Before she could say anything, Samuel crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Wife," he said, his voice breaking slightly with emotion. "You’re awake. You’re actually awake."

He buried his face against her shoulder, holding her like he was afraid she might disappear if he let go.

Heena let him hug her without resistance.

Partly because she could feel how genuinely distressed he’d been.

But mostly because she had just remembered something EXTREMELY important:

’Oh CRAP. I forgot that I now have FOUR additional husbands waiting for me.’

Well, husbands-TO-BE, technically. The four adopted sons from the Marquis household who were supposed to be potential marriage candidates for Seera.

But whatever—semantics.

The point was, completing her mission was now going to be significantly more complicated than she’d anticipated.

Because she KNEW this possessive bastard Samuel was going to cause absolute CHAOS when he found out about her true identity and the marriage situation waiting for her at the Marquis estate.

Heena smiled slightly—a smile Samuel couldn’t see with his face still pressed against her shoulder.

’This is going to be entertaining,’ she thought.

Out loud, she said gently, "Why do you look so wrecked, husband?"

Samuel pulled back enough to look at her face, his hands still gripping her shoulders as if to confirm she was real.

"I was so worried about you," he said hoarsely. "For three days you didn’t wake up. The physicians said the poison had been neutralized, but you just... didn’t wake up. And I thought—"

His voice broke again and he couldn’t finish the sentence.

Heena reached up and touched his unkempt beard with mild distaste.

"You look like a mountain hermit," she observed. "When was the last time you shaved? Or slept properly?"

"I don’t know," Samuel admitted. "I stayed by your bedside most of the time. I didn’t want you to wake up alone."

Despite her determination to maintain emotional distance, Heena felt something warm and uncomfortable stirring in her chest.

’Damn it,’ she thought.

But her traitorous heart wasn’t listening to her practical brain.

"I’m fine now," she said, trying to sound businesslike. "You should go clean yourself up. You have a funeral to attend, and you can’t go looking like this."

Samuel shook his head stubbornly. "I’m not leaving until I’m absolutely certain you’re recovered."

"Samuel—"

"No," he said firmly. "I already lost my father this week. I’m not risking losing you too."

Heena looked at him—at his exhausted, worried face, his desperate grip on her shoulders, his complete refusal to leave her side.

And she sighed, surrendering to the inevitable.

"Fine," she said. "But at least sit down before you collapse. You look like you’re about to fall over."

Samuel finally smiled slightly—the first genuine smile she’d seen since waking up.

"Only if you promise not to disappear while I’m sitting," he said.

"I promise not to disappear," Heena agreed, rolling her eyes.

Samuel sat on the edge of the bed, still holding one of her hands like a lifeline.

The System, watching this entire exchange from the corner of the room, thought to himself:

’Oh boy. Host is in SO much trouble.’

’She’s fallen for him. Completely. Even if she won’t admit it.’

’And when she has to leave this world and return to the Bureau... or when he finds out about the Marquis situation and the four "husbands" waiting...’

’This is going to be an absolute DISASTER.’

’I should start preparing the paperwork for emotional trauma compensation.’

’Host is definitely going to need it.’

But there was one simple thing that the System—despite all his experience across multiple worlds and countless Hosts—fundamentally did NOT understand about humans.

Humans were really a completely different type of creature from logical spiritual entities like Systems.

Like, come on. Even the most experienced Systems couldn’t fully comprehend certain aspects of human psychology.

It wasn’t that Heena was suddenly getting all lovey-dovey or falling into some romantic emotional attachment or anything like that.

No.

The reality was much more straightforward and, frankly, much more physical.

Because come ON—if you saw a beautiful, gorgeous man crying for YOU, devastated because of YOU, looking absolutely wrecked and vulnerable because he’d been so worried about YOUR wellbeing—

Of course you would want to fuck him.

That was just basic human nature.

Heena was controlling her mind and expression carefully, maintaining her composed exterior.

But internally? Internally she was having VERY specific thoughts while looking at Samuel.

’God, I really want to ravage him right now,’ she thought, her eyes tracking over his disheveled appearance, his red-rimmed eyes, his vulnerable expression. ’Just push him down and completely destroy that composed scholarly image he usually maintains.’

She clenched her fists under the blanket, forcibly controlling herself.

’I cannot act like a horny bitch right now. Not appropriate. He just lost his father. There’s a funeral happening. I was just poisoned and in a coma. This is NOT the time.’

But what could she say? Looking at those red, tear-stained eyes, at the way he was gripping her hand like she was his anchor to sanity—

God.

Heena was using every ounce of her legendary self-control to not just grab him and say "forget the funeral, we have more important things to do."

’Get yourself together,’ she told herself firmly. ’You’re supposed to be a legendary transmigrator. The Black Lotus. Not some hormone-driven teenager.’

’Control yourself.’

’...’

’But he really does look incredibly attractive when he’s vulnerable like this.’

’STOP IT.’

.

.

.

By afternoon, after Heena had eaten a proper meal, the physicians were absolutely SHOCKED.

How could someone who had been poisoned—who had been on the verge of death, who had been in a coma for THREE DAYS—suddenly wake up and eat so easily, so normally, with such a healthy appetite?

Like, she was eating completely normally. No difficulty swallowing, no nausea, no weakness.

She’d consumed an entire bowl of congee, two side dishes, some pickled vegetables, and was currently working on a second helping.

The physicians examined her thoroughly, checking her pulse, looking at her tongue, palpating her abdomen.

They could barely detect any trace of the poison anymore.

Technically, some residual toxins were still present in her system, but the levels were so weak, so minimal, that they were essentially negligible and would be naturally eliminated by her body over the next few days.

In the physicians’ professional assessment: she was fine. Completely recovered. A medical miracle, honestly.

So they could pack up their medicines and go home.

Heena sat calmly eating her food while outside the household, ceremonial gongs were beating in slow, rhythmic patterns.

The old Master’s coffin had already been constructed and prepared.

And Samuel had been personally overseeing every aspect of the funeral arrangements.

.

.

.

The household servants and visiting relatives were all saying the same thing behind their hands:

"The old Master’s son is so filial! So devoted! He can barely contain his grief!"

But the TRUTH was that Samuel just wanted to get rid of his father’s body as quickly as humanly possible.

Traditional funeral protocols dictated very specific timelines:

For a respectable household, you needed at LEAST four days before placing the coffin for viewing in the main hall.