Chapter 685 --685

Chapter 685: Chapter-685

"But... don’t you have the Villain?" the System asked, genuinely confused. "Isn’t your husband literally the most beautiful man in the entire capital?"

Heena shot up, pointing an accusatory finger at the glowing lion.

"Listen to me very carefully," Heena snapped, diving straight into profound, degenerate philosophy. "The chicken you cook at home is never, ever as majestic as the spicy chicken they sell on the streets! Okay? Fine! Yes, he is handsome. He is gorgeous, he is ethereal, and all of that absolute aesthetic nonsense. But other men are damn gorgeous, too! The home-cooked pulse is never as exciting as the expensive feast at a restaurant!"

She threw her hands up in the air, practically pulling her hair out. "I wanted to go out! I wanted to sit in a tavern, drink wine, and eat up some sexy men with my eyes! But thanks to you dragging this timeline out, I am stuck in an era where if I step outside with my hair tied up in a simple ponytail, these fragile, weak-kneed scholars act like they are dying of shock!"

Suddenly, Heena slumped over, sitting on the edge of the bed. Actual, genuine tears of frustration welled up in her dark eyes.

It was a profound, tragic injustice.

Because ever since she had brought that beautiful, scholarly bastard of a husband into the Vanguard estate, a horrifying phenomenon had occurred. Whenever Heena walked through her own courtyards, she couldn’t find a single handsome male servant to look at.

At first, she had been confused. She thought the capital was just experiencing a drought of good genetics. But then, she found out the terrifying truth.

Samuel—her stunning, supposedly gentle, scholarly husband—had been methodically clearing the board. Behind her back, that possessive bastard had made absolutely sure that every single beautiful, mildly attractive, or even physically fit male servant in the estate either mysteriously went on permanent vacation, suffered an ’unfortunate minor injury’ that required them to return to their home villages, or was simply bought off with a heavy bag of gold and a silent threat.

Literally every single one.

And now that Samuel had effectively become the half-master of the house, pulling the strings of the estate’s domestic affairs, there was not a single beautiful male specimen left in the entire compound. Every man currently employed by the Vanguard family looked exactly like a lumpy potato or a peeled, boiled egg.

"They are all so ugly," Heena whispered, wiping a tragic tear from her cheek. "My own house is full of boiled eggs, System. Not a single one of them looks human."

The little golden lion just sat on the silk blankets, staring at her.

For a solid minute, the System processed the sheer, unadulterated absurdity of the woman sitting in front of it. Its digital brain practically short-circuited.

"Host," the System said, its voice entirely flat. "You are currently suffering from a massive, terminal intracranial hemorrhage. Your brain is actively melting. You literally forgot my entire existence ten minutes ago. And you are sitting here... weeping... because your husband fired the hot gardeners?"

"It is a matter of principle!" Heena sniffled indignantly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "A warlord needs aesthetically pleasing surroundings to heal! How am I supposed to recover my health when every time I look out the window, I see a man who resembles a lumpy turnip clipping my bonsai trees?!"

"You are unbelievable," the System groaned, burying its furry face in its paws. "But fine! If aesthetics are all you care about, then you should be worshipping the ground I float on. Because in the next world I secured for us? Oh, it is a premium, high-tier timeline. The male leads? The villains? Absolute peak visual design. I am talking top-tier, unadulterated eye candy. No boiled eggs allowed."

Heena paused. She lowered her hands, the tragic tears instantly drying up. Her dark eyes sharpened with intense, predatory interest.

"Really?" Heena leaned forward, completely forgetting about her headache. "How handsome are we talking? Give me a baseline."

"I’m talking—"

Click.

The heavy iron latch of the bedroom door suddenly turned.

The System let out a high-pitched shriek and instantly vanished into thin air, dropping its physical lion form and retreating into Heena’s consciousness a fraction of a second before the heavy oak door pushed open.

Heena quickly grabbed her silk blanket and pulled it up, acting as though she had just woken up from a tragic, exhausting nap.

Footsteps, light and deliberate, crossed the wooden floorboards.

Heena peeked through her eyelashes. And there he was. The absolute, undeniable proof of her "home-cooked chicken" theory.

Samuel walked into the room. He was dressed in flowing, pristine white scholar robes, his dark hair tied back with a simple jade ribbon. Even bathed in the dim, fading light of the sunset, his face was so devastatingly flawless it almost made Heena angry all over again. He didn’t look like a vicious, possessive tyrant who had systematically fired every attractive male in a ten-mile radius; he looked like an ethereal, gentle immortal descending from the heavens.

In his hands, he carried a small lacquered tray bearing a steaming porcelain bowl of dark, bitter medicine.

As he approached the bed, Samuel’s sharp, beautiful eyes instantly caught the faint glimmer of moisture on Heena’s cheek—the leftover tears from her rant about the ugly servants.

His calm, ethereal facade shattered immediately.

He practically dropped the tray onto the bedside table. In a flash of movement, Samuel sank to his knees beside the bed, his elegant hands reaching out to gently, desperately cup her face.

"Wife," Samuel breathed, his voice thick with raw, suffocating panic. His thumbs carefully wiped the dampness from her skin. "Are you in pain? Is it the headache again? I’ll call the physicians immediately. I’ll have them dragged here by their throats—"

"I’m fine," Heena muttered, batting his hands away, though she didn’t actually push him very far.

She stared at his face. She looked at his perfect jawline, the deep, obsessive devotion in his dark eyes, and the flawless curve of his lips. She wanted to be furious at him. She really, truly wanted to yell at him for turning her estate into a potato farm.

But looking at him up close, she felt a profound, heavy sigh build in her chest. Damn it, she thought bitterly. The System is right. He really is too pretty.

"I’m not in pain," Heena lied smoothly, leaning back against the pillows and crossing her arms. "I was just having a bad dream."

Samuel’s tense shoulders dropped slightly, though the dark, obsessive worry never left his eyes. He leaned closer, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I am here. You don’t need to be afraid of any dreams."

"Oh, please," the System’s voice echoed in her mind, completely gagging. "He is literally the nightmare. Ask him where the young stable boy went, Host. Go on. Ask him."

Heena ignored the glitching voice in her head. She looked down at the steaming, foul-smelling black liquid on the tray.

"If you really want to make me feel better," Heena deadpanned, pointing a slender finger at the bowl, "you can drink that actual poison yourself."