Please Kill My Husband (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 1

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Prologue

At the cusp of winter, on the day of the first frost, what tore through the deep silence of dawn was neither the cawing of crows nor the howling of dogs.

“Please kill my husband.”

A woman with beautiful platinum hair, like threads spun from melted sunlight.

“That is my request.”

It was a contract for murder, made by Ludmila Perez, the young mistress of Marquis Erdi’s household and wife of the esteemed Minister of Commerce.

Across from her, Aden, who had just received her murderous proposal, let out a quiet chuckle. Could he have heard correctly? Tilting his chin slightly, Aden brushed his fingertips against his lips, then rolled his eyes. Just moments before, Ludmila’s crimson lips—lips that seemed accustomed only to the finest delicacies—had uttered an unthinkable plea, and now sat silently closed.

To think such a smooth, petite mouth would spew words of murder.

“I know it’s impolite to ask, but let me pose just one question.”

At Aden’s query, which broke the brief silence, her small head gave a slight vertical nod. Aden paused, carefully choosing his words, before slowly opening his mouth.

“Are you perhaps joking?”

“Why would you think that?”

“Are you not the couple famously called ‘mandarin ducks’—the Marquis and Marchioness Erdi? It’s hard to believe you’re serious when such words come from the Marchioness herself.”

Whether at social gatherings or state functions, the Erdi couple had always appeared together. Their habit of entering events hand in hand, smiling tenderly at one another, had graced newspaper pages dozens of times each month. The Marchioness Erdi, known for her dignity and grace, was held up across the empire as the very model of an ideal noblewoman. And yet—this woman, speaking of murder?

“It’s enough to make me wonder if you’re mocking me.”

“Mandarin ducks….”

At this reasonable doubt, Ludmila murmured softly, her eyes lowering. Her tightly closed lips, as though lost in thought, parted slowly after a brief silence.

“Does anyone really make such a request—even as a joke?”

“Of course not. It makes no sense, even by common standards.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Then I can preserve your reputation for experience and good sense.”

“Hah—.”

At her calm reply, Aden finally let out a sigh. Ludmila watched him silently with her crimson eyes, then faintly tugged at the corners of her mouth. That brief, subtle smile alone brought warmth to her otherwise doll-like, lifeless face.

“Don’t worry. My request isn’t a belated jest or a cruel prank—it’s entirely sincere.”

“And that’s precisely the problem, isn’t it? Asking me to kill the Minister of Commerce.”

“Is it difficult? I heard you were something of an expert in these matters.”

“Hearing it said that way makes me sound like some seasoned assassin.”

“Not an assassin, perhaps—but you’re certainly experienced in taking lives, aren’t you?”

There was nothing to argue against that. Aden swallowed the retort rising in his throat and let out a low hum. His amber eyes, sharp like a predator stalking prey at dawn, scrutinized her—every expression, every subtle gesture, nothing escaped his notice.

Now he understood why she was called the model noblewoman. Her posture was as straight as a birch tree, and even the smallest movement—like tilting her teacup—was flawless. People always say you can’t judge a person by appearances alone. Yet here stood this refined noblewoman, requesting something vulgar: to have her husband killed. Such things did happen from time to time—marrying for a spouse’s fortune, then murdering them to claim the inheritance.

But laws had been amended years ago to prevent exactly that. This was no longer an age when such crude, clumsy schemes could succeed. Was this elegant Marchioness perhaps a bit slow to keep up with such information? Aden sipped the deep red wine—nearly as crimson as her lips—pausing deliberately.

“Is it hard for you?”

Perhaps the silence had stretched too long. Finally, Ludmila couldn’t help but press him.

Setting down his glass, Aden waited a mere instant before answering, just a half-beat late.

“Impossible.”

“Then I’ll go ahead and ask. Didn’t you say you’d grant any request?”

“I did. I did, but…”

Aden bit his lip inward slightly and let out a hollow laugh.

“For someone who’s only accidentally seen a noblewoman’s bare back once, isn’t your request a bit excessive? That was just an unfortunate accident.”

“Accident or not, it’s true that you saw me changing clothes. And it’s also true that you promised to grant my request, no matter what.”

A woman who knew exactly how to leave a man speechless. Aden pushed back the hair slightly obscuring his brows and exhaled slowly.

“May I ask why?”

“It’s cliché—infidelity.”

“No one kills their husband over that.”

“This is an age when a child can be killed for eating one extra cookie. Compared to that, isn’t infidelity a perfectly valid motive?”

She really did leave him without words. Aden pressed his lips together, speechless, as Ludmila’s gaze drifted away. Though deep dawn had not yet faded, she repeatedly glanced outside, as if pressed for time.

“Let me say again—I need someone to kill my husband. Quickly, and without fail.”

