From Goblin Slave To Giga-Daddy: A Goblin's Guide to Getting a Harem-Chapter 24: A Husband’s Plight!

That night, Alice took the deepest bath of her life—like she was trying to scrub her soul clean.

Steam filled the room as she dunked herself again and again, furiously washing every inch of her body to rinse off Raedon's manly scent and the sticky residue of her own reckless sins.

She even gargled twice, like she'd been caught french-kissing a sewer pipe. Well, she did, technically.

She tried not to think about it. About any of it.

'This was just a dream. A very... vivid wet dream of a tired, lonely housewife. Yeah, that's it.'

But the after taste on her mouth said other wise.

After what felt like an exorcism by soap, she finally dried off and slipped into a modest nightgown.

Normally, she'd change in her room, but tonight? No way. Alex was in there, and she couldn't bear the thought of him smelling guilt—or anything else—on her.

Click~

The door creaked open and she stepped into the bedroom.

Alex was sprawled on the bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, flipping through maps and papers like he was planning avoid his wife.

He looked up and flashed that usual, clueless husband smile.

"Well, that was the longest bath in the entire kingdom, honey."

"Ha ha... I... uh... I was just really sweaty after that long, hard session..."

The words slipped out. Her brain tripped over itself. Images of Raedon's monstrous dong, hands, and that ridiculously long tongue flickered behind her eyes like cursed pop-up ads.

Alex raised an eyebrow.

"...with the baby! You know—feeding, burping, diaper wrestling. He's a little beast sometimes."

Alice grinned awkwardly and scuttled to her side of the bed like a guilty teenager sneaking in past curfew. The bedsheet felt like a shield from judgment.

Across the room, their baby slept like a cherub in the crib—peaceful, innocent, and completely unaware that his mom had nearly gotten her soul slurped out under the dinner table earlier that day.

"You look beautiful tonight."

Alex's voice wafted toward her like a cold fart in warm air—unexpected, unimpressive, and entirely too late.

He turned on his side, flashing a practiced husband-smile. Alice smiled back with all the warmth of a frozen pancake.

"Thanks."

She said, and promptly rolled to her side, presenting him with a view of her back and a thick wall of not tonight, sweetheart.

Beautiful.

That word used to make her blush. Now it made her clench her jaw. It was ruined—bootiful was all she could hear now.

That raspy, earnest compliment from a certain someone hours ago had corrupted the term forever.

And unlike this bedtime small talk, that word came from someone who actually meant it.

From someone who didn't say it out of duty.

"You know... if you want to... we could..." Alex's voice lowered as he shuffled closer. "My soldier's kind of raging after seeing you in that gown—"

"I'm tired, Alex."

The words were ice. Sharp and immediate.

'Soldier's raging. That soldier's carrying a rusty toothpick compared to the war hammer I saw earlier.'

"Oh. Okay. Just asking. You were in the mood yesterday, so I thought..."

Silence. Then frost.

"Moods change, Alex. Like seasons. Like wind. I'll let you know if a storm ever blows your way. Good night."

She clenched her teeth so hard her molars squeaked.

'If you want to...?'

What was she, a beggar at the gates of Mount Peanut? Always waiting for him to "allow" intimacy like it's some rare royal privilege?

Her face flushed red—not from desire, but from rage.

Marriage is supposed to be sacred.

A union of love, respect, and yes—fucking.

When one partner shuts down intimacy, the bedroom turns into a cold grave. No moaning, no touching, no sweaty sheets—just resentment marinating in awkward silence.

And Alex... Alex had crossed a line.

Her breath hitched remembering his words from the night before. Cold. Cruel.

Her eyes twitched at the memory.

Rotten. Fucking. Fish.