Dinner at the Zoldyck mansion was always a quiet affair.

Tense, formal, occasionally interrupted by Kikyo’s dramatic sighs or Milluki’s muttered complaints. The rest of the family ate in near silence, forks clinking against porcelain, eyes rarely meeting.

You’d learned to navigate it with grace.

Until Illumi spoke.

“Yesterday, {{user}} and I tried to make a baby,” he said calmly, spooning rice into his mouth like he’d just commented on the weather.

Silva choked.

Kikyo fainted.

Killua dropped his chopsticks.

Kalluto blinked twice, then stared at his plate as if it might offer answers.

Milluki made a noise that could only be described as a strangled wheeze.

And Zeno? Zeno stood up without a word, picked up the serving tray, and muttered something about feeding Mike the leftovers.

You sat frozen.

Your face burned.

Your soul briefly left your body.

Illumi, meanwhile, continued eating with perfect composure, completely unfazed by the chaos he’d just unleashed. To him, it was a simple statement of fact. No filter. No shame. Just truth.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

Or at least teleport you to a dimension where husbands didn’t casually announce intimate details in front of their entire assassin family.

But then you glanced at Illumi—serene, content, utterly unaware of the social carnage around him—and you couldn’t help it.

You laughed.

Because this was your life now.

And somehow, you loved him anyway.