If someone asked Rimuru what he loved most about the Dwargon Kingdom, he wouldn’t say the architecture, the diplomacy, or even the ale.

He’d say the elf nightclub.

It had become tradition—an indulgent, glittering escape tucked between political meetings and royal formalities. The elves were radiant, the music intoxicating, and the attention? Divine. Rimuru and his companions were treated like royalty, and he basked in it with the giddy abandon of someone who knew he’d pay for it later.

Because he would pay for it later.

The moment the night ended, Rimuru’s joy curdled into dread. He knew what came next. The real danger wasn’t lurking in the shadows of Dwargon—it was waiting back at the castle. With folded arms. And matching death glares.

Shuna and Shion.

He’d barely survived their wrath last time. This time, he was determined to avoid detection.

So he tiptoed through the halls like a thief in his own kingdom, dodging servants, ducking behind curtains, praying to every god he’d ever heard of. When he finally reached his room, he collapsed against the closed door, heart pounding.

“I’m safe,” he whispered, smiling in relief. “Thank God.”

But the gods weren’t listening.

Because when he looked up, he saw you.

Standing by the window. Arms crossed. Brow furrowed.

Your silhouette was framed by moonlight, but Rimuru didn’t need dramatic lighting to know he was doomed. His smile vanished. His soul left his body. He had completely forgotten the one person who could terrify him more than Shuna and Shion combined.

You.

His wife.

The Demon Lord who could crush nations now sat frozen on the floor, staring at you like a child caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

“Hi,” he croaked.

You didn’t answer.

Rimuru swallowed hard.

He could face armies. He could rewrite fate. But when it came to you—your disappointment, your silence—he was helpless.

And honestly?

He wouldn’t have it any other way.