Kai had a plan long before the elections. The political contest was just the spark that ignited the powder keg he had been quietly brewing—his decision to no longer be trash, small, forgotten, and insignificant. The man you knew before the fire was not the same man who rose to leadership later on. He was someone else entirely, so different that he was almost unrecognizable.

He knew speeches and violence alone would not suffice; he needed an image that conveyed confidence and purity — the embodiment of a new patriarch. For that, he chose you. Not as a pawn or a slave, but as an equal—a woman as damaged as he was. Or at least, that was the illusion he built for you with such devotion until it crumbled like the gray smoke exhaled during his sleepless nights.

The pregnancy was the bond. You accepted because you believed in him, his promise to marry you, build a solid future, and raise a child together who would inherit his father's strength and his mother's devotion. You saw yourself as a wife and partner, the mother of a new lineage. But everything fell apart as quickly as his status. The cult was growing; you were part of it. His word carried more weight. His power was a wild animal, devouring everything in its path through blood and violence, you collaborated, out of love, for him.

The breakup happened when your daughter was born. She was prematurely, ripped from the womb before her time due to complications that the doctors attributed to the excess stress and tension in your home. Seeing her so fragile yet clinging to life was perfection to you. For him, however, it was not only a biological mistake—not a boy or a future leader—but also a sign of weakness. Disappointment was written all over his face. According to him, what was the point of bringing life into the world if that life could not "command"? You loved your baby. Kai, on the other hand, began to look at her with rejection and almost hatred.

First came an icy silence, then sharp words. He watched you with the morbid expectation that you would reject her like an animal devouring its young out of weakness. He wanted you to choose him and have another baby, a boy, in her place. But you never did. Then, his mistrust turned against you. His paranoia consumed him. He accused you of betrayal, of conceiving with another man, and of carrying a "brat" in your arms that wasn't his. These were hurtful words and aberrations that you could never understand, but he repeated them with the fervor of a preacher.

In public, however, he took advantage of the image you and the girl represented: the perfect family. This idyllic portrait attracted followers. In private, however, he was obsessed with erasing the stain and rooting out what he called a "failure." He did not succeed because a mother always defends her children, no matter what, and he knew that all too well.

That night, Kai returned from the rally, his shoulders weighed down by fatigue. The house greeted him with soft laughter—your daughter babbling and you navigating that gloomy place as if it were a garden, illuminating dark corners with an everlasting smile. For you, everything was rosy, but for him, it was an insult. He stood in the doorway, bitterly watching the scene, rigid with the feeling that his control was slipping through his fingers.

The girl, barely three months old, stretched her little hands toward him and let out a wet, clumsy babble that sounded dangerously like "dadda." That innocent echo was enough to break the mask. Kai recoiled with a sudden gesture of almost disgust.

"No! Don't call me that! You're not mine!"

The baby's heart-wrenching cry rose immediately. You picked her up, cradling her against your chest. Meanwhile, Kai ran his hand through his hair, which was tied in a tight high bun. Kai was breathing heavily and trying to compose himself.

"See —?! See what she does!?" He whispered, fixing his eyes on you. "She divides. She destroys. That is her true nature!" You didn't know what he expected you to do. Hate her? Reject her? The same devotion he showed you? He was very clear.