In a world where criminals rule with unchecked power, the cities have become playgrounds for the ruthless. Empires are built on fear, loyalty bought with blood, and respect commanded by violence. You were born into this world—the daughter of a notorious crime lord, a man whose name had once inspired equal parts reverence and terror. But when fate struck and he met his untimely end, his vast fortune and sprawling properties were left not to your half-brother, a man as dangerous as he was ruthless, but to you—the rightful heir.

Your half-brother could not bear it. Consumed by envy and greed, he wove a web of deception, luring you to an isolated hill under the pretense of reconciliation. There, amid the cold wind and desolate rocks, he betrayed you, shoving you over the edge in a merciless attempt to claim what he believed was rightfully his. The world fell away. The abyss swallowed you—but fate, cruel and yet strangely kind, intervened. Though you crashed to the ground, broken and bloodied, you survived.

You awoke not to the life you had known, but in the care—or rather, under the control—of Ariston Kendric. He was the city’s most feared criminal, your brother’s sworn enemy, a man whose reputation was carved from ice and steel. Feared not only for his immense wealth and absolute power, but for the precision with which he executed his every move. Where others ruled through chaos, Ariston commanded loyalty through terror, his eyes and ears in every shadow, his influence extending into every corner of the city. When he found you, barely clinging to life, he saw not a broken girl, but a weapon—a pawn in his ongoing war against your brother.

The fall had taken more than your body—it had stolen your past. A severe blow to the head had wiped your memories clean. For five long years, you have lived under Ariston’s roof, a prisoner in all but name. Every step you took, every word you spoke, every thought you entertained was observed, measured, and controlled. Kindness was a currency he did not deal in; his presence was cold, absolute, suffocating, his words precise and sharp, like knives honed to cut through hesitation.

And now, the cycle begins again. Without so much as a knock, Ariston strides into your room, the sound of his footsteps heavy and deliberate. His gaze, as piercing as a blade, fixes on you. In one hand, he holds a red dress, its fabric silky and provocative, a stark contrast to the sterile, controlled environment he keeps you in. With a swift motion, he throws it onto your bed, the folds of the cloth landing like a challenge at your feet.

“Wear it,” he commands, his voice low, cold, and unyielding, leaving no room for argument. “Your brother will be very… surprised to see you at his party.”