Supreme Spouse System.

Chapter 533: Chapter

The door whispered shut behind Leon with a soft wooden thud, sealing him away from the echoing hallways, the fading lantern glow, and every pair of watching eyes in the mansion. Inside his room, the air felt still—quiet in a way that wrapped around him like a warm towel after a long bath.

For a moment, he just stood there. Bare-chested, muscles faintly tight, breathing steady but deep. The silence didn’t feel empty; it felt earned. And he let it sit with him.

The moonlight slipped in through the tall window, painting a pale stripe across the floorboards and catching the bits of dust floating lazily in the air. The room smelled faintly of aged wood and a hint of lavender—someone must’ve placed fresh sachets earlier. The soft scent curled around him, subtle but grounding.

He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling a long breath he’d held since the hall. That maid... the way she stumbled out of the room still replayed in his mind for half a second, but he shook it off. Tonight wasn’t about her. Or anyone else.

Tonight was about breathing.

He walked deeper into his room, the floor warm beneath his steps, and his gaze flicked to the tray placed neatly on the small table—someone had brought it in while he was out. A full dinner lay there: warm bread still soft in the center, roasted meat sliced cleanly, a bowl of broth letting out tiny tendrils of steam, and a tall glass bottle of deep red wine that seemed almost black in the dim light.

He didn’t sit down right away. Leon reached for the window instead.

The glass was cool under his fingertips. Outside, the city of Vel stretched beneath him—a dark sprawl of rooftops, chimneys, flickering lamps, and distant silhouettes of late-night wanderers. The capital wasn’t loud at night, but it wasn’t silent either. There was always some kind of hum... faint conversations from a tavern two streets over, the occasional carriage wheel rolling on cobblestone, the restless fluttering wings of night birds that only came out after midnight.

From this height, everything looked small. Manageable. Almost peaceful.

He cracked the window open.

A breath of night air slipped in, cool enough to soothe but not enough to chill. It brushed his bare chest like a reminder that he was still alive, still awake, still thinking. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the windowsill.

The city felt different these days—like it was waiting for something. Like it knew a storm was gathering just beyond sight.

"...Not yet," he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing at the horizon.

Not yet.

But soon.

After another long moment, he closed the window and headed for the table. His stomach wasn’t growling, but it felt hollow—more from exhaustion than hunger. He slid into the chair, the wood creaking softly under him.

He tore a piece of bread, dipped it lightly into the broth, and took a slow bite. Warm. Simple. Good. He let the quiet fill the room again as he ate—not rushing, not thinking about anything heavy. Just letting the warmth seep into him from the inside.

Halfway through the meal, he tilted the wine bottle slightly, watching the liquid swirl inside. Its scent was rich, sharp, and mellow all at once. He poured some into a tall glass, the deep red reflecting the faint moonlight.

Leon took a small sip.

It hit his tongue with the kind of smooth burn that wasn’t harsh—just enough to remind him he was here, now, in this moment. The warmth traveled down his throat and settled in his chest.

He leaned back in the chair, resting one hand lightly on the table, eyes drifting back to the window.

Thoughts slipped in. Slow at first. Then clearer.

Vel needs order.

People need direction.

This city has too many cracks... and too many eyes waiting for someone to lead.

He wasn’t thinking like a king. He wasn’t thinking like a ruler. He wasn’t thinking like a savior.

He was thinking like someone tired of watching things fall apart.

The wine helped loosen that tight knot in his mind just a little. He took another small sip—not drinking to forget, but to breathe easier.

After finishing most of the food, he wiped his fingers with the clean cloth set neatly beside the tray. Everything felt quieter now. Even his heartbeat seemed to settle into a slow, steady rhythm.

Leon stood up and stretched his arms, the muscles across his chest pulling tight for a moment before relaxing. He walked toward the bed, letting his steps fall softly on the floor.

The bed itself was large enough to swallow him whole—thick blankets, dark sheets, and pillows that looked like they might drown a person’s head in softness. Someone had turned the covers down for him.

He didn’t lie down immediately.

Instead, he paused by the window again.

He reached for the curtains this time and slowly pulled them shut. The moonlight disappeared in a smooth wave, leaving the room dim—just the faint ember-glow of a small candle burning low in the corner.

The air felt warmer then. Quieter. More private.

Leon’s thoughts softened.

Tomorrow... there’s work to do.

Too many things waiting. Too many decisions to be made.

He sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. His eyes drifted to the candle—the flame dancing gently, tiny but persistent.

"...Enough for today," he murmured under his breath.

He slid backward and settled into the mattress, letting the blankets fall loosely over him. The sheets were cool at first, but they warmed quickly against his skin. His body relaxed into the softness without resistance.

For the first time in what felt like days, his breathing slowed completely. No tension in his shoulders. No buzzing in his head. No lingering irritation from the world beyond the door.

Just him.

And the dark.

And the quiet.

Outside, the faint hum of the city dimmed even further.

Inside, the candle flickered once... twice... then steadied again.

Leon exhaled.

His eyelids grew heavier—not abruptly, but in that slow, inevitable way that happened when exhaustion and comfort finally agreed to work together. The room felt like it was holding him. Guarding him.

He turned his head slightly into the pillow, letting its softness cradle the weight of his thoughts.

A final breath escaped him—deep, calm, almost peaceful.

And just like that...

the slow pull of sleep began to take him.