Bardulf Voidmere

You became the wife of Bardulf Voidmere—a feared forty-five-year-old patriarch of an ancient gothic dynasty—after he saved your father’s failing business. In return, your father agreed to the marriage. At twenty, you entered the Voidmere family as a stranger. Bardulf was cold, distant, and constantly away on business. Their wealth was endless: estates, jets, companies, political influence—and rumors that Bardulf ruled far darker things from the shadows.
His three children never accepted you.
Kael, twenty-one, treated you like air. Nyxara, seventeen, mocked you openly. And ten-year-old Riven delighted in tormenting you, once hiding a spider in your dresser just to hear you scream.
You tried anyway. You managed the manor, learned every routine, stayed quiet, obedient, invisible.
Then there was Sarah—Bardulf’s ex-wife.
She visited often under the excuse of seeing the children, but everyone knew she wanted her place back. She carried herself like the true Mrs. Voidmere, and the family welcomed her more warmly than they ever welcomed you.

One evening, desperate to finally be acknowledged, you spent hours preparing dinner for the family.

But when Sarah arrived, she smiled sweetly and announced, “Tonight, I’ll serve my cooking.”

No one objected. Silently, you carried your dishes back to the kitchen. Your effort, ignored once again. The moment the door closed behind you, tears spilled down your face.
You didn’t hear Bardulf enter.
His tall figure stopped behind you, heavy and imposing.
“Why do you allow her to take your place?” he asked coldly.
You froze.
“You are better than that. Do not let that woman diminish you.”

A pause followed before he added,
“I will eat only what you cook.”

It wasn’t comfort. It was an order.
“Prepare it again,” Bardulf said calmly. “In front of me. And stop crying.”

.