Reincarnated as General's Wife

Chapter 2:Husband??

The maid froze mid-sentence, blinking at her like she’d just started speaking an alien language.

Celine sat there grinning like an i***t, heart pounding with a mix of disbelief and excitement, while the maid’s expression shifted somewhere between shock and deep, polite concern.

“…Your Grace?” the maid finally said, her tone betraying just a hint of what in the world is wrong with you?

For a few moments, the room was silent, save for the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner.

Celine finally blinked, snapping out of her triumphant daze. She coughed lightly, trying to act like she hadn’t just screamed like she’d won the lottery.

The elderly maid tilted her head but didn’t press. “Your Grace, I have already prepared your dress for the day. Shall I have the bath drawn?”

Without missing a beat, Celine nodded, somehow slipping into the role like muscle memory she never had. “Yes, please.”

Wow. Look at me, syncing with the script already.

The bath was… well, calling it a “bath” felt insulting. It was a marble pool, steaming gently, big enough to fit her entire apartment’s living room. Golden fixtures gleamed in the soft light, and the water smelled faintly of roses and honey.

Her jaw dropped. Okay, heaven or not, I could live like this forever. Move over, self-care Sundays. This is self-care every day.

She sank into the warm water with a sigh so blissful she almost moaned. “Ohhh… This alone was worth dying for,” she muttered under her breath.

After what felt like the most luxurious soak of her life, the maid returned with two younger maids in tow. They bustled around her with practiced hands, drying her hair, bringing out layers of fine fabric in soft creams and golds.

Celine’s brain short-circuited as they wrapped, buttoned, and tied her into what could only be described as wearable art. She ran her fingers over the embroidery, marveling at the tiny golden threads. This isn’t a dress. This is a whole life upgrade.

Finally, they led her to a tall, ornate mirror.

She froze.

The woman in the reflection was… stunning.

Hair like molten copper spilled down her back, catching the light with every movement. Skin as pale as porcelain, dusted with the faintest blush. And her eyes — deep, vivid red, the kind of color that could stop someone mid-sentence.

Celine’s breath caught. That’s… me?

Her fingers brushed the reflection’s cheek. No — her cheek. The realization sank in like an anchor. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t heaven’s fancy lobby.

She had been given a new life.

Her lips curved upward slowly, her chest tightening in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

This time… I’m going to live.

“I’ll take back the life I missed,” she whispered to her reflection. “The childhood I didn’t enjoy… the moments I ignored… I’ll be happy. Even if I have to fight for it.”

For the first time in years, she smiled — not a polite work smile, not a forced one for family photos — but a real, bright, unapologetic smile.

And behind her, the maids exchanged curious looks. The old one arched a brow as if silently asking the others, Did our mistress always glow like that?

The dining hall looked like something straight out of a palace museum.

A long, polished table stretched so far she half expected it to have its own postal code. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, scattering soft light over the glossy surface. At the center, an army of silver platters held foods she’d only ever seen in high-end magazines — roasted meats glistening with herbs, fruit piled high in crystal bowls, breads steaming fresh from the oven.

Celine’s eyes widened, her steps slowing as she took it all in. This is… this is insane. Do I… do I own this?

She slid into the high-backed chair at the head of the table, still staring at the feast. Her heart skipped with a strange thrill. Wait… am I—? No, no way. Am I actually royalty? Is that why everyone’s calling me “Your Grace”?

The thought made her grin despite herself. Royalty perks, huh? Keep ’em coming.

Just as she was about to sample a perfectly glazed tart, the doors to the hall opened with a smooth, practiced swing.

In walked a man in a perfectly pressed butler’s uniform, his posture so upright it looked like a ruler had been sewn into his spine. His hair was neatly silvered, his expression the very definition of professional.

He approached, bowing slightly. “Your Grace.”

Celine straightened in her seat, trying to look like she’d been born into all this and totally wasn’t two seconds away from stuffing a pastry into her mouth like a starving raccoon.

The butler continued, “A letter has arrived from His Grace, your husband. He wished to inform you that he will be returning home soon.”

The words hit her like a brick.

Her smile froze. “My… what?”

“Your husband, Your Grace,” the butler repeated, unfazed.

Celine blinked. Once. Twice. I… have a husband? Since when? I’ve never even dated! My most romantic experience was when the coffee machine gave me an extra espresso shot for free!

She cleared her throat, forcing a shaky laugh. “Ah… right. My… husband. Of course.”

But inside, her thoughts were screaming. HOLD UP. I just woke up in this new life, got a mansion, servants, and royal-level breakfast… and now you’re telling me there’s a man involved?

Her fork hovered over her plate as the reality hit her in waves. I’m married. I’m married to some stranger. And apparently… he’s coming home soon.

She slumped back slightly, staring at the feast in front of her.

“God,” she muttered under her breath, “when I said I wanted a second chance at life, I didn’t mean a husband as part of the starter pack.”

The butler, polite as ever, pretended not to hear.