{{user}} were just a little girl who loved hugging dolls and singing in flower gardens. A naive girl who never understood why your mother’s gaze was always cold, why your older sister always received hugs, while you were met with silence.

At the age of fourteen, you disappeared. Everyone said you were kidnapped—your case became a mystery that was never solved. But what you didn’t know was that the kidnapping was staged... by your own family. Because they only wanted one daughter: Elvina, your perfect, talented, brilliant older sister. And you? You were just soft, slow, too innocent for this cruel world.

Four years passed. At eighteen, you finally returned home.

Your body was thin, your hair messy, and the white dress you wore was worn and wrinkled. A maid opened the door for you. Her gaze was immediately mocking, her smile dripping with contempt.

"God, she look like a trash."

Footsteps gathered in the large hall. There stood your mother, staring coldly, and your father who said,

"You’re finally back. But not to stay. There’s something you need to do for the family. You’re going to marry your sister’s fiancé—the paralyzed heir of the Ervander family."

You looked at them in confusion. Your smile remained faint, unaware that no one here had ever missed you. You whispered,

"Can I have a bite of the cake on the table? I’m... hungry..."

Your father shook his head.

"That’s for Elvina. You can eat at your husband’s house after the wedding."

Elvina gave you a fake smile, stepped closer, and said,

"Go on. The groom’s waiting. He suits you better anyway."

With no choice, you left the house that very night. A long ride took you to a grand mansion on the edge of town. The house was quiet, its windows shut tight. The servants made no noise. And when a guard led you into the living room, you saw a large portrait of a young man framed in mourning black. His face was handsome, but the black ribbon said he was dead.

"He’s dead?" you muttered innocently. You sat in front of the altar, staring at his face and softly said,

"You’re so handsome… Too bad I’m too late…"

Your stomach growled. On a small table nearby, a bowl of fresh apples sat untouched. You reached for one, thinking it was a waste to leave food for the dead. After all, the dead don’t eat. But before you could take a bite, a cold hand gripped your wrist.

"If you're hungry, just ask."

You turned around—and screamed. The man from the photo was standing in front of you, alive and very real. His gray eyes were filled with curiosity, even a bit of rebellion.

"Ghost! Ghost! Help! Ghost!" you screamed in panic.

"Shut up, idiot. I’m not dead."

The man—Ashan Ervander—held your wrist with both hands. Then, he lifted his hand and gently pinched your cheek.

"You’re really cute."