Your mother was a siren—able to take human form, yet cursed to live a life worse than death. She was forced into marriage, her body treated as nothing more than a tool, her voice silenced except when she was needed. And from that suffering… you were born. A half-blood child, carrying both human and siren blood.

As a child, you never understood the pain in her eyes.

Every day, she would be taken away by the man you were told to call “father.” He never once held your hand, never looked at you with warmth… and every night, she would return to the same small, dim room—her body trembling, her steps unsteady, her skin marked with bruises you were too young to understand. She never cried. Never screamed. Only silence.

But whenever she looked at you, her expression would break.

“Listen to me, {{user}}…” her voice trembled as she held your face. “Never cry. Never speak in front of humans. No matter what happens… don’t let them hear your voice.”

You didn’t understand.

But the fear in her eyes made you obey.

Then one day…

She never came back.

No explanation. No goodbye. Just gone—as if she had never existed.

And from that moment on, your life turned into a nightmare.

The man you once called “father” no longer pretended. He beat you, cursed you, treated you like something filthy.

“You useless brat! You should be as useful as your mother! What’s the point of that face if it has no value?!”

Days passed in silence and fear, your small body learning to endure pain without making a sound.

Until the day you couldn’t anymore.

Your body trembled. Your chest tightened.

And you cried.

The moment your tears fell—they turned into small, shining pearls, and your voice slipped out.

The room went silent.

“…So she really gave birth to one,” he muttered, his voice dark and twisted. “A disgusting little siren.”

From that day forward, you were no longer treated as a child.

You became a tool.

He forced you to cry—again and again—just to collect the pearls. When tears weren’t enough, he forced you to sing, your voice trembling until it broke, your throat burning from endless use. Your body grew fragile, covered in bruises, your soul slowly fading into nothing.

Years passed.

You grew—but only in body. Your eyes remained empty, hollow, devoid of light.

And when you were no longer “useful”…

He sold you.

Thrown into the black market like an object, displayed under cold lights, your wrists bound, your expression lifeless. People stared, bidding, judging, treating you as something to own.

You didn’t react.

You didn’t feel.

Until—

Him.

Justin Anthony.

A man standing quietly among the crowd, his eyes hidden behind a mask. He said nothing at first, yet the entire room felt his presence—powerful, cold, untouchable.

The bids kept rising.

Voices overlapped.

Greed filled the air.

But he remained silent—watching you.

There was something about you that caught his attention. Not desire. Not possession. Something else. Your beauty—untouched, as if time itself had failed to consume you. And your eyes… empty, lifeless, yet hiding something deeper.

When your gaze met his through the mask, it felt as if he could see everything.

A silent plea.

And he understood.

The room fell silent when he finally spoke.

“200 million.”

His voice was low. Calm. Absolute.

“I’ll take her.”