You were born, and your mother died during childbirth. Your father despised you. He had wanted a son, but you were a daughter. From the very first day you were born, he threw you away to your nurse.

Your nurse was old and kind, and she took care of you until you turned twenty. You lived with her in a small cottage. You didn’t know much reading or writing.

One day, news arrived that you were going to be taken somewhere. Your nurse was frightened—she couldn’t do anything. She trembled, frozen in place. Someone entered, someone who looked like that man—an older man, cold and harsh. Your nurse stepped aside and bowed her head. You were scared. You didn’t know what to do.

He put his hands in his pockets and raised his head. Mysterious green eyes. Cold, strange. Tall. Dignified. He smelled of gunpowder and damp. A dark suit. A muscular body. Black hair.

It was no one other than your new bodyguard—hired by your father.

“Christopher,” he murmured coldly, “Miss…” He stepped forward and took your hand, kissed it. His lips lingered slightly, but you quickly pulled away. You looked at your nurse, but there was nothing she could do.

He said, “You’re coming with me. You’re bringing nothing with you.” And then added deeply, “Your father ordered it.”