CHAPTER 1

ALL her life, Cindy had never known what hope felt like. Each day was nothing more than an endless cycle of misery, pain and a loneliness so heavy it gnawed at her small heart.

At ten years old, everything seemed to change.

A man in a crisp black suit appeared before her in the orphanage where she had lived since she was five. He spoke gently, extended his hand and told her she would finally have a home. For the first time, Cindy allowed herself to believe that perhaps—just perhaps—her life could be filled with warmth, happiness and meaning.

She had imagined many possibilities but never this: to step out of the cold, crumbling walls of the orphanage and into the glittering grandeur of a mansion. Her little hands had trembled as she touched the polished marble floors, her wide eyes reflecting crystal chandeliers that seemed to sparkle like stars.

But that dream of belonging shattered almost as quickly as it came.

She was introduced to her new stepmother, a woman with a smile that never reached her eyes. Though Cindy was given everything material—clothes finer than she had ever seen, a private room larger than the orphanage dormitory and an education that others could only dream of—what she truly longed for was never offered: love.

Affection was a currency her new family never spent on her.

Her stepfather was a shadowy figure in her life, a man she saw only once a week at best, often returning from long business trips that seemed endless. Each time he came home, Cindy would stand timidly at the corner, hoping for even a kind word.

Instead, what met her ears was always the same—sharp criticisms, scolding remarks and the cruel reminder of how stupid she was for never meeting the family’s lofty expectations.

In that mansion full of light, Cindy’s world remained dark.

There came a point in Cindy’s life when smiling was no longer possible. The little spark she once carried had been extinguished, smothered beneath years of silent suffering. She was broken—shattered piece by piece—not in a single blow but slowly, painfully, as the world pressed down on her shoulders until she could hardly breathe.

Time had a way of grinding her down.

Even in the mansion where luxury and elegance surrounded her, there was no warmth.

The servants treated her with the bare minimum of courtesy, never with genuine respect. Their eyes carried quiet disdain, as if she were an intruder who had no right to exist among them.

It felt as though the entire world despised her.

And yet, she couldn’t throw a tantrum, couldn’t scream or demand to be loved.

Deep inside, she told herself she had no right.

After all, this family had given her a new life—an education, clothes, food she never would have tasted back in the orphanage. They had plucked her from the wrath of the orphanage director and placed her inside these walls of grandeur.

By that logic, shouldn’t she be grateful?

But gratitude felt hollow when her heart was bleeding.

Her tears slid silently down her cheeks as she whispered into the darkness, “Is this really how I’m supposed to live? Is this really… a life worth living?” Her voice cracked, as though she was afraid the walls themselves would answer her with cruelty.

Curling onto her bed, she clasped her trembling hands over her chest, trying to hold herself together. The mansion was vast, so vast that ten orphanages could fit inside it. Yet, to Cindy, its endless halls and towering ceilings only mocked her.

The place didn’t feel like a home—it felt like a prison.

A cage.

A gilded cage that trapped her, hindering her wings from ever spreading, suffocating the very notion of freedom.

When morning came, Cindy did not dare to sleep in more.

Her eyes opened at the first light of dawn, not out of eagerness but because she had been instructed never to fail.

Today was no ordinary day.

Today, she was expected to meet the man they called her fiancé—a stranger whose face she had never once seen, whose name carried weight but no meaning in her heart.

The arrangement was not hers to accept or refuse. It had been decided for her, neatly tied together by her stepmother’s cold words and calculating smile and she couldn’t argue back.

She never could.

To resist meant to drown in guilt, for they would remind her of everything they had “given” her—shelter, food, education and clothes. They would remind her that she had been nothing but an orphan, a burden they chose to carry. And every time, her voice would die in her throat because the guilt was like chains dragging her down.

If she dared to object, they would twist her silence into ingratitude, make her feel unworthy for even breathing under their roof.

So, what choice did she have?

In their eyes, marrying a man of high status wasn’t a cruel demand—it was repayment. Her life, her future, her freedom—all of it was to be used to elevate the family’s standing, to strengthen their wealth and power. That was the only value she could offer.

She pressed her hands together on her lap, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The pale girl who looked back at her wasn’t a bride-to-be but a prisoner being dressed for display.

And Cindy, though she longed to scream, could only swallow her despair and whisper to herself, “This is the only way I can repay them… isn’t it?”

When Cindy descended the grand staircase, her hands trembled against the polished banister. The soft rustle of her dress echoed in the cavernous hall and there, at the base of the steps, stood a man whose very presence stole her breath.

He was strikingly handsome—sharp suit, chiseled features and eyes that carried a confidence she could neither name nor match.

She didn’t even know him, had never spoken a single word to him, yet her heart betrayed her with a rapid, unsteady rhythm. A faint warmth rose to her cheeks, the kind she had never experienced before.

Perhaps it was because, at twenty-three, she had never been given the luxury of youth’s normal joys. There had been no first crush, no secret dates, no whispered promises under the stars—only endless work, endless striving to meet the impossible standards of her adoptive family.

And still, she always fell short.

“Oh, here you are, dear. Come here.”

Her stepmother’s voice broke the moment.

Smooth, honeyed, practiced.

She glided across the marble floor with the grace of a swan, extending her arms as if she were a doting mother welcoming her cherished daughter. Her hands slid around Cindy’s waist in a gesture that might have looked affectionate to anyone else.

But Cindy knew better.

This was the same woman who, behind the mansion’s closed doors, never smiled except in mockery. The same woman whose gentleness evaporated like mist once outsiders left. Beneath the elegant dresses and soft tones was a heart made of steel—cunning, manipulative and violent.

Cindy felt her stomach twist as the man—her so-called fiancé—shook hands with her stepmother, the two exchanging polite words about business, about status, about an agreement she was merely a piece of.

She stood there quietly while her own future was being bartered away like a commodity.

And then, after the man left and the polished car rolled out of the driveway, the mask came off.

Her stepmother’s eyes hardened, her lips curling into the cruel sneer Cindy knew all too well. Without warning, Cindy was dragged away from the bright living room, down the cold hallway and shoved into the basement.

The door slammed shut.

And the darkness swallowed her whole.

For three days, she was locked there.

No food.

No water.

Only bruises where hands had struck her and a body that ached with hunger and shame.

“How useless,” her stepmother’s voice had hissed before the door closed. The words echoed in Cindy’s head long after the footsteps faded.

Cindy curled up on the cold concrete floor, pressing her hands to her chest, the echo of her own heartbeat her only company.

She was beaten just because she couldn’t even fake a smile.

She was lifeless.