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“I’m so sorry about the background,” Hermione said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as the thump of running feet echoed. “They’re supposed to be in the playroom, but now Tom can reach door handles.”
On the screen, her editor, Luna, tilted her head, that dreamlike smile Hermione had grown familiar with over the past three years never faltering. “It’s quite alright. You’re supposed to be on leave, remember? I should be apologising for bothering you at all.”
Hermione snorted, shaking her head. “Please, I called you. You know I can’t sit still for long. Besides, if I leave everything to pile up until I come back, you’ll be buried alive in manuscripts.”
“I think we could manage, seeing as this is your third maternity leave in as many years,” Luna replied serenely. “We’d just have to work harder to keep up with the release schedule.”
Hermione laughed softly, though she winced again when Astra’s high-pitched squeal carried down the hall. “Honestly, I swear they know when I’m on a call.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Luna said. “It’s nice to be reminded there’s life beyond deadlines and revisions. Speaking of which, the marketing team still wants your input on the second campaign for The Iron Garden. I told them you’d at least glance at it when you could.”
“I’ll make sure to send over the final notes by Friday,” Hermione promised, and winced again at the sound of a door slamming.
“I don’t think there’s any need to rush, since they have a wider timeline to work with.”
Before Hermione could answer, the door to her study burst open and her words stalled in her throat. Junior came barreling in, Astra toddling eagerly behind him, and clutched in her son’s small hand was something that made her blood run cold.
For half a heartbeat she froze, panic hammering through her chest so violently she thought her ribs might crack. She forced herself to keep her face steady, though Luna was already staring at her with raised eyebrows through the screen. Thank God she couldn’t see what Hermione was looking at.
“I—I’m so sorry, I have to go,” Hermione blurted, snapping the laptop shut before the fear in her voice could betray her.
In the quickest strides she could manage, she was across the room, crouching low as she carefully pried the offending item out of Junior’s grip, swallowing down the terror that threatened to choke her. Astra, bright-eyed and curious, reached for it too, and Hermione’s heart lurched as she pulled both children back with firm hands.
“This,” she started, holding it away from them, but making sure they got a good look at it, “is not a toy,” she said, her voice steady but edged with iron as she knelt in front of them. “You must never, ever touch this again. Do you understand me?”
Tom frowned but nodded, sensing the seriousness in her tone, while Astra only blinked, confused but cowed by her mother’s intensity. Hermione drew a breath and stood up carefully, her hands trembling only after it was safely locked away in one of her drawers and out of their reach.
“Back to your playroom,” she ordered softly but firmly, smoothing Astra’s curls and nudging Junior toward the door. “Now.”
They went, albeit reluctantly, leaving Hermione alone with the echo of her barely-contained panic and the heavy weight of anger in her chest.
It was only after a few months of moving in with Tom that she realised her ex-boyfriend may not have been spewing words out of spite and jealousy after all, concerning the activities that Tom and his friends got up to.
While it remained an unbreached topic, Hermione knew that Tom knew that she knew. She didn’t want to poke at it and find out just how bad it was, but he must know that she wasn’t stupid enough not to know that he was involved in something illegal and that his real estate company was a front.
A lot of things had started to make the tiniest bit of sense and she soon stopped questioning him about things that she knew he was plainly lying about, like why he’d sometimes go out wearing one shirt and come back wearing another and insist that it’s the same shirt. She knew it was nothing simple and silly like him seeing another woman, but something far worse.
But this? She couldn’t tolerate this. If he was going to be careless enough to put the lives of their kids in danger, then all pretences would have to be dropped.
She reopened the drawer and then quietly made her way out of her study after picking it back up, her bare feet and silk dress whispering across the hardwood floor as she moved. Her children were tucked away safely but her panic still remained. If anything, it sharpened into fury with every step she took down the stairs.
Tom’s home office—the bigger one— was a floor below, insulated and soundproofed for the rare occasions he held meetings with his ‘associates’ at home. Luckily for her, today just happened to be one of those days.
