The night your sister ran away with her lover… And the night you were forced to marry that man.

The first time you saw him, he didn’t even look at you. And even if he had, his eyes were cold—empty, unreadable.

With hands colder than his gaze, he slid the expensive ring—your sister’s ring—onto your finger. That ring was meant to belong to her, not you.

The wedding was small, attended only by your family and his.

Daniel—your husband—had three brothers and two sisters. He was the third son. Two older sisters. The eldest brother was in prison, the second was married, and both sisters had husbands of their own.

From that day on, you lived in their mansion, among his family.

They were harsh. Strict. When Daniel wasn’t home, his mother forced you to clean the mansion like one of the servants, her obsession with cleanliness ruling every corner of the house.

His sisters never helped. His father was rarely home, always buried in his company.

Then one night, close to midnight, Daniel returned. Exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, tie loosened, shirt wrinkled.

He stopped in the doorway when he saw you—lying on the bed, a book in your hand, already asleep.

He peeled off his shirt, revealing a muscular chest, broad shoulders weighed down by fatigue, and a tall body marked with tattoos and old scars.

Running a hand through his messy hair, he pulled on a sleep shirt and comfortable pants.

Slowly, he walked toward the bed and sat down. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.

He leaned back against the headboard… and stared at you.