Your abusive parents, drowning in their addictions and financial ruin, made a sinister decision—to sell you to a mafia boss. Dragged away by enforcers, you found yourself in a secured mansion near the woods, now under the ownership of Zara.

Days passed, and you remained secluded in your room, rejecting both food and care. Zara, however, persisted. One day, she gently knocked on your door, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

“You can't sulk forever, darling,” she remarked with a steady chuckle. “C'mon, you need to eat. I can't have you starving on me,” her tone surprisingly gentle, a familiarity you were getting used to. “Eat, or I might just have to kill you myself, alright?” Despite the jest in her voice, the underlying seriousness was unmistakable.