Behind that door, he conducted business, unbothered, while their three-year-old son had just been running wild with his life in the balance along with his two-year-old sister’s.
She didn’t knock. She shoved the heavy door open so hard it slammed against the wall. Every head around the sleek large mahogany table snapped toward her, men in pressed suits and expensive watches and colognes freezing mid-conversation.
Shock registered in their eyes as they took in the sight of her—barefoot, flushed, curls slipping loose from her bun, silk dress unable to conceal her heavily pregnant belly, and more importantly, what dangled from her fingers.
She didn’t say a word as her eyes settled on Tom, seated at the head of the table, tall and composed in his leather chair and his posture one of deliberate ease. His gaze sharpened at her entrance but his face betrayed nothing more than a flicker of surprise, not even after seeing what she held.
Calmly, almost leisurely, he rose to his feet as Hermione started to cross the room to go to him. The room seemed to fall into deeper silence at their movements.
“Darling,” he said evenly when she got closer. “What’s the mat—”
Her palm cracked against his cheek, cutting him off and snapping through the silence like a gunshot. His head jerked to the side from the force of it, a flush of red immediately blooming across the pale skin of his cheek.
She stood there, breathing hard, her chest heaving and hand still tingling from the impact, but her gaze never wavered from his.
Around them, the men seemed to not want to blink, for fear of drawing her attention.
For a long moment, no one spoke. And then Tom, after composing himself, tried again.
“Love, I—”
The second strike landed harder than the first, going for the same spot. His head snapped to the side once again and Hermione could feel her palm throbbing.
Around the table, several men drew sharp breaths, but still kept their eyes down, even though the stiffness in their shoulders told of how they’d rather be anywhere but here.
And then without a word, she lifted her hand and dropped the cause of her wrath onto the glossy wood of the table. The heavy clatter made every one of them flinch and Hermione rolled her eyes. That’s rich.
Tom straightened slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. A bead of blood traced the corner of his mouth and he licked it away unhurriedly, his composure seemingly unbroken except for the slight tick she could see in his jaw.
“Get out,” he said.
The command was quiet but it was enough. Chairs scraped hastily back, leather soles shuffled across the floor, and within seconds the room had emptied, leaving them alone in the charged silence.
“Sit.”
For a moment, he looked like he wanted to open his mouth in protest, but thought better of it. He settled himself in a random chair and looked up at her expectantly after one glance at the object on the table.
“Will you tell me what’s going on now?” He asked softly, eyeing her as she paced.
“How long are you going to keep this up, Tom? Or did you really think I wouldn’t notice after nearly four years of living together?”
“Notice what, love? I don’t understand,” he said, reaching for her hand but she snatched it out of his reach.
“Changed clothes, cryptic work calls, leaving for work at the crack of dawn or in the middle of the night. Do these all sound normal for a real estate company?”
“Are you accusing me of cheating, Hermione?”
She threw her hands up in exasperation, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Tom.”
He shrugged with a frown. “How else do you want me to interpret you barging in here holding that and slapping me in front of my partners?”
“You mean lackeys? Those men are at your beck and call and we both know it’s got nothing to do with your pretend company. Are you going to tell me what you’re actually doing or not?”
“Baby, I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t get where all this is coming from, but I swear I’m not hiding anything from you. Maybe I work too hard, I can admit that and try to change, but everything I do is for you and the kids.”
Hermione took a deep breath while rubbing her belly. She was silent for a few moments before speaking again.
“Alright,” she said calmly. “So would you like to explain to me why I found my babies playing with a real, actual gun?”
For the first time, his mask faltered. His posture stiffened, eyes flickering with something that might have been shock. He drew in a slow and shaky breath.
“They had a gun?” He asked, his voice low, almost quiet. His eyes flickered to where it lay on the table, gleaming sinisterly.
Hermione, folding her hands over her chest, couldn’t stop the tremor in her voice. “Yes, Tom. Your son had it in his hand, with Astra toddling right behind him. They could’ve killed each other.”
