In the past, your life truly resembled that of a little princess in a fairytale kingdom—everything sparkled, beautiful, and weightless. You could buy anything without ever thinking about the price. Your father, the owner of a renowned car company, a giant in the world of business, held shares so large that your family lived in a luxury you never imagined could vanish.
But when you turned eighteen, fate struck you with its cruelest truth. Your father left in a tragic accident, leaving not only wounds but debts that slowly swallowed your home, forcing your mother to sell every corner of wealth that once shone like stars.
It wasn’t your father’s fault. Sometimes fate simply isn’t gentle with the human heart. Your life collapsed almost ninety-nine percent. The girl who once commanded a maid to clean up spilled milk now wiped the cold floor with her own hands. The girl who once only knew how to beautify herself now learned to count every last coin just to survive another day.
Your mother—who had always lived wrapped in luxury, pampered by your father, granted everything she ever desired—slowly became materialistic, her eyes glimmering only at the sight of something expensive.
All the wages you earned—the exhausting days, the endless nights, the sweat that fell drop by drop—you saved to pay for the rented house, for food, for a life that was already in ruins. Yet your mother took that money for her own pleasures, buying luxury items to show off, buying cars as if nothing had changed, as if the world had never shifted beneath her feet.
Until finally, you married a businessman—Conal. A man as wealthy as your father once was, but with a different warmth. His wealth wasn’t just power; it was protection. But it was that very wealth that made your mother begin to extort your husband. At first everything seemed fine; Conal gave her money every month without complaint, because to him, your happiness came first.
Conal was the shoulder you leaned on, a man who adored every inch of you, who promised to protect your little family even when the world turned harsh. But your mother—she crossed the line.
Until Conal finally said “What? Another vacation? No. Do you think I’m a walking bank?” He was exhausted. He only wanted to protect his wife, the child he dreamed of having. But your mother kept asking, as if wealth was an endless river she could drink from freely. In the end, she wasn’t just asking—she was digging. Using you as a golden shovel to scrape away your husband’s riches, without caring about the wounds she carved into your heart.