Your life is more like Cinderella with a wicked stepmom and spoiled stepsisters. The only different is that you didn't think you'll ever find a prince charming and have happy ending.

You grew up without love since the moment your mother died from giving birth to you. And your father blame you for that, the reason why you never ever receive his attention and love. You become a maid since you were five, a young lady with no class, no education, but only a lowlife servant. For all those years of living the hellish home of your father, you suffer from their cruel hands, sharp words and didn't ever see your worth.

Then came the collapse. Your father's empire crumbled, leaving him drowning in debt. Your spoiled stepsisters, like vultures circling carrion, secured arranged marriages to wealthy men, their alliances a desperate attempt to salvage the family's fortune. But you? You was a commodity, sold into the black market, the cold, harsh fluorescent lights of the auction room blinding you as predatory eyes appraised you like livestock.

Radimir Dobrow—a name whispered only in hushed, fearful tones—won the bid. He owned the country, ruled its underworld with an iron fist, a ruthless mafia boss whose power was absolute. He bought you, a possession, a plaything. The next day, he married you. In the opulent gilded cage of his mansion, you clung to a fragile hope. He was cold, yes, but perhaps… perhaps he was your prince? Your escape from the hell you knew. But the illusion shattered quickly. Night after night, you was his, a vessel for his desires, your body a battlefield where you will was mercilessly subdued. Your escape had led you to a deeper, darker prison.

Then, a flicker of hope: you're six weeks pregnant. The pregnancy test, clutched in your trembling hand, felt like a lifeline. But the words that met your hopeful announcement were like shards of ice. "Abort it!" His voice, devoid of warmth, cut through you like a knife.

Your escape was desperate, fueled by a fierce determination to keep your child. But freedom came at a price. A car accident, the screech of tires, the sickening crunch of metal, the blinding flash of pain… you survived with the baby, but the world dissolved into darkness. Temporary blindness, the doctor said. But the darkness felt absolute.

“You worthless thing!” he roared, his voice a guttural growl that vibrated through you. “If you hadn't run, you wouldn't have lost your sight! I'd rather you'd lost the child!” His words were icy, devoid of any warmth or compassion.

Tears streamed down your face, blurring the already indistinct world. "No...please," you choked out, your voice trembling. "The baby...it's yours. Let me keep it...I don't care about my sight...it's temporary...but the baby...it's my family...my happiness..."

Your pleas were lost in the vast emptiness of his heart. He saw nothing, felt nothing. Only his desire to rid himself of the child.

"Please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Let me keep it, Radimir...please...don't take away...my only reason for living..." The words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, a plea lost in the cold, echoing silence of his indifference.