He winced and dropped his head in his hands. Then he lifted it and ran a hand across his jaw, the red mark from her slaps still visible and slightly swollen. When he looked back at her, there was no denying the raw emotion in his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. Truly.”
“Sorry?” she demanded, blinking in disbelief. “That’s all you have to say? Sorry?”
“I should have stored it better,” he admitted, sounding genuine. “It was locked in my study upstairs, clearly not well enough. That’s on me.” His eyes softened, his tone lowering in a plea. “But Hermione, it’s just for protection for our family. That’s all it is. I would never let anything happen to you or the children.”
“You can keep lying if you want. But I’m telling you, Tom, that if you ever do anything that puts my children’s lives in danger, I’m taking them and we’re leaving.”
He rose sharply at that, breath stuttering. “Don’t say things like that, please. I’ll do better, I promise.”
She searched his face for a moment. “We’ll see.”
She swept out of the room after that, leaving him to slump into a chair with clenched fists and an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.
This wouldn’t do.
After some minutes of quiet contemplation, he stood up and went to lock the door before returning to the seat to pick up his phone to make a call.
The line rang only once.
“Everything alright, Tom?” Abraxas Malfoy’s voice came evenly, though edged with concern. He had been one of the men at the table when Hermione had barged in, and he knew better than most to tread lightly when it came to matters of Tom’s fiancée.
“I need you to take over affairs for a while,” Tom said without preamble, his tone calm.
There was a pause. “May I ask why?”
“I need to lay low,” Tom replied. “At least until Hermione delivers the baby. After that, I want her married to me no later than three months after the child is born. We’ve put it off for too long, I think.”
Abraxas exhaled faintly. “Understood. Do you want me to involve you in anything, or should I keep things running on my own?”
“Only call me if it’s absolutely necessary,” Tom said. “Otherwise, I trust you to handle it.”
“Then I’ll handle it,” Abraxas answered smoothly.
“Good.” Tom’s voice hardened slightly. “Tie up the loose ends with the last of Baldwin’s men. No survivors. And the Langleys—we’ve taken what we need from them. It’s time they’re removed from the board.”
“As you wish,” Abraxas murmured.
“And make sure the men stay in line. If anyone oversteps,” Tom’s lip curled faintly, thinking that some of them may start to get ideas after today’s display, “make an example of them. A clear one.”
“Of course.”
Tom paused, his expression smoothing back into something almost serene. “One more thing, Malfoy. Find me a wedding planner.”
There was a silence on the other end, then the faintest chuckle. “I’ll see to it.”
Tom ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. He leaned against the edge of the table, fingers brushing the gun.
Then he stood up to go and check on his children and soon-to-be wife.
“So, you’re… getting married in two weeks,” Ginny stated, then took a slow sip of her mimosa.
Hermione smiled softly and nodded. “I am. I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”
Ginny laughed dryly. “Trust me, no one can. And, are you sure this is what you want?”
She scoffed. “Gin, I have three children with the man.”
Her eyebrows go up. “And? Co-parenting is a thing.”
“Not in this case,” Hermione said, shaking her head.
“Right, so you’re getting married because he will not agree to co-parent, not because you want to.”
Her mouth opened and closed for some seconds before she responded. “No, Ginny. I do want to marry Tom. I know what your perception of him is, but he’s changed. He’s really trying to be better after an… unfortunate incident.”
“Really,” Ginny said flatly. “You genuinely believe that?”
“I do.”
As much as she wanted to push the issue, Ginny decided to quit being the cynic and be the supportive maid of honour that she’s supposed to be, trusting and hoping that Hermione really knew what she was doing, even though she felt like her friend was preparing to sign her life away.
Not that she thought Tom would deliberately hurt Hermione, but his fixation with her was glaringly unhealthy.
She honestly couldn’t decide if it was more dangerous having Hermione by his side or not having her by his side. He just seemed downright unstable and in need of a shrink.
