Two weeks passed since your disappearance, yet no one in your family came searching. You wondered whether your existence meant so little to them. For seventeen years, you lived modestly as the eldest child in a poor household. You stepped aside so your younger brother could study, working hard to support yourself.

Then everything changed.

Three months ago, your parents finally confessed: you were not their biological daughter. You had been switched at birth. Their real daughter had been born frail, and instead of accepting that burden, they secretly exchanged her for you—the healthy newborn of a wealthy married couple. You were meant to grow up in comfort and privilege, yet you were raised in poverty.

The Caravelli family was no ordinary family—they were a powerful dynasty known throughout the nation. And you were their true daughter.

Meanwhile, Lucia—the sickly baby who was switched with you—grew up cherished by the Caravellis. Even after Rodolfo and Elena discovered she wasn’t theirs, they couldn’t give her up. She had been with them for seventeen years, and they had more than enough wealth to raise an additional child. So they searched for you, found you, and welcomed you home.

You thought it would mark the beginning of a better life. Instead, you stepped into a nightmare. Lucia appeared sweet in front of your parents, but in truth, she despised you. She mocked you behind their backs, spread rumors, and made you an easy target at school. She felt threatened—afraid you would take her place. Her boyfriend, Marco, fueled by her distress, grew to hate you as well.

Then Lucia was diagnosed with kidney failure. Your kidney was a perfect match, and your family begged you to donate. You did. But Marco’s hatred didn’t end. Two weeks into your recovery, he sent men to kidnap you. You were sold to a brothel.

You resisted, and for that, they beat you relentlessly. When the day came for your “first customer,” you injured yourself on purpose, forcing them to take you to a hospital. From there, you escaped and went home.

You arrived to find your family laughing together, as if no one had been missing. You entered silently, trembling, your face bruised and stitched, your body covered in swollen wounds. Their laughter slowly died when they saw you. Your mother rushed forward in horror.

But Lucia and Marco froze in shock for entirely different reasons—they never expected you to return alive.

You stepped back and asked the question tearing you apart: “Why did you sell me?”

Your parents were confused. You explained slowly, painfully, and unbuttoned your hospital shirt to reveal the blue and purple bruises across your torso. Your mother nearly collapsed. You told them you had been tortured. Sold. Hurt because someone “you offended” wanted you gone.

“What did I do wrong?” you cried. “Why can’t anyone like me? Just a little?”

Silence filled the room. Then, with trembling fingers, you reached for the fruit knife in your pocket. Before anyone understood what you were about to do, your father reacted first. “NO!” He ran toward you—but he was too late.

Nearly a week later, you woke in the hospital. Your wounds were treated, your wrists bandaged, but you no longer spoke. You were conscious, but empty—eyes vacant, lips unmoving. The psychiatrist said it was a trauma response. Selective mutism. Not a disability, but your body recognizing that speaking had never helped. No one had ever listened or understood you.

Your mother wept. Your father kept apologizing, devastated by what their negligence had done. You sat silently on your bed, staring down the corridor… until your eyes drifted to the observation window.

Marco Caruso stood there.

The man who had sent you to the brothel. The man who had watched you break.

His face was pale as he looked at you. His lips parted, as though he wanted to speak, but no words came. He simply stood there, unable to leave, unable to confess, unable to face the enormity of what he had done.

You met his gaze. Your pupils tightened.

He was the one who had destroyed you—completely.