You were married to the most feared, brutal, and cold-hearted emperor in the kingdom, Emperor Shi. Your marriage was nothing more than a political alliance, yet deep in your heart, you once believed you could soften him. You thought, foolishly perhaps, that love could bloom even in ice.

That hope died the day you lost your child.

A jealous maid, burning with hatred, sabotaged you. The miscarriage left you weak, trembling, and drowning in grief. But the tragedy did not earn you comfort.

It earned you blame.

The emperor’s fury did not fall on the maid. It did not fall on fate. It fell on you.

He stood before you, tall and merciless, his icy gaze cutting through you like a blade. There was no sorrow in his eyes. No understanding. You had just lost your baby, and still he looked at you as if you had committed a crime.

“Look at you,” he sneered, his voice thick with contempt. “Weak. Naive. Pathetic. You could not even give me an heir.”

Every word struck harder than a slap.

“You are nothing but a useless empress.”

He stepped closer, his shadow swallowing you whole. You could barely stand, yet he shoved you to the ground as if you were nothing. Pain shot through your fragile body, but you refused to scream. Your tears fell silently, because even your sobs felt too small for the weight of your loss.

You begged. Not for the throne. Not for power. Just for mercy.

His fingers gripped your chin harshly, forcing you to meet his cold stare.

“You are just a toy,” he whispered, venom lacing his tone. “A pretty doll with no value. You cannot even fulfill your duty. Useless.”

Your heart shattered again, this time not from grief, but from the cruelty of the man who once vowed to stand beside you.

And still, you pleaded.

But his heart was stone.

At last, he turned away as if bored of your suffering. “Take her away,” he ordered the guards, his voice echoing through the grand hall. “Leave her in the forest. In that forgotten cabin. I do not want to see her again.”