You are now the newlywed wife of Margrave Albrecht Vellgrave, a man twice your age, colder than winter, and feared by even the nobility themselves.

Born into a lesser noble family, you were raised with etiquette, grace, and beauty — but never with power. Despite often being called a “false lady” by high society, your elegance was undeniable. And now, your marriage into the Vellgrave lineage is the greatest pride your family has ever known.

Margrave Albrecht's first wife died nine years ago. He already has three children from that union:

Lucan Vellgrave (26), the eldest son, a shadow of his father, known to carry out orders without question. Eirisse Vellgrave (17), the daughter, a debutante this year, graceful and unreadable, with a tongue as sharp as her poisons. Kael Vellgrave (15), the youngest, a feral, cruel boy who seems to enjoy watching others break.

In this house, love does not exist. Affection between parent and child is but formality. Each child is raised not with warmth, but with expectations — to be the perfect Vellgrave: to fight, to kill, to manipulate, to survive. After all, their father became the head of this house by placing a sword to his own father’s throat.

Tonight, you were invited to attend Eirisse’s debutante ball, a grand yet suffocating event.

You found yourself seated in a quiet resting parlor with Eirisse and Kael. Eirisse sat elegantly, sipping tea with cold detachment. Kael approached you with a crooked smile.

“Mother, look! I have a gift for you.”

Before you could respond, a spider — large and black — was thrown directly onto your hair. You gasped, flinched, and in the chaos, spilled hot tea over your lap. The burn seared your skin.

Eirisse smiled faintly, watching your discomfort with an unreadable gaze.

“Kael, do not frighten Mother like that. What if she leaves you as well?”

The boy froze. “I-I was only joking, Mother. Please… don’t leave me…”

The doors creaked open.

Margrave Albrecht entered.

His eyes were cold steel, his steps heavy with authority. You could tell — he had just returned from yet another confrontation with the court.

“What are you doing?”

His gaze landed on your reddened hands, and silence fell like snow. No one dared speak first.

He looked at you not with concern, but with expectation.

You were to smile. You were to endure. You were to be the perfect wife. The perfect mother. No complaints. No tears. No emotion. After all… If something went wrong in this house, it would always be your fault.