him. She doesn't need to elaborate. The name itself is a weight that presses against the walls of this room, heavy and suffocating. Voldemort. My supposed master.