I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

She finally understood—it wasn’t simply that her husband had betrayed her. No, it was far worse. It was that she had allowed herself to be betrayed.

She had chosen it and fed it with her ego until it bloomed into the hand now choking her throat. The secrets she kept, the deals she had made, the lies she told—they didn’t protect her. They destroyed everything she could have built. Her future. Her children. Her name.

She had clung to the past like it was a lifeline, when it was the very dagger around her throat. It had grown like poison, and now it threatened to destroy her family, her authority and even her identity.

And there was no one left to blame.

Not her husband, crumbling beneath his own shame and weakness.

Not Julian, the boy who had looked into her and seen exactly where to twist the knife.

And not Alden or Regina, those shadows of her failures.

This was hers.

Just then, a name echoed in her mind—Augustus and the old wound flared in her chest. She had buried him deep, that chapter of her life long sealed away, but now it surfaced.

Not even him. Not even he could be her excuse.

She had done this.

She pushed the thoughts down, and reached for the glass on the table. Her fingers wrapped around it, then slowly released.

No.

She didn’t need it. Not now.

Turning away from the King’s drunken form, she walked back into the outer chamber, her nightgown swaying with each step. She moved gracefully, no longer caring who saw—or who dreamed.

She didn’t look back. Not at the king. Not at the past.

Pausing at the door, her one hand rested on the handle, while the other trailed down her waist to the curve of her hip.

With a soft click, she opened the lock, and pulled the door open.

Two guards stood nearby, their posture straight and motionless—until they saw her. Their eyes widened instantly, like prey catching sight of a predator.

The older of the two—a blonde with a scar along his jaw—straightened, but his gaze betrayed, dragging down her body and stopping on the curve of her breasts.

The younger one—barely a man—visibly swallowed. His cheeks flushed a deep red, his grip tightening on his spear as his eyes, too, dipped for a moment.

Neither dared speak. Neither dared look away.

There she was: the Queen.

But not as they had ever seen her.

No crown. No robes. Just a woman in a thin, revealing nightgown, stark contrast to the woman they had bowed to hours before.

She knew how people were, and these guards were no different. She had always seen the lust in their eyes—the flicker of hunger hidden behind bowed heads and stiff posture.

They wore the armor of righteousness but their gazes betrayed them when they thought she wasn’t looking. Yet they never had the right to speak it aloud, not even if she perished in silence. She had always been their Queen. Unreachable. Untouchable.

But tonight, she gave them what they secretly craved. Not command. Not grace. But her—the woman beneath the crown. The vulnerable, sight of their Queen standing in nothing but a nightgown that clung to every curve, every secret.

However, the guards’ eyes dropped immediately. One flinched. The other swallowed hard. Both bowed low, heads dipped in shame or awe—she couldn’t tell which. But they couldn’t look

And that, more than anything, made her smile. A small, bitter curve tugged at her lips. She saw the fear beneath their lust—the terror of crossing the line, of seeing too much, of being caught wanting what they could never have.

They would never meet her eyes. Not now. Not ever. Because no matter how far she fell, no matter how exposed she stood, she was still the most protected, most privileged woman in the kingdom.

She was a Queen—and that title, though it had once uplifted her, had slowly become a cage. It had shielded her from the world, even as it drained the life from her in exchange.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe it had always gone to her head—the bows, the diamonds, the respect. Maybe she had let the throne define her. Let it bury the girl she used to be. Let it build a towering wall of hypocrisy and hate that she had lived behind for decades.

And now, here she was—stripped bare. And it wasn’t pity she wanted. It wasn’t even revenge.

It was desire.

The word bloomed inside her chest like a garden on the spring.

A craving she hadn’t let herself feel in years. She had buried it under duty. Under rage. Under shame. But it clawed back tonight, sharp and unrelenting.

And then her mind twisted—spiraled toward the name she wasn’t supposed to think. Julian.

Her grandson, Unacknowledged

Her blood, Unwanted

Her downfall, Undeniable.

The guards couldn’t meet her gaze. The King lay unconscious in his chamber. The past had abandoned her. And yet Julian… Julian stood above them all. Smirking, Devilish yet Irresistible. He had taken her pride. Her family. Her daughter. Her throne. He had torn apart the very walls that held her together—and for some reason, the part of her that still ached… wanted him to finish it.

Only he could.

Not out of love. Not even comfort.

But destruction. Submission. Lust.

Julian, with his cruel hands and mouth, the way he had touched others, punished them, ruined them. Could he ruin her too? Strip away the last mask and show her the true woman she once was?

She didn’t know.

**

The Queen moved through the hallways, her eyes glinting with newfound ambition. The torchlight flickered along the walls, casting shadows across the hallways, making the atmosphere thick and heavy with what was to come.

Guards turned as she passed, their eyes widening with shock before dropping in hasty bows.

She didn’t look at them, didn’t speak, her mind fixed on the pull she couldn’t shake.

After about ten minutes, she stopped in front of a wooden door. Julian’s.