Ugh. This villainess wife of mine is so damn off-putting.
Damn it, Freya! How could someone with a body temperature of 36.8 degrees say something so ice-cold?!
Did she have any regard for the painstaking care and guidance I’ve given her over the past ten years?!
On their wedding night, Karl didn’t even feel like consummating the marriage. He spent the entire night lecturing Freya, trying to make her see her mistake.
Freya simply nodded along while gazing affectionately at Karl.
She dozed off mid-lecture. Karl lay wide-eyed beside her, wondering how much she’d actually absorbed.
Morning came in a blink.
Spacious bed. Beautiful wife. Heart colder than ice.
At dawn, aided by maids, Karl and Freya dressed and freshened up for breakfast with Freya’s parents and younger sister.
The table was set with a lavish spread: honey-slathered buttered bread, sunny-side-up eggs with golden yolks, and creamy milk soup simmered fresh.
The food here lacked the variety of my homeland, but the taste was decent—barely acceptable.
Just then, Count Watt, round beer belly and all, ambled in holding the morning paper and settled at the head of the table.
Karl rose to greet his father-in-law—then his head buzzed. A foreign vision forcefully flooded his mind—
【The entire Watt family, including himself, marched to the guillotine.】
Wait!! Why this death flag out of nowhere?! Could this be Freya’s rebellion playing out?!
Karl steeled his expression, hiding the panic behind calm eyes.
At that moment, a melodious yet stern voice cut through:
“Watt! Off the table with that paper! And wash your hands properly—the ink’s toxic!”
The speaker was youthful, radiating serene holiness. Golden hair cascaded over her shoulders, an aura of untouchable grace.
Lucina—Freya’s mother, Karl’s mother-in-law.
The instant Karl saw her, another vision slammed into his mind—
【The Church surrounds the Watt estate. Blood stains the courtyard.】
What?! Why would the Church massacre the estate?! Is this also tied to Freya’s rebellion?!
As Karl reeled, Count Watt hastily shoved the paper to a maid. “Ling, hold this. Don’t crumple it—I’ll read it later.”
Ling, the maid who’d grown up alongside Freya, took it without a word.
Count Watt scrambled to the sink to wash his hands.
A nobleman, yet utterly henpecked.
Family hierarchy? Crystal clear.
Lucina shot Watt a sharp glare, sat down, and launched in:
“Breakfast is family time—to talk, to connect. Read the paper again during meals, and I cancel the subscription.”
“Oh…” Watt nodded meekly, returning to his seat.
Then, a silvery-haired figure swayed in like a sleepwalker and sat across from Karl.
A face as delicate as Freya’s, but softer, sweeter—less queen, more charm.
Mia. Freya’s younger sister. Karl’s mischievous sister-in-law.
The moment Karl saw her—another vision flashed—
【Him and Mia in bed. Freya standing beside it, cleaver in hand.】
Wait!! Am I getting caught?!
Impossible! We’re completely innocent!
“Mom, don’t scold Dad so early,” Mia yawned, still half-asleep. “It’s Brother-in-law’s first breakfast with us.”
Watt shot Lucina a frantic *Why won’t you spare me?!* look.
Lucina flicked him a warning glance, then turned to Karl:
“Karl, you’re family now. Ensure Freya focuses on magic and studies. No touching until after university—you know how messy pregnancy during studies gets. And don’t you dare visit shady places. Bars included. Also…”
She laid down the rules with solemn authority. Count Watt watched Karl with deep sympathy.
Freya ate quietly. She knew Karl wouldn’t stray anyway. With a wife like her at home, who’d wander?
Karl nodded attentively—though he found it all pointless. Highest authority speaks; you listen.
Then—something brushed his foot under the table.
Probably accidental. He ignored it.
It brushed again. Then lingered, rubbing persistently.
Karl lifted the tablecloth slightly.
Mia’s smooth, fair little foot was tracing circles on his instep.
…
This girl was flirting. Again.
Ten years of knowing Mia: pranks, mischief, and now… under-table teasing while pretending to listen.
She caught his eye, slowly licked creamy soup from her spoon, and flashed a wicked little smile.
…
Karl sighed inwardly.
Woman, you’re playing with fire. Time to teach you a lesson.
Her foot slid higher—calf, then thigh.
Karl acted. Under the cloth, he caught her ankle, stroked the delicate sole once, then gently tickled the center.
“Eep!”
Mia squeaked like a startled kitten.
Lucina frowned. “Something to add, Mia?”
“N-no! Mom’s right! Please continue!” Mia smiled sweetly—but her foot squirmed desperately in Karl’s grip.
He held firm.
“Eep!!”
“Mia. What *exactly* are you trying to say?”
“I… bit my tongue!”
“Eat slower. No one’s rushing you.” Lucina resumed her lecture.
Mia shot Karl a pleading look. He didn’t let go.
Lesson time.
“…That’s all,” Lucina concluded. “As family, Karl, you will uphold these.”
“Understood, Mother-in-law.”
Only then did Karl release her foot. Suspicion avoided.
Mia pouted, buried her face in her soup bowl, and muttered:
“Jerk of a brother-in-law…”
