Tom Riddle, the son of the Dark Lord, has always been burdened by the weight of his lineage, destined to follow in his father's footsteps as the heir to a reign of terror. Yet, in Rosie Hart, he found a glimmer of hope-a love that made him dream of...
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DECEMBER 1995.
Snow fell gently outside the window, covering the Scottish highlands in a pristine blanket of white. The view from the small cottage, nestled deep in the woods, was picturesque, almost idyllic, but inside, Rosie's heart was anything but serene. Her mind raced as she paced the living room, glancing occasionally at the Christmas tree that Tom had insisted they put up despite her protests.
Rosie had always loved Christmas, but this year felt different. There was a weight on her shoulders, a secret she had carried for so long that it had become a part of her. She stopped pacing and placed a hand on her abdomen, a soft smile tugging at her lips. She was pregnant again. The realisation had filled her with a joy she hadn't expected, but it was tinged with guilt—a deep, gnawing guilt that had only grown stronger since she had found out.
Jazzlyn. The name echoed in her mind, a name she had never spoken aloud, a name she had given in her heart to the baby girl ripped from her arms so many months ago. Jazzlyn, the daughter she had with Lord Benedict Selwyn, the result of a twisted plan her parents had forced upon her. She had tried to forget, tried to move on, but the memory of Jazzlyn haunted her. And now, with another child growing inside her, the guilt felt unbearable.
She hadn't told Tom yet. She hadn't told him about Jazzlyn, about the nightmare she had lived through, about the daughter she had lost. She hadn't told him she was pregnant again, either. She was terrified of what he would say, how he would react. Tom was not a man easily moved by emotion, and while he had always been kind to her, she knew there was a darkness in him—a darkness she feared would consume them both if she wasn't careful.
Rosie sat down on the edge of the sofa, her hand still resting on her stomach. She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this secret any longer. But how could she find the words? How could she confess to the man she loved that she had borne another man's child? And how could she ask him to accept this new life growing inside her when she hadn't even told him about the one she had lost?
The door creaked open, and Rosie looked up, startled. Tom stepped into the room, brushing snow off his cloak. His dark hair was damp, and his sharp features were softened by the glow of the firelight. He glanced at her, a small smile playing on his lips as he crossed the room to where she sat.
