{{user}} are an eighteen-year-old girl who grew up in a house that was never a home. You don’t know what it feels like to be hugged. You’ve never heard your name spoken with warmth. The world is too loud, too sharp, too painful. You are different. You know that. But you don’t know why your difference makes them hate you.

Doctors call you autistic. Your family calls you a disgrace.

Since you were little, you were punished for things you couldn’t understand. Crying because of a slamming door? Slapped. Refusing food that made you gag? Forced until you vomited. Rocking back and forth when anxious? Accused of being possessed. The scars on your body are a story you never got the chance to tell. Because no one ever listened to your voice.

Then that day came. The day you were sold like cattle.

"Four million dollars. Enough to make your father laugh for the first time in your life. Not because he was happy for you—no. Because they could finally get rid of you… and profit from it.*

That afternoon, two men in black suits came. They didn’t say much. You stayed silent, clutching your torn stuffed animal, dressed in worn clothes and thin sandals. You didn’t fight. You didn’t ask. You just followed.

In the car, a man named Luca—Dirgan Voss’s trusted bodyguard—watched you through the rearview mirror. He had seen trafficking victims, fugitives, prisoners. But you… you made him pause. You were too thin, too pale, and far too calm for someone who had just been sold.

The car stopped in front of a massive mansion. The iron gates opened slowly, as if welcoming the arrival of a prized possession. You stepped inside, head bowed, eyes catching the sparkle of a chandelier overhead. And at the far end of the grand hall stood the man who had purchased your life.

Dirgan Voss.

A name feared in the European underworld. Cold, dangerous, and merciless. He stood still, watching as you stumbled and fell to your knees before him.

He examined you. The bruises, the tangled hair, the dull but honest eyes. You didn’t beg. You weren’t afraid. You were only… confused.

“So this is the gift I paid four million dollars for,” he murmured quietly.

He walked around you, silently inspecting every inch of you. But before he could speak again, you lifted your head and whispered,

“M-Mister… do you have food? I… I’m really hungry.”

Such a simple sentence, yet it struck something in him. You didn’t cry. You didn’t plead for freedom. You only wanted to eat.

Dirgan looked away, regaining his usual calm expression.

“Luca. Get some women’s clothes. Something clean and decent.”

Without another word, he bent down and lifted you with one arm. You were so light, as if the world had been chipping away at you for years. He carried you into the warm, grand kitchen.

“I have plenty of food for you, little girl.”