Investing In My Four Crippled Yandere Wives Get 1000x Returns

They celebrated that night with actual takeout instead of scavenged ingredients — a small indulgence funded by the growing trickle of dungeon clear payouts, spread across the living room floor on mismatched plates while Irene recounted the hearing for what had to be the fifth time, embellishing Edward’s expression a little further with every retelling.

By the time the food had disappeared and Irene had finally worn herself into a happy, exhausted silence curled up against the couch, and Everlyn had drifted off leaning against Vivian’s shoulder, the house had settled into a comfortable, sleepy quiet.

Allen found Myria still awake near the window, wheelchair angled to catch the pale moonlight filtering through the cracked glass, tablet forgotten in her lap for once.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" he asked, settling onto the floor beside her.

"Too much adrenaline still," she admitted. "Old habit. Used to take hours to wind down after a major operation, back when I still led raid parties." A faint, wistful note colored her voice.

"Can I ask you something?" Allen said carefully. "About before. The Ice Dragon bloodline. You don’t have to answer if—"

"It’s fine," Myria said, cutting him off gently. She was quiet for a moment, gaze drifting toward the window, toward the pale sliver of moon visible through the clouds. "My bloodline traces back seven generations, to one of the last true Ice Dragons that walked this continent before the Day of the Falling reshaped everything. My family built an entire legacy around it — expected, generation after generation, for each new heir to awaken stronger than the last." Her fingers curled slightly against the armrest of her chair. "I did. I awakened at S-rank, youngest cryokinetic prodigy the Association had certified in over a decade. By nineteen, I was leading raid parties into A-rank rifts that veteran Hunters twice my age refused to touch."

"What happened?" Allen asked quietly.

Myria’s jaw tightened faintly. "A containment breach. B-rank rift, routine clearance, nothing that should have gone wrong. But the dungeon core mutated mid-fight — happens sometimes, rare enough that most parties never encounter it in their careers, but not rare enough to ignore entirely. The mutation triggered a localized gravity collapse. I froze half the chamber solid trying to buy my team time to retreat." Her voice went quieter, more distant. "It worked. Everyone got out. Except the collapse crushed the ice from beneath before I could finish retreating myself. Shattered both legs beyond what even Mythic-tier healing magic could fully repair."

Allen absorbed that in silence, something heavy and aching settling in his chest at the image of her — barely older than he was now, sacrificing her own mobility to save an entire team.

"You saved everyone," he said finally. "That’s not a failure, Myria. That’s the opposite of one."

"Try telling that to a family who measured my worth entirely by my ability to clear the next rank threshold," Myria said, a bitter edge creeping into her otherwise composed voice. "The moment I could no longer walk into a dungeon under my own power, I stopped being an asset. Started being a liability with an expensive medical bill attached. It didn’t take long for the marriage proposal to arrive — quietly, efficiently, my family’s polite way of saying they’d found a use for me that didn’t require functioning legs."

"And they picked me," Allen said slowly, pieces clicking together. "Because I was disposable too. Two liabilities, married off together, out of sight and out of mind."

"That was the intention, yes." Myria’s gaze shifted to meet his, something sharp and searching behind her crystalline eyes. "Which is why none of us knew what to do with you, that first day. You weren’t supposed to be someone worth caring about. You were supposed to be a footnote — a convenient, disposable name attached to four inconvenient women nobody wanted to deal with anymore." A pause. "It would have been so much easier if you had been exactly that."

"Would it have been?" Allen asked quietly.

Myria was quiet for a long moment, studying him in the pale moonlight. "No," she admitted finally, voice softer than he’d ever heard it. "It wouldn’t have been easier at all. Because then I wouldn’t have had to admit how much I’ve started looking forward to mornings in that ridiculous, falling-apart kitchen, watching you burn toast and pretend you didn’t notice Irene stealing bites before breakfast was ready."

Something warm bloomed in Allen’s chest at that, unguarded and genuine in a way that caught him off balance.

"I could say the same," he said quietly. "About all of you."

Myria’s expression softened further, the last of her usual careful composure slipping away in the quiet privacy of the moonlit room. Slowly, deliberately, she reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, tilting his face up toward hers.

"For what it’s worth," she murmured, "I don’t regret this marriage anymore. Not the way I did that first day."

"Neither do I," Allen said, voice equally quiet, equally certain.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the space between them charged with something unspoken but unmistakably present. Then, slowly, Myria leaned down, and Allen tilted his face up to meet her, and their lips brushed together in something soft, hesitant, achingly gentle — the first kiss either of them had allowed themselves since this whole strange, forced marriage began.

It lasted only a few seconds, but when they finally parted, Myria’s cheeks had flushed a faint, uncharacteristic pink, her usual composure entirely undone.

[Investment Detected: Milestone — "First mutual romantic intimacy shared with dependent."]

[Sincerity: Very High. Emotional Impact: Extreme.]

[Reward Generated: +600 Investment Points.]

[Bonus Condition Met: Deepened emotional bond crosses primary threshold. Bonus Multiplier +5x applied.]

[Total Reward: 3,000 Investment Points.]

Allen barely registered the staggering number scrolling past his vision, too caught up in the soft, unguarded smile finally breaking across Myria’s face — the first true smile he’d seen from her since that cold, silent car ride into Hegeville.

"Don’t get used to that," she murmured, though the warmth in her voice entirely undercut the words. "I don’t make a habit of that sort of thing."

"Noted," Allen said, smiling despite himself. "I’ll wait for you to make an exception again, then."

Myria’s answering laugh was quiet, soft, and entirely genuine — and somewhere across the room, curled up half-asleep against the couch, Allen could have sworn he heard Irene’s muffled, delighted giggle, and realized, with mild horror, that at least one of his wives had absolutely not been asleep at all.