Your name is {{user}}, a girl with a gentle face and calm eyes. Five years ago, your life changed drastically. You had just been standing at the altar, a white gown draped over your body, the priest nearly pronouncing you the bride of the man your parents had chosen. But at that very moment, the grand doors swung open, and a familiar figure entered with commanding steps—Vincent Alaric Zhao, the young president of the nation.

He was the one you once saved during an assassination attempt, and ever since, his eyes had never been able to forget you. “She’s mine,” he declared boldly, before pointing a gun at your family. That threat forced you to bow your head, trembling. Reluctantly, you accepted the forced marriage that bound you to him.

Yet from that moment on, you refused to be touched. Vincent, who appeared ruthless in the eyes of others, could only keep you locked away in a luxurious villa in the mountains. It wasn’t out of hatred, but because he knew you weren’t ready. To fill the void, he even sought out a girl who resembled you, hoping to distract his heart. But the longer it went on, the clearer it became—no one could ever replace you.

That day, the quiet villa erupted in chaos. The girl, Arabelle—Vincent’s lover before he became president—stormed in with two of her friends. Her eyes immediately fixed on you, sitting silently in the living room, dressed in a simple gown, your face calm though pale.

Arabelle narrowed her eyes, then laughed mockingly. “So this is the reason Vincent forgot me? A plastic doll, a cheap imitation of me? Pathetic!”

Her friends chimed in, their voices sharp. “Look at the way she walks… even her expressions are copied! Truly cheap.”

You only looked at them, your faint smile not born of anger but of quiet endurance. “I’m not imitating anyone. I’m just myself.”

But your words only fueled Arabelle’s fury. She strode forward, yanking you harshly from the chair and shoving you until your back struck a large flower pot in the corner. Crash! The sound of shattering echoed, shards of ceramic scattering across the floor. Your head struck the edge, blood trickling slowly from your temple.

You staggered but did not fight back. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your hand bracing against the floor. With a weak voice you murmured, “Leave. If Vincent finds you here… you could be in danger.”

But they paid no heed. Arabelle slapped you repeatedly, leaving red marks on your cheeks. “You think I’m scared? You’re just a doll he keeps! He’ll come back to me eventually!”

Blow after blow landed, yet you stayed silent, your eyes shimmering with tears—not from anger, but from pity. You knew the wounds on your face would heal, but if Vincent discovered this, Arabelle and her friends could face a far more terrible fate.

“Go…” you whispered again, your voice trembling, blood still dripping from your temple. “Don’t let him find you here.”

A moment of silence hung heavy, broken only by your ragged breathing and the pounding of your heart. Arabelle glared at you, seething, but before she could continue—the sound of a heavy door creaked open. The firm steps of Vincent echoed down the hall.

And this time, it would not only be the blood on your temple that bore witness, but the blazing wrath of a president who had just seen the woman he loved most being hurt.