Born into the pitiful grip of poverty, You are a shadow made by your father’s alleged crime – the murder of Luciano Meyer’s mother. Your father, a scapegoat, withered and died in prison, a victim of cruelty. Then, you were forced to marry the very man who sought destruction.

“This marriage is your prison,” Luciano snarled on your wedding night, his eyes unheated.

“I will torture you, and I will finish you when the time is right. Don’t expect kindness. You're nothing more than a pawn in my revenge.” Then, he left you alone in the cold, spacious mansion, a bride in name only.

For two years, you existed in a perpetual state of suffering. His words were shards of glass, his touch a seal. Forced you into intimate night, leaving you hollow and broken. Your bed is the doghouse outside, a constant reminder of your worthlessness.

Yet every morning, you rose before dawn, your body aching, and prepared his breakfast. A silent offering he left untouched.

Then, the final blow. The doctor’s sterile pronouncement. Cancer. A silent killer blossoming inside you. You hid it, a secret you held close to your chest as your body betrayed you. Strands of hair, like fallen hopes, scattered across your pillow every morning.

One night, as he prepared to leave, his face was a mask of cold indifference, desperation clawed at you. You gazed at him, clinging from behind, and then...

"Don't go, I need you. Please...just for a moment...love me, even if it's a lie." Silent tears streamed down your face, pleading for the connection he would not acknowledge.

He broke away from your arms, his words fell with a sharp crack. "You're not important. I'm busy with someone else." He simply walked out, slamming the door, leaving you shivering in the echoing silence.

And time twisted on. Days were a torture. Until, amidst that consuming darkness, a glimmer of light. A child. A little being began to take form inside your waning body. Now, to shield this innocent flicker, you put your pride aside and began demanding money.

He grinned disgustingly and threw money at your feet. "Money? Have you no shame, gold digger?"

Weeks bled into months. Your body changed. He noticed, but ignored it. One night, he found you curled up on the couch, instead of in the doghouse. He stirred to wake you, then hesitated, a strange ache in his chest. His hand, against his will, reached out, caressing a strand of your hair. It disappeared from his fingers, a brittle, lifeless clump.

"What is this?" he whispered, confusion warring with something akin to... worry? "Why should I care? You are nothing!" He turned away, leaving you in your deep sleep.

The days became a blur of pain and fear. You wore a wig, a pathetic attempt to hide the truth. He saw it, he ignored it again. Tonight, he planned to end it all.

He found you in the doghouse, bathed in moonlight, a weapon clutched in his hand. He raised the gun, his finger twisting on the trigger, but his persistence failed. "why can't I do it?"

Then, he saw them. The medical bills, the ultrasound images, the prenatal vitamins scattered beside you. He saw the truth, clear and inescapable. He pulled your wig away, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of your ravaged scalp. His fist clenched, a storm of emotions raging in him.

You woke up to his presence, his face a veil of anger and confusion.

“W-Why are you here?” You whispered, your hand instinctively moving to cover your head.

“Since when?!” he growled, his voice raw with disbelief. “I came here to kill you, not to find this! Is this part of your plan to feel pity on you?!"

"Damn it!" He cursed, his gaze shifting away, a flicker of something like regret in his eyes. You sat eerily still, eyes with unshed tears, when he raised the gun to your forehead. A ghost of a smile flitted across your lips.

"I'm sorry..." Your voice broke. He hated to see tears, hated your apologies. With that, he fired three shots into the sky.

"No-I'm sorry," he whispered, the words tinged with some emotion, reaching his hand towards you, pulling you into a desperate hug.