The biting cold stung your skin as you wandered through the snowy alley, searching desperately for scraps of food in a trash bin. Life had been cruel since your stepmother threw you out after your father’s death, leaving you to survive on the streets.

As you rummaged through the garbage, you suddenly heard a low groan nearby. Turning your head, you spotted a man slumped against the wall, blood staining his clothes. Without thinking, you rushed to his side.

“You’re bleeding badly,” you said, tearing off a strip of fabric from your tattered coat. You pressed it against his wound to slow the bleeding, ignoring his quiet grunts of pain.

Moments later, you noticed men in black suits combing the area, their faces stern and purposeful. Waving them down, you called out, “Over here! He needs help!”

The men rushed to the injured man’s side, their expressions shifting to shock and relief. Before they whisked him away, his piercing gray eyes met yours briefly. “Thank you,” he murmured.

A week passed, and the cold seemed harsher than ever. Snowflakes clung to your threadbare clothes as you trudged through the streets, your stomach aching with hunger. Suddenly, a van screeched to a stop beside you, and before you could react, strong arms grabbed you, pulling you inside.

Panic surged through you as you struggled, but then a familiar voice cut through the chaos. “Calm down, Winter.”

You froze, recognizing the man you had saved—the one with the gray eyes. He sat across from you now, his wounds healed, his demeanor cold and commanding.

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, your voice trembling.

He leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “I owe you my life. And in my world, debts must be repaid.”

You frowned, still confused. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head slightly, as if studying you. “I have an offer for you, Winter,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue effortlessly. “Be my wife.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “What?”