I AM A MAGE BUT WITH MILF SYSTEM

Time soon passed, and Julian found himself buried in the endless duty of his position as Duke. His days were filled with stacks of documents, each requiring his approval, revision, or rejection. He barely had time for anyone, let alone casual conversation.

One afternoon, as he went through a set of export records, a strange document caught his eye. Unlike the others, this one wasn’t just paperwork—it was a formal letter of complaint. His brows furrowed as he read:

“To the esteemed Duke of Easvil,

We regret to inform you that the most recent shipment failed to meet the agreed-upon quantity. The delivered goods were significantly less than what was promised in our contract. We hereby request the duchy to address this matter appropriately and provide a refund or replacement as per the terms of our agreement.”

Julian leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the desk. Less than the proposed amount? That was unacceptable. He didn’t tolerate embezzlement, nor did he allow his name to be associated with incompetence. His expression darkened. Someone was either stealing from him, mishandling trade, or deliberately trying to test his patience.

A slow smirk curled his lips. Let’s see who dares to play games with me.

Julian knocked on the desk, and the door creaked open. A woman stepped inside, her posture calm yet respectful. She wore a flowing blue gown, the fabric hugging her curves just enough to hint at the curvy body beneath. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, making her look like a noble lady.

She bowed low, her voice smooth and measured. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Julian’s sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment before he gave a slight nod. “Rise, Eliz,” he commanded.

She obeyed without hesitation. A faint smile played at her lips as she met his gaze. “What can I do for you, Your Grace?”

Julian leaned back, chuckling as his eyes slowly washed over her, taking in every detail. She was an interesting one—proud despite her fragile circumstances and alluring in a way that many noblewomen lacked.

Eliz was once a viscountess, a woman of status and influence. However, fate had been cruel. Her husband, the former viscount, had lost everything, and with it, she had been stripped of her title, reduced to nothing more than a commoner. Under normal circumstances, she would have faded, just another discarded noblewoman left to wither away in some forgotten corner of society.

But fortune had intervened. Julian’s father, Alden, had once owed a favor to her husband, and the fool had used it to send his own wife to the duchy, ensuring she would serve as Julian’s personal assistant. A desperate move, no doubt, but one that had ultimately worked in her favor.

Now, she belonged to Julian—not as a noblewoman, not as a wife, but as something far more interesting. A servant? A secretary? Perhaps. But he could see it in her eyes—the refusal to be just another pawn. She had ambition, and she knew how to play the game.

Julian handed the document over, his smile never leaving his face. “It seems someone has been playing games with me,” he said, his voice filled with amusement, though the sharp tone beneath it was unmistakable.

Eliz took the paper and read through its content. Her eyes widened slightly, though she quickly masked it.

“An export complaint?” She murmured, her voice carefully neutral. She lifted her gaze back to him. “What would you have me do, Your Grace?”

Julian leaned back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Eliz, I know you didn’t come here to be just a simple servant.”

Eliz tensed, caught off guard by Julian’s words. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before composing herself again, but it was too late. Julian had already seen it.

He chuckled, watching her shift ever so slightly, the first sign of discomfort she had shown since stepping into his office. He enjoyed watching people squirm, peeling away the layers of their carefully crafted masks.

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice no longer playful. “Do whatever you like. If you can, raise your family from the ashes. If you have the skill, turn the tides in your favor. If you desire revenge, take it.”

Eliz inhaled sharply. He wasn’t just giving her permission—he was laying it all out in front of her, a dangerous game where only the strongest would survive.

“But remember,” Julian continued, “never go against me.”

The room felt colder for a moment. Eliz held his gaze, her fingers tightening around the paper. For the first time, her composed mask cracked—not out of fear, but something else. A thrill.

Julian’s aura flared slightly, his eyes locking into hers with an intensity that made the air around them feel heavier.

“If I hear or even feel an ounce of doubt regarding you,” he warned, “trust me, I’ll be the first to wipe you and your generations from existence.”

Eliz’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her composure, not letting a single flicker of fear show on her face. She had heard rumors, of course, about Julian’s ruthless nature. But hearing it directly from him, in such a calm tone, made it all the more chilling.

She swallowed, but inside, a storm was brewing. She couldn’t afford to show weakness, not now, not ever.

Julian smiled, sensing her resolve, and it was that smile—a mix of amusement and calculation—that made her realize just how dangerous he truly was. He was testing her, and she would have to walk a fine line from here on out.

“Good,” Julian said, his voice smooth again, the tension easing just enough for him to lean back in his chair. “Remember, Eliz, I don’t do second chances.”

Her gaze never left his. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“Go now and find the evidence regarding who is playing these games behind my back,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the tension.

Eliz stood still for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. She was no fool; she knew this wasn’t just about a simple export complaint. Julian was playing a game, and now she was part of it.