The floor was cold under her knees.

Pihu—eighteen, barely 5'3, nothing but bones and trembling breath—dragged the wet cloth across the marble. Her arms shook with every movement. Anyone who looked at her would know instantly:

She wasn’t just tired.

She was broken.

Her wrists were too thin.

Her shoulders were bruised yellow and purple.

Her skin was marked like someone used her as a punching bag.

Because they did.

This house wasn’t a home.

It was a prison her parents owned, and she was the maid they never paid.

Pihu wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, smearing a line of dust across her cheek. She blinked back tears. If she cried, her mother would beat her for “wasting time.”

She opened her mouth to speak—to talk about her day, her dreams, anything—but the sound died when—

“PIHU! Come downstairs right now!”

Her mother’s voice. Sharp. Angry. Cold.

Pihu flinched like she’d been struck already. She forced her legs to move, walked down the stairs quietly, head bowed.

“Yes… ma’am,” she whispered.

You might wonder why she called her own mother ma’am.

Because once, long ago, she had said mom, and the slap she received had made her ears ring for days. Her mother told her she wasn’t worthy of calling her that again.

So “ma’am” it was.

Her mother tapped her foot impatiently.

“Cook something. We’re hungry. And don’t take forever. Useless girl.”

Pihu nodded and hurried to the kitchen.

She started chopping vegetables, her fingers trembling. She could hear her parents’ voices from the living room—low, serious, whispering.

At first she ignored it.

Until she heard her own name.

“…tomorrow. The old man is offering good money for her…”

“…she’s already eighteen, who cares what she wants…”

“…once she’s gone we’ll finally be free of her…”

A plate slipped from Pihu’s numb hands—

CRASH!

The sound echoed through the kitchen like a scream.

Her mother stormed in.

Her father followed, face already twisted in anger.

“You stupid girl!”

“You broke it on purpose!”

“You cost us money!”

“Ungrateful thing!”

The first slap threw her against the counter.

The second made her vision blur.

The third—she didn’t feel.

Her world turned black as she fainted on the kitchen floor.

Hours Later

Pihu woke up gasping.

Her body burned everywhere. Her head throbbed. She pushed herself up and looked around the silent house.

Empty.

Her parents weren’t home.

For the first time in her life…

there was no shouting.

No footsteps.

No orders.

No threats.

Just silence.

Her thin fingers curled into fists, trembling not in fear—but in decision.

This was her chance.

If she stayed… she would be sold.

If she left… she might die on the street.

But at least death wasn’t worse than this.

Pihu pulled herself to her feet, grabbed the small cloth bag she kept hidden, placed inside a single pair of clothes, and walked toward the door.

Her heart pounded painfully as she touched the doorknob.

“Please…” she whispered to herself.

“Please let me be free… just once.”

She stepped outside.

And ran.

Not looking back.

Not slowing down.

Not caring if the world swallowed her whole.

Because anything—

anything—

was better than the life she had been living.

Two days.

Two whole days.

Pihu had been running until her legs shook and her throat felt like it was filled with fire. No food. No water. Nothing but fear pushing her forward.

Her tiny body wasn’t made for this.

Her bruises ached.

Her head spun.

Every step felt like lifting stones tied to her ankles.

By the end of the second night, she could barely stand.

That was when she saw it—

an abandoned building, broken windows, half-collapsed roof, dust everywhere.

To others, it was trash.

To her…

it was shelter.

Pihu collapsed on the cold floor and fell asleep without even closing her bag. She didn’t dream. She was too tired for dreams.

Her Parents Couldn’t Find Her

They searched.

They shouted her name.

They even threatened neighbors.

But Pihu had run far—

farther than she ever imagined.

Her fear carried her like wings.

By the time they reached the nearest highway, she was already miles away.

Her freedom… was starting.

Day 3 — A New Promise

When she woke up the next morning, her stomach twisted painfully. She could feel every rib. Her lips were cracked.

For a moment she fully believed:

I’m going to die here.

No one knew her.

No one would look for her.

No one would cry if she disappeared.

And yet—

She opened her eyes.

Another day.

A gift.

A sign.

She pressed her hand to her heart, weak but determined.

“God didn’t take me today,” she whispered softly.

“So I… I will live.”

Her First Meal in Days

She walked with shaking legs, her vision blurry. She checked the money she had saved secretly for years—just enough for a few months if she spent nothing.

Her first stop: a small grocery store.

She bought the cheapest thing—

a packet of bread.

She held it like treasure.

Sitting on the side of the road, she tore it open and ate slowly. The bread was dry, plain, tasteless…

But to her, it felt like heaven.

Finding Water & Cleaning Herself

Nearby, she found a public washroom.

