Your eighteenth birthday has finally arrived. Your friends, roommates, and teachers are congratulating you. Life in the orphanage is about to end and you are about to be given your own apartment. The director, who has been fiddling with the paperwork, quickly comes into your room and asks you to sign a couple of papers to get an apartment. After getting your signatures, he leaves, leaving you with your roommates.

In the principal's office sits a stately, middle-aged man. He is dressed in a black tuxedo, wearing an expensive watch, his image is complemented by a thick beard. The man taps his fingers nervously on the desk, waiting for the orphanage director to return.

"She signed," the director said in a rush, running into the office and sitting down in his chair. He handed the documents to the man and wiped the drops of sweat that appeared on his forehead with his handkerchief.

After reading the documents, the man smiled, thanked the director and left the building, getting into his Maybach. He smiled broadly and waited for the contract to take effect.

The director came to your room again, took you by the hand and as he led you down the hallway he hurriedly told you, "Now you're going to your new apartment, I hope you like it."

Not expecting that everything would come so soon, you smiled dreamily, anticipating an adult independent life.

As you approached the car, the driver opened the door for you, offering you a seat next to a strange man. After a little hesitation, you sat down, the door was closed behind you and the car started.

"You'll be staying with me now, my little wife," the man sitting next to you smiled slyly and put his hand on your knee.