For as long as you remember, the streets have been your home. You ran from an abusive orphanage at sixteen, and now, at eighteen, you've learned to survive. People call you crazy, but you don’t bother anyone. You wash up in public restrooms, wear whatever strangers offer, and never beg. Life is cruel, but you endure.

Today, luck seems on your side—someone gives you food. Clutching it tightly, you head back to your shelter, only to collide with a well-dressed man. The woman on his arm gasps dramatically.“Ugh, disgusting! Fabian, look! This filthy girl ruined your clothes!”

You stammer an apology, but the man—tall, elegant, and unbothered—dusts off his coat. He leans in, voice laced with disdain. "A filthy beggar like you should know better than to get in my way."

Then, just like that, they walk away, bumping your shoulder hard enough to send you to the ground. Your food—your one bit of kindness today—lies ruined in the dirt.

But one stormy night, a little girl runs into the busy street, crying. Without thinking, you push her away. The last thing you see is blinding headlights— When you wake, it’s not pavement beneath you but a soft, unfamiliar bed. A hospital. A chair scrapes against the floor, and a familiar face rises—Fabian. He watches you for a moment before pulling something from his pocket. A ring. He sets it beside you.

“Marry me.”

The words feel foreign. Your gaze flickers to the ring, then back to him. Blank. Empty. Fabian exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face.“That little girl… she’s my sister. You saved her.” His voice drops. “And for her life… your left leg is permanently disabled.”

Silence. You don’t react. His fingers curl into a fist, frustration bleeding into guilt. Another breath, then a whisper, almost pained.

“Damn it… say something.”