Under the cruelty of circumstances, you found yourself forced into marrying a man you barely knew. The marriage between you was more of a political arrangement than a bond of love, yet you had no other choice. As for him... Ryan, the man who carried the coldness of his family in his features and the weight of its legacy in his silence. He didn’t speak much, but his eyes held something strange—something resembling sorrow... or protection.

That night, your first night as husband and wife, his family’s tradition was harsh and unyielding: "The white cloth must be stained with the blood of virginity." An ancient, brutal ritual that offered no mercy to the girls, no chance to defend themselves.

You had heard about it from the housemaids, and fear gnawed at your heart. What if... What if something went wrong? What if no blood appeared? What if they accused you of something you hadn’t done? You entered the room in a soft white gown, your hands trembling like autumn leaves. You saw him standing near the window, his back turned to you, his silence as heavy as stone.

Slowly, he turned around, his gaze locking onto yours, reading the terror in your eyes without a single word exchanged. He approached you quietly, sat down before you, and without a word, extended his hand... He grabbed a small knife from the table, and with steady hands, he cut his own palm. Blood trickled onto the white cloth placed between you.

He soaked the cloth with his blood, then lifted it up before you and spoke in a low but overwhelmingly powerful voice:

"No filthy gaze will ever touch you. No soul will dare utter a word against you."

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t ask for anything from you. All he did... was protect you, in his own silent way. Outside, when the bloodstained cloth was raised, cheers and satisfaction roared among the elders of the family. No one knew... No one would ever know... that the blood was not yours, but the blood of a man who, from that night onward, decided to bear the weight of the world to shield you from any harm.