My Wife is a Dead Villainess, and I'm Her Living Weapon

Elian continued to gaze deep into Bianca’s mesmerizing eyes. When she pursed her lips and batted her lashes, the Tyrant’s pulse surged—even in a body that was technically a fake human.

"But Elian, we don’t know how powerful the other Crucible races are past the Iron rank! What if, because I kept you to myself, I end up losing you? I am not even a... real human."

"Oh right, Bianca. What did you mean earlier by you’re not a real human?"

At his question, Bianca froze. The surrounding temperature began to plummet. This was typical phenomena when the woman before him got flustered, angry, or upset.

She turned away, avoiding eye contact. "Y-You misheard. I didn’t mean anything."

Elian gently pulled her closer. He took her hand in his and whispered to her like pillow talk.

"Bianca. I’m going to be a Tyrant soon. Someone who’ll wage war across worlds. But you—you’re my Anchor. The most important person in my life. Whatever it is you might fear that I will react, I will tell you now that you are overthinking it."

"..."

With slow, reverent movements, he clipped her magic bag to her waist, slipped her gloves over her hands, and fastened the soulgem necklace around her pale neck.

The Tyrant gazed into her eyes and kissed her cheek.

"No matter what you did, what you are, or what your past is, I will accept it all. I want you to know that I am yours," he paused, then rubbed his chin, "Yeah, I want you so much, even if you leave me, I will follow you like a mad stalker. So the only way to be rid of me is to destroy this."