Heena stood alone in the center of the inner courtyard. The wind howled softly, rattling the wooden window frames. The lanterns had long since burned out, leaving the space bathed in deep, oppressive shadows. The temperature had plummeted, and the scent of burning funeral paper still hung thickly in the air.

It was the perfect setting for a ghost story. Any normal person—especially a newlywed bride residing in a house where her father-in-law had just died under mysterious circumstances, and an uncle had been "cursed" by spirits—would be absolutely terrified to stand alone in the pitch-black courtyard.

But Heena just casually stretched her neck, enjoying the cool night air.

*[Host,]* the System chimed in, its voice small and wary. *[Are you not... even a little bit spooked? It’s really dark. And technically, there is a dead body in the main hall just fifty feet away.]*

Heena let out a soft, amused breath. *Why on earth would I be scared?*

She looked up at the moonless sky, her dark eyes devoid of a single ounce of fear. She wasn’t just some sheltered noblewoman or a fragile maid. She was a System Host. She was a soul who had crawled her way back from the absolute brink of oblivion, surviving through countless worlds, playing villains, victims, and everything in between. She had waded through rivers of blood and outsmarted actual monsters.

A dead old man in a wooden box and a few creaking floorboards weren’t going to make her jump.

*If there really are ghosts in this courtyard,* Heena thought with a chilling, predatory smile, *they had better hide from me. Because I am the most dangerous thing in this house.*

The night air was crisp, and high above the Chen estate, a perfectly round, impossibly bright moon hung in the sky, casting a cold silver glow over the silent courtyard.

Heena stood with her hands clasped casually behind her back, her face bathed in the moonlight. She looked utterly serene. Peaceful, even. But that was the terrifying contradiction of her existence. To the outside world, she was a fragile, grieving daughter-in-law. On the inside, she was a pragmatist with a heart made of absolute frost—a genuinely cruel, brilliantly calculating survivor who felt entirely detached from the manufactured sorrow of the household.

*[Host?]* the System’s voice tentatively broke the silence in her mind, sounding as though it was cautiously tiptoeing around a sleeping tiger. *[What exactly are you thinking about so deeply?]*

Heena didn’t blink, her dark eyes reflecting the silver moonlight. "I am thinking about burning this old bastard’s house straight to the ground," she replied, her tone perfectly conversational.

The System let out a prolonged, digitized groan of pure despair. *[Host! Please! At least he was your father-in-law. Can you not just give him a single shred of basic respect after his death? The man’s body isn’t even cold yet!]*

Heena finally tore her gaze away from the moon, letting out a sharp, genuine scoff that echoed in the empty courtyard.

"Respect?" she echoed, her voice dropping into a dark, chillingly amused whisper. "System, I *am* showing him an immense amount of respect. Do you know how? By the simple fact that I did not kill him with my own two hands."

She began to pace slowly across the stone path, her white mourning robes trailing behind her like an apparition.

"If Samuel hadn’t been so wonderfully proactive," Heena continued, her tone as casual as if she were discussing the weather, "I would have handled the old man myself. I would have laced his daily tea with something untraceable. Or perhaps I would have just walked into his chambers at midnight and choked him out with his own expensive silk pillows."

*[Host...]* the System whimpered, thoroughly horrified.

"Honestly, God bless the fact that my body collapsed and I was unconscious," Heena mused, a cruel, razor-sharp smile curving her lips. "It was a stroke of absolute luck that his own son got to him first. Because if Samuel hadn’t literally frightened the man into a fatal heart attack? I would have just taken that little utility knife of mine, walked right up to him, and stabbed him directly in the chest."

She stopped pacing and looked back toward the main hall where the funeral altar was set up, her expression entirely devoid of mercy.

"He was a corrupt, abusive tyrant who hoarded wealth, tormented his family, and treated women like disposable objects," Heena stated coldly. "His death was a public service. So don’t ask me to weep for him, System. The only tragedy here is that I didn’t get to twist the knife myself."

Heena stood silently, her dark eyes calculating as she scanned the perimeter of the courtyard. The estate was eerily quiet without Samuel’s looming presence. He was out for the entire day, tangled up in the endless bureaucratic and logistical preparations required for a high-ranking nobleman’s burial.

*Thirteen days.*

That was the traditional, mandatory mourning period for the patriarch of a household. It was also the exact timeline Heena had strictly given herself. As soon as the Old Master’s final funeral ceremonies were officially concluded and his coffin was sealed away in the ancestral crypt, Heena was leaving this place for good.

She raised a hand, pinching the bridge of her nose and rubbing her brow in profound irritation.

Escaping the physical boundaries of the Chen estate wasn’t the difficult part. She had the skills, the physical stamina of Seera’s body, and the ruthless cunning to slip past the outer guards without making a single sound. The real problem—the massive, looming, practically insurmountable obstacle standing between her and absolute freedom—was her husband.

Samuel.

*[He did brutally defend you against that uncle today,]* the System pointed out cautiously, sensing her mounting frustration. *[He seems genuinely devoted to you. Most women in this era would literally kill for a husband who treats them with that level of care and protection.]*

*That is exactly the problem,* Heena thought bitterly, dropping her hand with a heavy sigh. *These lovely, gentle, so-called protective husbands are an absolute nightmare when it comes time to actually leave them.*

If Samuel were simply a cruel, neglectful tyrant like his father, escaping would be remarkably straightforward. A cruel man relies on fear, and arrogance creates massive tactical blind spots. But a man like Samuel? A man who masquerades as a gentle, accommodating scholar while systematically and ruthlessly dismantling his enemies in the shadows?

He was a different breed entirely. He wove a cage of soft silk, logic, and physical intimacy.

Heena knew the archetype perfectly. Men who were that fiercely protective were always fiercely possessive. They didn’t just love you; they hoarded you. They guarded their chosen people like a mythical dragon fiercely guarding a hoard of gold. They made you comfortable, they made you reliant, and they quietly closed every exit before you even realized you were trapped.

"He won’t let me go easily," Heena murmured to the empty courtyard, the cold, hard realization settling heavily in her chest.

She remembered what Samuel had said about his father just days ago—*He likes his things to be completely untouched by others. He is obsessively territorial over his women.*