Nadia was pacing in front of the full-body mirror, muttering to herself like she was trying to out-argue a phantom critic.

She'd been mad all morning, chewed on it all day, and by sunset, she'd decided that her husband had only said those horrid things because he'd been drunk out of his mind.

"Yes, exactly!"

She nodded to her reflection.

"Only someone with no sense at all would say I look like a… like a pig. So he was obviously sloshed. That's the only answer."

She stared at her reflection, tilting her head this way and that, admiring herself for the hundredth time that day. This wasn't some vanity thing—okay, maybe it was a little—but more a battle against the gnawing thought that had plagued her for months.

Despite her killer curves, toned abs, and the sultry charm she'd spent years honing, Chen barely gave her a second glance these days. He was always "too busy with palace duties" or "too tired."

So, naturally, she'd come to the only conclusion possible: she was losing her allure. And if she was losing her allure, then her womanly powers, the very core of her identity, were slipping away.

But even as she recited these reassurances, there was still a nagging thought poking around in the back of her mind, like a nosy neighbor pressing her ear to the door.

What if… maybe it wasn't just him being tired? What if she actually wasn't enough?

'Okay, Nadia, calm down.'

She thought, fidgeting with the little lace tie at her waist.

'Husband probably didn't mean it. Just a drunk slip-up. Besides, if anything weird is going on, little brother would've told me by now. Right? He wouldn't hide things for Chen.'

She glanced down at herself, tugging at the lavender nightie. It was one of her "vintage pieces" from a couple of years ago—back when it had actually reached her knees. Now it barely skimmed mid-thigh, clinging to her curves and leaving very little to the imagination.

The sheer fabric practically showcased her assets; her cleavage was on full display, and the matching lace panties weren't exactly discreet.

"Maybe he'll notice this time…"

She mumbled, twirling a lock of her hair, half convinced that tonight would be different. But the tiny voice of doubt still lingered.

Just as she was giving herself a once-over in the mirror, she heard voices outside.

"Stop it, brother-in-law! She's my sister—you can't just go on calling her that. She'd be heartbroken!"

Nadia's chest heaved, her fists clenched at her sides as she strained to hear through the thin walls. Her husband was stumbling through the door, drunk as a skunk and laughing like a fool.

"Pig…" he snorted, barely able to keep his balance. "I'm telling you, bro, she's a damn pig. No man could get hard looking at that naked, piggy body. Not even you, no way."

Nadia's jaw dropped, her hands trembling as she clutched the delicate lace of her nightie. Her chest heaved with each breath, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but anger was boiling up inside her, smothering any sense of shame.

'How dare he… how dare he talk about me like that, in my own damn house!'

She thought, her fingers curling into fists. She had spent hours getting ready, trying to make herself look irresistible, pouring every ounce of her charm into that lace and silk. But this? This was what he really thought?

"Brother-in-law, enough!"

Her little brother's voice rose, thick with frustration.

"Nadia is the definition of gorgeous. If there's anyone in the realm who could make a man go crazy just by batting her eyelashes, it's her. Do you know how many men would be on their knees for just a glance?"

Nadia's pulse quickened. Artis's voice was fierce, his tone unwavering. He wasn't holding back, not for one second.

A rush of warmth crept up her cheeks as she absorbed his words. Beautiful? Hot? Her heart hammered wildly, a mix of embarrassment and a strange sense of pride.

Here she was, decked out like a goddess in this flimsy excuse for a nightgown, and her own step brother was the one who recognized her allure—while her husband barely noticed.

"Nobody in this damn world can match her, Brother-in-law. You might be drunk now, but if you keep disrespecting her, maybe you don't deserve her."

"Yeah, sure. An ugly whore is way more appealing than your piggy, ha-ha."

But no matter how much Chen jeered, her Artis wasn't letting up with the insults.

"Shut it! No need to make things worse. She's right here, you idiot! I don't want her to find out you've been with every whore in the city. You'll break her heart."

Nadia's heart slammed against her chest. She felt like her soul was being crushed by every word. But what really got her was the sound of Chen's drunken laugh that echoed through the house like some kind of bad joke.

"Not in her room! You're sleeping on the couch tonight, pal. I'm not letting you near Nadia like this—she deserves better than your drunken ass!"

Nadia's tears started to well up, her vision blurring with rage and heartbreak. She quickly wiped them away, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself.

'So this is it?'

Her own husband, the one who should be there for her, treating her like this... and her stepbrother, the one who would probably give more love and respect than this pathetic excuse for a man.

Nadia marched towards her door, slide it open like she was about to break up a fight at a bar, and froze.

There they were: her husband, completely sloshed, sprawled out like a discarded ragdoll, getting shoved unceremoniously onto the couch by her little brother.

Poor guy was trying to handle the drunken mess with the finesse of a babysitter, but the moment the door creaked open, his head snapped around like he'd just been caught doing something way worse than being nice to a drunk.

The warm light from her room spilled into the cold darkness of the living room, casting a dramatic glow on the scene. It was like the sun had come to expose all the ridiculousness.

Nadia could feel her little brother's eyes on her—shifting nervously, like a kid caught stealing cookies—but she had a hunch it wasn't the sight of her being all dramatic that had him rattled.

No, it was the fact that she'd just walked in wearing—well, that—the nightie she probably should've saved for later.