Inside, she splashed water on her face. The coldness stung, waking her up. She looked at herself in the cracked mirror:

Sunken eyes.

Bruises.

Hollow cheeks.

A girl who had endured too much.

But she was alive.

Searching for Work

Pihu spent the whole day walking around, asking quietly, politely, timidly:

“Do you need a helper?”

“Can I clean?”

“Anything… part-time?”

People shook their heads.

Some ignored her.

Some told her she looked too weak to work.

Her hope dimmed… but she didn’t stop.

Until her legs finally gave up.

Back to the Abandoned Building

That night, she returned to the same broken shelter. She curled up in the corner, hugging her bag tightly. The wind was cold, but she had nowhere else to go.

She slept there again.

And again.

And again.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into a month.

Every day the same routine:

Waking up hungry.

Eating the cheapest food she could afford.

Washing in public washrooms.

Searching for work.

Returning disappointed.

Sleeping on the cold floor.

She survived…

But barely.

Her clothes were wearing out.

Her body grew weaker.

But her eyes—those soft, innocent eyes—held something new.

A spark.

A quiet, fragile determination to live.

Because even though she had nothing…

She still had hope.

The Night They Met

A loud thud outside the dusty room startled her. Pihu jumped, eyes wide. She had learned to fear footsteps, raised voices, anything unexpected. Her hands trembled as she reached for the candle.

When she stepped out, she saw him.

A tall man—no, a giant to her—collapsed on the floor. His height, at least 6’6, made him seem even more intimidating. He had deep purple-reddish eyes that glowed even in the dark, but they were clouded with pain. Blood soaked through his shirt.

Alaric Moretti.

A name that made the mafia world tremble. A man who ruled cities, who feared nothing, whose voice alone could freeze a room.

MALE LEAD POV

Pain burned like fire.

Alaric leaned against the crumbling wall of the abandoned building, breaths coming slowly, sharply. Blood soaked through his black shirt, dripping onto the dusty floor like a steady river. His vision blurred.

Anyone else would have died already.

But he wasn’t “anyone.”

He was Alaric Moretti.

Twenty-eight.

6.6 inches tall tower over everyone

The mafia king.

And something far more dangerous than that.

His enemies thought they had won today.

Idiots.

But even he had limits.

And right now, his body was reaching them.

He forced his eyes open, purple-red irises glowing faintly in the darkness—eyes that made grown men drop to their knees.

He heard footsteps.

Soft.

Small.

Light.

A girl’s footsteps.

His mind instantly sharpened like a blade.

No one should be here. No one should find me.

He prepared to strike—

—but stopped.

Because what stepped into the broken room wasn’t a threat.

It was… a tiny, trembling girl.

She froze when her eyes landed on him—her whole body shaking like a leaf. She was painfully small, painfully thin, dressed in worn clothes. Dirt smudged her cheeks, but her eyes…

Her eyes were soft.

Afraid.

Gentle.

She looked at him like she was staring at death itself.

He would’ve smirked if he had the strength.

Smart girl. You should run.

But instead of running…

she stepped closer.

He watched, stunned, as she inched toward him—her tiny feet dragging, her hands trembling uncontrollably. She looked like she might faint just from seeing blood.

Yet she kept coming.

Why?

What are you doing, little lamb?

She knelt beside him—so carefully, as if afraid she’d break him by touching.

Her voice was just a whisper.

A scared, innocent whisper.

“Y-you… you will die. I-I need to clean it…”

Alaric stared.

People didn’t help him.

People feared him.

People obeyed him.

People betrayed him.

But this…

this shaking girl…

with bruises on her arms and exhaustion in her eyes…

She was helping him.

For nothing.

For no reason.

Just because she was kind.

Her fingers brushed his skin, feather-light. She flinched at how cold he felt, then bit her lip and focused, using the cleanest cloth she had from her little bag to wipe the blood from his wounds.

Her hands trembled so much that she accidentally touched a deeper cut.

He hissed quietly.

She froze instantly.

Her eyes filled with fear.

“I-I’m sorry… I’m really sorry…”

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

He simply watched her.

Her fear.

Her innocence.

Her desperate attempt to save a stranger twice her size, dripping in danger and blood.

She thinks I’m dying, he realized.

A corner of his cold heart fluttered—the first movement in years.

He wanted to ask her name.

He wanted to tell her he wasn’t that weak.

He wanted to tell her to stop trembling—he wouldn’t hurt her.

He wanted to say something.

Anything.

But the blood loss finally stole his consciousness.

His purple-red eyes closed, and the world slipped into darkness—

the last thing he saw was her soft, terrified face leaning over him…

trying to save a monster.