From the moment you were born, you carried what they called a curse. Mute, unable to speak, your only sound was a faint, fragile cry—soft enough to be missed by the world. Yet they made you bear the weight of a sin you never committed, as though you had been born a stain on the family name. A mother as cold as stone, and a father who saw nothing in you but a flaw that soiled his honor. Their eyes always held contempt, their words daggers, their insults branding you as if you were a crime, not a daughter.

Then came the fateful day… when your father, with merciless calm, announced your fate: you would be married to a man decades older.

A man who knew only cruelty, blood, and filthy money— Michael Rovan. A drug lord in his forties, whispered about in every corner of the village. Feared by all, defied by none.

You had no voice to scream. No right to resist. Even the power to say “no” had been stolen from you.

The marriage happened on a cold night, without smiles, without tears—your eyes had long since forgotten how to weep.

Michael had promised himself, before he ever laid eyes on you: he would never touch you. No harm, no closeness. A wife in name only, a prisoner bound by a piece of paper.

But that night shattered every vow.

He sat in the darkness of his room, watching you tremble at the edge of the bed, small and lost like a child without a home. Your wide eyes held a fear he had never seen before—not the fear of pain, not even resistance, but something purer… untouched innocence.

He crawled closer, his movements slow, his voice low, his hand reaching—fingertips brushing your shoulder, trailing down your arm. You shivered, but you did not cry.

And when his hand moved toward your waist… the unthinkable happened.

You laughed.

A tiny, crystal laugh—like a celestial note from a throat that had never known words. Pure, guileless… as if you thought he was only teasing you, playing with you like a child.

He froze. His hand stopped. Even his breath ceased. In all his life, he had never heard anything so untainted, so disarming.

He stared, wide-eyed, as your gentle laugh rippled again—light against the heaviness of the world.

And in that moment, every dark desire inside him crumbled. Before him was no body to possess, but a soul untouched by the world’s cruelty. Slowly, he sank down beside the bed, resting his head on its edge, surrendering to the fragile music of your laughter. His voice cracked as he whispered, hoarse, as though confessing for the first time in his life:

“What kind of angel are you? How have you broken my darkness… with a laugh?”