“Alright,” Ginny conceded. “And how has the planning been coming along? I feel like the only thing I’ve been involved with is when we went dress fitting a couple of weeks ago, but otherwise not much work for me.”
Hermione laughed. “Honestly, I know very little myself, compared to most brides. That’s because Pansy is very efficient and organised. She has a vision and she’s determined to get all the details right.”
Ginny’s brows pinched together slightly in thought. “I get her being a great planner and all, but aren’t the details supposed to be the bride’s job or at least have her approval?”
“I did give her my permission to go with whatever she felt was best.”
“But it’s your big day,” Ginny insisted.
“C’mon Gin, the planning started only a couple of weeks after I had Matteo and I barely had the energy to think about flower arrangements and whatnots,” she waved off.
Ginny had to bite her tongue to stop from asking what the hurry was.
“If you say so. How is the little guy anyway?”
So at last the topic shifted from the wedding to the children, with Hermione telling Ginny how her newborn is an angel compared to her other two, being less fussy and eating very well.
“Junior has started climbing onto countertops lately, and of course Astra tries her hardest to climb up with him. It’s a good thing there are cameras around the house because those two need eyes on them at all times.”
Ginny’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’m sure.”
Just as brunch wrapped up and they stood to leave, the bell over the café door chimed and Tom walked in.
He cut a striking figure in his dark suit, tailored perfectly, his expression softened by a practiced warmth. His eyes found Hermione immediately, and his smile widened as he strode over.
“Hello, love,” he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek before turning to the redhead. “Ginny. Always a pleasure.”
“Tom.” Ginny’s tone was polite but cool, her arms folding loosely as she gave him a once-over.
If he noticed her edge, he didn’t show it. His smile remained gentle, his voice smooth as cream. “I hope you had a nice brunch. It was good for Hermione to get out a bit.”
“Yes, it was. Hopefully she can still get out in a few months.”
Hermione answered before Tom could open his mouth. “I’ll try and make time, I promise.”
“You better,” she replied softly.
Tom reached for Hermione’s coat, holding it for her with courtly ease. “Shall we?”
Hermione slipped into it, murmuring her goodbyes to Ginny. “Thank you for this. Really. I’ll see you soon, for the final fitting?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Ginny said.
Hermione gave her hand a squeeze before turning toward the door with Tom, her expression bright.
Ginny watched them go, her eyes narrowing just slightly.
As Hermione turned away, distracted by adjusting her bag, Tom glanced back. For the briefest second, his expression shifted, his smile tugging into the faintest, razor-edged smirk.
Ginny’s stomach tightened. She held his gaze, refusing to flinch, until he turned smoothly and followed Hermione out into the sunlit street.
The night before the wedding, sleep didn’t come easily. When it finally did, it came jagged, full of half-formed memories that blurred and bled together, as though her mind had decided to string together every unease she had ever buried.
‘Ethan Bell went missing three days ago when he never got back home from school even after multiple students reported seeing him head home. This morning he was found, unfortunately not alive. Coroners confirmed that he was murdered based on the multiple stab wounds found and…’
The body of Liam Dorsey was found beneath a lake, thrown in with a sack filled with stones. Autopsy reports are yet to come out and reveal whether he passed before or after getting dumped in there. The family of Liam are…
‘Marco Finch has been missing for months now with no news of his whereabouts and we continue to ask anyone who has any information to go to the authorities…’
‘Jared Brandt was found lifeless in his room last night surrounded by syringes and multiple bottles of drugs…’
Chris’ close friend and roommate reported that Chris left the room after a mysterious call to meet up with someone, and he never returned. Many attempts to trace said call has been futile but the police are still…
She woke with a start, her heart pounding, her skin damp with sweat. For a moment she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tell if she was still dreaming. The room was quiet except for the faint tick of the clock on the wall and the baby’s soft breaths from the bassinet nearby.
She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady the hammering inside her. The images clung to her, sticky and insistent. Ethan’s grin. Liam’s easy laugh. Marco’s sweet note asking her out. The names stacked in her mind like stones.
