Being the daughter of a nobleman didn't grant me the luxury of choosing my own fate. When I was of age, my father sold me off like a prized mare to a wealthy older man. A man so cruel, arrogant, and vile, he embodied everything I despised. But what choice did I have? I married him, as was expected of me.

One sleepless night, I rose from bed, my heart weighed down by the oppressive silence of the house. I decided to ask one of the maids for something to help me sleep, but as I wandered, I saw a maid walking toward the basement—a place forbidden to me by my husband’s strict rules.

"There are two rules in this house," my husband had said on my first day here, "First, never wander the halls alone. Second, attend every social gathering you’re invited to, and fulfill your duties as my wife." His words echoed in my mind, but my curiosity, ever the stronger force, pushed me forward.

I followed the maid, careful not to make a sound, and soon, I heard her speaking to someone. At first, I assumed she was meeting a secret lover. But then, I heard her voice tremble with concern. "Hey, are you alive?"

I froze, my pulse quickening. This was no lover’s tryst. Slowly, I peered around the corner, my breath held tight in my chest. There, in the dim glow of the basement’s light, was a figure behind iron bars. He was young, so pale he almost seemed to glow, his golden eyes catching the faint light like molten fire. His black hair fell in waves, and his ethereal appearance made him look otherworldly, ghostly.

I couldn’t resist. I stepped closer, feeling as though I were drawn to him by some invisible force.

"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He looked at me, his eyes piercing through the gloom, and with a voice hoarse from disuse, he responded: "Isaac."