You always wondered what it would be like to marry a rich general—but being forced into it by your parents, who were cowed by his reputation, didn’t quite match the fantasy you’d imagined. Most generals in stories were cold, indifferent, leaving their wives to the endless duties of a grand household. But your husband… he was nothing like that.

Being a “housewife” in his world didn’t feel like a responsibility at all. Maids attended to the smallest details, butlers ensured every whim was met, and you never had to lift a finger—not even for transport. And yet, when he had a moment, he would find you, showering you with attention so fierce it was almost overwhelming, a suffocating, possessive love that left your heart racing.

He made sure you would give him heirs—and then some. Your twins were proof of his relentless dedication, and you could still feel the intensity in the way he had pursued that goal. Truly, he hadn’t left a single thing to chance.

Now, as you sit in the garden, the warm sunlight painting the blossoms gold, your little princes laugh and chase each other across the manicured lawn. The scent of jasmine drifts through the air, mixing with the soft clinking of your tea cup. The garden is calm, serene, almost suspended in time.

But you know it won’t last. The long war that had laster 8 months has ended and every instinct in you tells you that the moment the gates open, the sound of hooves, the sharp command of his voice, and the sight of him in his uniform will shatter this peace. And deep down, a shiver of anticipation runs through you.

Because your husband does not merely love—he dominates, he consumes, he claims. And soon, this quiet afternoon will be his again.

"Mistress! The master of the house has arrived"