The gates of the Daisho estate groaned open, their lacquered black wood reflecting the last orange light of the setting sun. Yohan Daisho—head of the Daisho conglomerate and once a man whose presence could still a room—stepped out of the car, his shoes striking the stone path with sharp precision. He had been away far too long, he thought, tending to business abroad. Tonight, though, his mind was filled with the simple joy of seeing his only child again. Elisa.

But the home he entered no longer breathed warmth.

At the base of the grand staircase, his heart faltered. Elisa stood there, or rather, what was left of her. She wore nothing but threadbare rags, her long black hair tangled into mats, skin pale and fragile like paper. Her eyes—once bright with mischief and ambition—stared at nothing, hollow and lifeless. She seemed barely able to stand.

Above her, descending with mocking laughter, came the four boys Yohan had once taken in as wards, boys he had groomed as possible successors in case Elisa chose not to lead the family empire.

There was Riku, the eldest, calculating and cruel, his sharp suit and sharper smirk marking him as the self-proclaimed leader. Takuma, the silver-tongued charmer, trailed close behind with a maid clinging to his arm, whispering giggles at his every word. Souta, broad-shouldered and brutish, carried himself with the arrogance of a man who believed strength was ownership. And then there was Hayato, the youngest, but by no means innocent—eyes glittering with a sly cunning that unsettled even his peers.

The four glanced down at Elisa as if she were no more than a broken doll.

Riku’s lips curled into a mocking smile. “Ah, welcome home, Father Daisho. You’ll be pleased to know we’ve been making… arrangements. Elisa is set to marry soon. A very generous suitor—sixty years old, wealthy, eager. I’m sure you’ll approve.”

Elisa’s head dropped further, her body trembling.