Ludmila’s request—no, her proposition—remained unchanged. To have her husband killed. That was all. What could have driven this calm, serene noblewoman to choose murder? And why go so far as to seek out Duke Havertz’s household—the very rot at the heart of the Hilard Empire?

Aden, still resting his chin in his hand as he studied her, finally reached a conclusion after deep contemplation.

“This seems like a difficult matter.”

“Does that mean you’re refusing my request?”

Trending

“It means it’s not something to be decided so simply.”

His ambiguous stance—neither acceptance nor outright refusal—was enough to cloud Ludmila’s eyes with anxiety. Her lips tightened slightly as she gripped the hem of her dress.

“But you said you’d grant any request.”

“I did say that—but I didn’t mean it extended to killing someone for me. Especially not getting dragged into a marital lovers’ quarrel.”

“…”

“Unless you have a truly compelling reason to make me understand, I’ll need time to think this over myself.”

“So you’re saying…”

Aden swiftly declared his decision.

“For now, it’s a refusal.”

Though his words left room for change later, to her—already brimming with impatience—it sounded like an absolute, final rejection.

Ludmila, watching him silently with her crimson eyes, let the faint curve of her lips fall flat. The warmth that had briefly animated her doll-like features vanished, leaving only dry emptiness once more. She rose calmly from her seat and picked up a bag no larger than her own head.

“My apologies.”

As she turned to leave the room, Aden stood to see her out. The moment his tall frame fully rose from the chair, Ludmila halted mid-step. She let out a short sigh, turned back, and looked at him.

“By the way—did you know? Mandarin ducks are actually polygamous.”

“What do you mean?”

“People only judge by what they see on the surface. They never care what lies beneath.”

Her calm voice echoed clearly through the silent room, piercing his ears with unnatural clarity. Her blood-dark eyes, now softened to a pale hue beneath the dim lamplight, trembled like a candle flame about to be snuffed out by the slightest breeze. Aden, who’d meant to escort her out, stood frozen instead, staring at her in silence.

“Please, forget everything that happened today. I wish you a good night.”

With one last faint smile, Ludmila turned and left the room without looking back. Aden watched her go until the door closed behind her, then sank slowly into his chair as though a tower had collapsed upon him. He gazed mutely at the now-silent door and took a swallow of wine to soothe his burning throat. Yet the thirst remained—likely from the unpleasant feeling of having effectively rejected Ludmila’s request.

“What a strange woman.”

Aden emptied his glass and closed his meeting with Ludmila with that brief remark.

And three days later, on a clear afternoon,

A special bulletin spread across the entire empire: Ludmila Perez, the noble and chaste noblewoman, had taken her own life.

[This is the timeline separator]

The funeral, which had begun two days prior, lasted until early this morning. The empire sank into mourning over the tragic news of Ludmila’s suicide—the sorrowful parting of the beloved Erdi couple. Serendino Temple had been filled for two days straight with countless mourners wishing to pay their final respects. Beside her coffin—where she lay as if merely asleep—stood her grieving husband, Marquis Kedilen, who had stayed vigil for his beloved wife.

People offered condolences and comforted him, and he received every visitor with utmost grace. Early this morning, after the two-day funeral ended, she was quietly laid to rest beneath the Erdi family tombstone. Crowds who had come to mourn her death until noon gradually dispersed. Soon, dark clouds covered the sky, and only the desolate cawing of crows echoed.

“…”

A tall man approached the now-empty gravesite and stood before the tombstone engraved with the name “Ludmila Perez Erdi.”

“Could ‘forget’ have meant this?”

Aden chuckled softly, recalling his final words with Ludmila. Despite her request to forget, her face, her voice, every word they’d exchanged—everything remained vividly etched in his mind.

“Damn it all…”

Though he’d lived a life where human lives no longer felt special, Ludmila’s death struck him as uniquely painful.

‘Between us, there are whispers that it wasn’t suicide—but murder.’

‘Rumors briefly circulated that the Marchioness was abused, but most dismissed it as baseless gossip, likely spread by those envious of the couple.’

‘On the day of her death, physicians apparently rushed to the estate.’

His subordinate’s calm report echoed in his mind. Though none of it was confirmed, the uncertain fragments were enough to trouble Aden deeply.

‘Please kill my husband.’

The clear noon sky vanished, replaced by weeping clouds. What began as single raindrops soon became a downpour.

As darkness fell beneath the torrential rain, the man who had maintained such composure finally crumpled as if his body had given way. The freshly carved tombstone bearing her name wept under the pounding rain.

His face twisted in anguish as he silently traced the surface of her grave with his fingertips. He remembered those crimson eyes that had fixed upon him. For the first time in his life, Aden bowed low before the tombstone, overwhelmed by pain, guilt, and unbearable sorrow.

The chrysanthemums adorning the tombstone scattered one by one in the rough rain, leaving only a muddy mess behind.

It was a pitiful sight—mirroring the cruel fate that had befallen the tombstone’s owner.

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