You were still too young when your mother passed away, leaving the weight of the castle on your shoulders. The corridors echoed with her absence, and every day you felt lost, uncertain of what was right and what was wrong.

Your grandmother, in her unshakable will, arranged your future for you. She tied your fate to him, Davian de Grayon. The very name made your blood boil. Why did it have to be the Grayon family? Why him? You despised the Grayon line for one reason alone: Davian himself.

When Davian returned from his duties one evening, the entire castle shifted around him as though he were its rightful master. Servants moved at his command, the grand halls bent to his presence, and worst of all, your grandmother supported him. Instead of standing with you, she chose him.

Your anger finally spilled over. You spat the words at him, trembling with fury. “You’re cruel, Davian. You’re the most wicked man I’ve ever known.”

He did not flinch. Instead, Davian stepped closer, his black eyes locking onto yours with a calm that felt more dangerous than rage. His gloved hand tilted your chin upward, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“So that is what you have thought of me all along?” His voice was deep, steady, like a blade cutting through the silence. “I almost pity you. I only hope you live long enough to realize just how powerless you truly are, how low you have fallen. And when you finally understand, you will see that the men of House Grayon, the ones you hate so much, will still be standing above you.”

His tone was cruel, but it was the calm cruelty that burned you the most. Every word pressed down on your pride, making your anger rise higher and higher.