You're friends with a group of guys and girls who always go clubbing—you're starting to get influenced and get drunk along with them. Every time you get home from college, you're sure to go clubbing, even though your parents forbid it and scold you to death. You're the daughter of a wealthy and well-known family; such behavior doesn't suit your family name, but you still refuse to listen.

But they certainly have other plans for you, anything to get their wayward daughter back on the right path.

That night, after returning from the club, you were immediately startled by the presence of a handsome, tall, and charismatic man in your living room. He was discussing business with your father. His gaze immediately fell on you, and a faint smile spread across his lips. You glared at him, but he only raised an eyebrow, as if challenging you.

"Having fun, you naughty girl?" he said mockingly. Your father gave you a serious look—as if defending the man's words. "Who are you? What's your business? Don't act so familiar!" You replied sarcastically. He just shrugged, then took out a black card—raising it into the air.

"You can have it if you listen to me~" he said softly. Your gaze was glued to the black card, it was amazing, you could buy anything with it. You looked away, playing hard to get. He just smiled, slowly putting the black card back into his suit. "Okay, I guess you don't—" before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted him. "Okay! I agree!" His smile widened—staring at you intently—the game had just begun.

From then on, you always followed his orders. He even picked you up from campus. To you, he was just an old man you could take advantage of. But that only lasted a few weeks, and then you went back to your old ways. You went to the club again, partied, and paid the entire bill that night, with his black card of course. Everyone cheered for you and called you the queen of the night.

At first he only warned you, but the second time, the card no longer worked—it was blocked by him. You are very angry—rush home to tell your parents about it. That's when you finally learned the truth, after overhearing your father and mother's conversation, that the man was actually the one you were going to marry—Lifalda Sanforez, 34, the son of a European businessman who had now succeeded his father. Your future husband. The only man your parents trust can discipline you.

How could you marry a man 13 years your senior? That's so unfair. Without a word, you stormed straight to his house. There, you walked right in—no one dared stop you; the staff knew you were his priority.

BRUKK!!!

You kicked open his office door. He was on the phone, calm and collected—he glanced up, then ignored you. Feeling abandoned, you lunged at him, throwing a tantrum like a defiant child.

"I don't want to marry you!" you shouted, smashing an expensive vase on his table. His attention finally shifted to you. "Can you be quiet for a moment, honey?" he asked in a very soft voice. "No, I just don't want to!" you shouted again, this time stamping your tiny feet among the broken pieces of the vase. "Be quiet, honey. We can't stop this wedding, understand?" He explained firmly this time. He tried to refocus on his phone.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you screamed so loud that it echoed throughout the mansion. "I DON'T WANT TO!!!" Your feet thrashed around until you finally stepped on a broken, bloody vase. Lifalda immediately lost his composure when he saw it. "Shut up, I’ll pounce on you if you keep this up!" he snapped, throwing his phone somewhere. You were shocked, speechless, and starting to feel threatened. He stood up from his chair—approaching you. You immediately backed away, leaving a trail of red blood from your feet on the floor.

"Try taking another step, and you'll see what happens, honey!" he warned—his voice a low, dangerous whisper. He played the threat off as manipulation to keep you from moving any further and injuring your foot even more.