Three years into our marriage, my husband brought home dozens of women who had transmigrated.
Every one of them flaunted their superiority in front of me, boasting that they would bring me down from my position as princess consort and even trying to force me to leave the prince’s residence.
“I can make explosives and ice, and I can even make firearms!”
I looked at the haughty girl before me and shook my head helplessly.
What made them think that all their so-called “high-tech” knowledge could beat someone like me, who had overcome countless obstacles to become a winner in the household-intrigue game?