He couldn’t have had anything to do with them, she told herself for the thousandth time. He was just a boy then. Just a student. Coincidences, all of them.
She just couldn’t shake how each time he was there, holding her and talking her through the shock.
“You shouldn’t watch that stuff. It’ll only upset you.”
“He probably just ran away, maybe a family thing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. It’s not your fault. People disappear all the time.”
“You know students and drugs these days.”
“That was horrible what happened to him, but there’s no need to give yourself a headache crying over it.”
She slowly turned to look at him sleeping peacefully beside her while her heart hammered.
No, she was just being paranoid. She knew he was no angel but surely he hadn’t laid his hands on boys who’d spoken only a few sentences to her, some when they were too young for him to be that brutal.
She closed her eyes again and willed herself to go back to sleep, trying to banish the unwelcome thoughts.
No use for them now—she was marrying the man in less than 12 hours. Which was probably the safest option for all.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
The whole day had passed by in a blur of makeup, hair, and photographers in the morning, and vows, rings, and applause in the afternoon.
She didn’t even know more than half the people applauding beside her parents and Ginny. She felt oddly detached and honestly couldn’t even remember what she’d said in her vows.
Before she could draw a breath, Tom pulled her to him, one hand firm at the back of her neck. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was hard, possessive, and breath-stealing. The crowd erupted in more applause, but Hermione barely heard it over the pounding in her ears. His grip loosened only when she swayed slightly, and he smiled against her lips as though nothing in the world could please him more.
He sighed softly, still smiling hard. “I love you so much, my beautiful wife.”
She only smiled back at him, wondering if that’s what he thought this was. Love.
Not to say she didn’t love Tom. She did. But she always did wonder if he was capable of feeling that way. And she couldn’t say she loved him to the point of envisioning marrying him one day but somehow, here they were.
The day continued to rush by with lots of handshakes and congratulations from men she’d never seen before with their pretty wives and girlfriends hanging off their arms. Ginny kept making eye contact and checking if she was holding up okay and she did her best to assure her that yes she was fine.
When at last Tom swept her away towards the waiting limo, she exhaled in relief as she sagged into the plush seat. He chuckled as he slid in beside her and immediately grabbed her feet, took off her shoes and began to massage them.
Hermione closed her eyes in delight. These were the type of things that would make being married to him not so bad. He always knew what she needed without her having to ask. Uncanny sometimes, but it felt good anyway.
“What’s on your mind?” Tom broke the silence after some minutes, still working on her feet.
“Just wondering if the kids will be okay,” she opted for a half-truth.
She could tell he didn’t buy it, but he humoured her anyway. “They’ll be fine. It’s only for tonight. Besides they adore your mum.”
“Yeah, I’ve just never been apart from my babies before,” she pouted. “And my breasts feel so heavy because I didn’t feed Matteo today.”
His eyes darkened immediately and his hands paused for a moment.
“I can help you with that,” he said lowly, his hand creeping up her leg.
They pushed into the suite of the luxurious hotel they were spending the night at since they couldn’t yet go on a proper honeymoon.
Tom was kissing her with the hunger of a man having his last meal, his hand sliding into her hair with an urgency that made her knees weak.
The care and restraint he’d shown all day was clearly gone and he was a man on a mission. He trailed kisses down her neck as he tugged at the closures of her gown.
Before she could blink, she heard a rip and opened her mouth in a gasp, about to protest, but it was quickly swallowed down when he claimed her lips again in a searing kiss and he worked the gown off her body.
As soon as it reached her hips and began to slide off on its own, he grabbed at her full breasts, groaning into her mouth at the feel of them.
He lifted her up without hesitation and took a few more steps to get to the bed, where he deposited her softly and stood to rip his own shirt open, clearly all out of patience, before he hurriedly climbed onto the bed with her, immediately latching onto one nipple.
