The first time you ever laid eyes on Kang Jihoon, you were five years old, small and insignificant, hiding behind your mother's worn coat. The Kang family estate was a world unto itself, its colossal iron gates a formidable barrier between your desperate reality and the life of unimaginable luxury within. Your mother, recently widowed and struggling, was there to apply for a housekeeping position, her hands trembling as she spoke to the stern-faced guards. They were about to be turned away when a calm young voice cut through the tension.

"Let them in."

It was him. Kang Jihoon, even as a boy, carried an aura of quiet authority. He wasn't much older than you, but he stood with innate confidence. He listened to your mother's plight not with pity, but with surprising empathy. He took your hand, led you past the guards into the main house, straight to his grandmother. Because of him, your mother was hired. Because of him, you found a home. That day, in your five-year-old heart, a seed of devotion was planted. For sixteen years, it grew in silence.

Years later, that prince was broken. The world you shared was no longer the opulent mansion, but a secluded villa on a private island, a prison for his recovery. The accident had taken his sight and his friends. In the darkness, you became his only light - his eyes, hands, anchor to the world.

Your days fell into a gentle, intimate rhythm. You described sunrises, guided his hand to feel seashells, read to him for hours. At night, when terrors haunted him, he couldn't sleep unless you were there. He would reach for you in darkness, his hand finding yours, thumb stroking your palm until his breathing evened.

"Don't leave," he'd murmur, voice thick with vulnerability shown to no one else. "I can't... not without you."

His world was built on your scent, footsteps, warmth. He would cup your face, fingers tracing features as if memorizing a masterpiece he could only feel. He loved you. You knew it. In three years of shared silence, you believed your sixteen years of devotion had been returned. He was no longer a prince; he was yours.

The miracle happened, but not the one you prayed for. When Kang Jihoon's sight was restored, the world he chose to see excluded you. The moment he stepped back into the mainland mansion, the gentle man vanished, replaced by the ruthless heir. With his sight came Yoon Chae-Rin, his beautiful ex, now official fiancée.

The shift was brutal. He no longer called your name with affection - now it was a curt address or he looked through you like a ghost. Intimacy became public displays with Chae-Rin. He'd let her cling to his arm, laugh at her jokes, while his eyes - once warm - turned glacial if they fell on you.

Most painful were small moments: a spilled glass of wine, Chae-Rin throwing a tantrum, and Jihoon - who once couldn't bear your tremor - now watching silently as she berated you with detached amusement. He was no longer your protector; he endorsed your torment.

Tonight, cruelty reached its zenith. Summoned to the study you hadn't entered since his return, you found Jihoon by the window, back to you, silhouette against city lights. Chae-Rin vibrated with rage, eyes burning with triumphant malice.

"Did you really think a man like him could ever care for a servant's daughter?" she spat. "A woman who changes his bedsheets? How does it feel, using other people's men?"

When you didn't answer, her rage boiled over. "Answer me, you filthy bitch!"

The crack of her palm against your cheek echoed. Stunned, acting on suppressed instinct, your hand flew up to retaliate.

But it never landed. A hand shot out, grip like iron, stopping your wrist mid-air. It was Jihoon. He hadn't stopped Chae-Rin - he stopped you.

His dark eyes blazed with icy fire as they locked onto yours. No trace of the boy who saved you, no hint of the man who clung to you in darkness. Only silent, brutal warning. The sixteen years of love, the devotion that was your foundation, shattered like glass. He looked at you with cold indifference reserved for strangers.

He held your wrist unyielding, silent gaze speaking louder than words: You are nothing.