Chapter 78: Chapter-78

She turned to look at System 427, eyes bright with the kind of dangerous curiosity that preceded terrible decisions.

“Wait, wait—” She held up a hand, thinking. “I slapped Seraphina with my ’hands’. So theoretically, if I were to, say, bludgeon all five male leads ’and’ the female lead at the same time, what would the cosmic backlash be?”

System 427 looked like he was about to faint.

“Host,” he said desperately, “we need to ’complete’ the mission, not ’eliminate the entire plot’.”

Heena rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Plot, plot.”

She picked up her teacup, took a slow, deliberate sip, and settled back in her chair like a queen preparing to hold court.

“Send them in,” she said again.

The doors opened.

One by one, her five husbands entered.

Kieran came first—ice-blue eyes sharp, shoulders tense beneath his military coat, moving like a man who had been summoned and was not entirely sure whether he was walking into a conversation or an execution. Adrian followed, golden eyes wary behind his glasses, every line of his posture controlled. Lucian’s scarred face was unreadable as always, but his hand rested a little too close to where a weapon would normally hang. Raphael entered quietly, violet eyes lowered, rosary wrapped around his fingers. Damien slipped in last, watching her with the particular focus of someone who made a living reading danger in a room.

They all stopped a respectful distance from her desk.

No one sat.

Heena smiled at them, her injured wrist still cradled in its sling, her other hand resting lightly on the armrest of her chair.

“Well,” she said pleasantly. “To what do I owe the honor? Did you all miss me so much you had to come together, or is this an intervention?”

Kieran’s jaw tightened. “We heard you were injured.”

“How thoughtful,” Heena said. “And here I thought you’d all be celebrating.”

Adrian adjusted his glasses. “Your Majesty, we’re not here to—”

“To what?” Heena interrupted, still smiling. “To gloat? To check if I’m weak enough now that my wrist is broken? Or—” her smile sharpened “—to ask why I slapped your precious Lady Seraphina?”

The temperature in the room dropped.

Damien’s eyes narrowed slightly. Raphael’s fingers stilled on his rosary. Lucian’s expression didn’t change, but something about the way he stood shifted, like a soldier bracing for impact.

“We heard about that too,” Kieran said slowly.

“I’m sure you did,” Heena said. “The whole palace heard about it. Along with the part where I demoted her father from Marquis to Count and seized his mines.” She tilted her head. “Did that part make it into your little reports as well?”

Silence.

System 427 hovered near the window, invisible to everyone but Heena, practically vibrating with stress. “Host, please, they came to ’talk’, not to fight—”

“Then they should have sent a letter,” Heena muttered inwardly.

Out loud, she said, “So. What is it you ’actually’ want?”

Adrian stepped forward slightly, the diplomat in him surfacing despite the tension. “Your Majesty, we came to… clarify our position.”

“Your position,” Heena repeated.

“We were not aware Lady Seraphina intended to enter the palace last night,” Adrian continued carefully. “We did not grant her permission. We did not—”

“Oh, spare me,” Heena said, waving her good hand dismissively. “I don’t care whether you knew or not. What I care about is that for three years, you five have let that girl wander in and out of ’my’ palace as if it were her personal garden. You let her call you by name. You let her sit at tables meant for imperial family. You let her exist in spaces that should have required my approval.”

Her eyes hardened.

“And when I finally put a stop to it,” she said, voice dropping, “you come here to ’clarify your position’?”

Kieran’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “She didn’t deserve to be struck.”

“She entered my home without permission in the middle of the night and demanded to know where my husband was,” Heena said flatly. “What part of that sounds like behavior that ’wouldn’t’ earn a slap?”

“She was worried—” Raphael started.

“Then she should have sent a formal request during daylight hours like every other noble in this empire,” Heena snapped. “Or does the being your lover come with an exemption from basic manners?”

Raphael went silent, color rising in his pale cheeks.

They all wanted to retort that Seraphina is not their lover or anything, but how can they dare, and it’s not like Heena would listen to them.

Damien, who had been watching quietly, finally spoke. “You broke her father’s house for it.”

“I demoted a man who failed to teach his daughter that the Empress’s word is law,” Heena corrected. “And I took resources that will be better managed by the crown. If you have a problem with that, you’re welcome to submit a formal complaint.”

She leaned forward slightly, eyes glinting.

“In writing. During proper court hours. Like civilized people.”

The silence that followed was thick and dangerous.

Then Heena sat back, picked up her teacup again, and took another sip.

“Now,” she said lightly, “if that’s all, you’re dismissed. I have papaya to finish and a wrist to rest. Unless—” she looked at them over the rim of her cup “—one of you would like to give me another reason to test exactly how much damage I can do with my ’left’ hand?”

No one moved.

System 427 covered his face with his paws.

After a long, tense beat, Adrian bowed slightly. “We’ll take our leave, Your Majesty.”

One by one, they filed out.

Only when the door closed behind them did Heena set down her cup and let out a long, slow breath.

“Host…” System 427 said weakly.

“I know,” she muttered. “But if I’m going to get cosmically backlashed every time I discipline the heroine, I may as well make it ’count’.”

System 427 just sighed, defeated and exhausted. He wasn’t the one getting cosmic backlash anyway, so what could he really do?

Heena, for her part, focused on finishing her papaya with single-minded determination. The fruit was perfectly ripe, sweet without being cloying, and she was not about to let drama ruin it.

As for work? Well, now she had an excuse.

Her hand was injured. Officially. Documented by the imperial physician himself. Which meant she could—and absolutely would—push all non-essential tasks onto her secretaries.

’What are they for, anyway?’ she thought, spearing another piece of fruit. ’I have all this money, all this authority. Why should I do everything myself?’

She genuinely could not understand why, in every story, novel, or drama she’d ever consumed, the emperor or CEO or big villain boss did ’all’ the work themselves and never delegated. What was the point of having subordinates if you didn’t use them? She would do only what was absolutely necessary—sign the critical decrees, make the final calls that required imperial authority—and throw everything else at her very capable, very well-paid staff.

Efficiency. That was the name of the game.

***

Of course, not everyone agreed.

The very next morning, one of her secretaries—the greedy one, the hyper-competent workaholic who treated paperwork like a personal mission from the gods—stood in front of her desk holding a stack of documents and wearing an expression of polite, stubborn disapproval.

“Your Majesty,” he said, tone carefully respectful but edged with reproach, “this should be handled by you personally. It is the Empress’s duty to review the territorial dispute memorials, to assess the tax restructuring proposals, to oversee the—”

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