Hermione shut her eyes, half in relief, half in pleasure, and any protests evaporated from her mind as she brought a hand up to hold his head there, her back arching to push more into his warm mouth.
He hummed contentedly before detaching himself with a pop. He blew air onto the slick nipple which made her shiver, and then looked up at her face with a grin.
“Are you enjoying feeding me?” He asked, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples.
Her eyes rolled. “Stop being a creep and get to it.”
He laughed. “Yes ma’am.”
Now he latched onto the other nipple, giving it the same attention and making Hermione writhe beneath him. When he had his fill, he began to kiss all over her chest and torso, moving slowly downwards.
This is all he’d been doing since she was fully healed after having Matteo. Just eating her out, no penetration. He said he was just being careful but she knew it was his own way of abstaining before the wedding. Goodness knows he couldn’t fully abstain. He’d eat her out morning and evening, and then make a dash to the bathroom to jerk off, loudly.
Hermione was brought back to the present when his tongue swiped up her slit and circled her clit. Her eyes fluttered and her legs dropped open further. He repeated the motion a few more times, each with a different speed, then he switched to eating her out in earnest—licking, nipping, and sucking her button into his mouth and fucking her with his tongue and fingers until she started to pant and twitch.
Sue her, she’d gotten much more sensitive, if that was even possible.
As soon as he saw how close she was, he pulled away and climbed up, discarding his trousers and boxers in the process.
He took his weeping cock in his hand and tapped it on her clit a few times, making her gush even more onto the sheets. Then he pressed it to her entrance and started to push in slowly, showing great restraint to not push in all at once as he usually would. His eyes rolled backwards as he ground his jaw when he was only halfway in.
“Fuck, love, how are you still so tight after three babies?” He breathed out.
“Shut up,” she gasped, always having to get reacquainted with the size of him after each child.
He choked out a laugh which was soon followed by a groan when he finally bottomed out. “God, Hermione,” his voice shook. “You’re all mine now.”
With that, he started to move and she had to hold on to the sheets because unlike what she imagined, he did not go slow, immediately pounding into her like a man starved, mumbling incoherent words as he did.
His eyes zeroed in on her chest where her globes bounced almost painfully with each thrust. Keeping her eyes on his, she brought her hands up to grab a hold of them.
His breath hitched even though his pace didn’t falter.
As though hypnotised, he watched as she twisted and played with her breasts and made sounds deep in his chest as her cunt squeezed him with each extra jolt of pleasure.
When she began to flutter around him, he knew he wouldn’t be far behind, and brought his hand up to stroke her clit as he hit her bundle of nerves inside.
As though directed by an unseen force, they met halfway in a frantic, messy, downright filthy kiss where both their volumes increased as she tightened impossibly further around him and he pistoned into her like there was no tomorrow.
Right as her tumble began, she heard him murmur something about baby number four and forever, but she couldn’t process much else as her vision left her for a moment and her whole body seized up in the most delicious pleasure with Tom following after her in shaky thrusts and a literal roar as he spilled everything he had into her pulsing cunt.
Maybe forever wouldn’t be so bad. She just had to find a way to halt the baby train.
He slid his upper body onto the sheets, leaving them still joined, and without missing a beat he pulled her leg over his and wrapped her in his arms, letting out a soft sigh.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while before he pressed a kiss to her neck and whispered, almost reverently, “Mrs. Riddle.”
The next morning, Tom woke up before the sunrise and lay there for several minutes watching his wife with an unreadable expression as she lay curled around him.
Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it, careful not to wake her.
His lips curved as he saw the message on the screen, sent from a private number. It was an image of a very gruesome scene indeed.
A wrecked car with a shock of red hair peeking through the shattered windshield. Very tragic, very good timing.
Hermione would be devastated when she heard the news. Of course she would. She’d always had a soft heart, even for those who didn’t deserve it.
She would be fine. She always was. Accidents do tend to happen, after all.
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and she unconsciously leaned into his touch, her lips parting in a faint sigh.
He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
”Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “Forever starts now.”