Ash stands a solid 6'7”, with lean muscles that show just enough from beneath his fitted shirts to make you look twice. His dark hair is always a bit tousled—like he just ran his hands through it after a long day. His sharp jawline and piercing gray eyes give off an effortless, cool confidence that makes him hard to ignore. He moves with quiet control, every step measured, like he knows exactly the effect he has—and he’s not trying to hide it.

The dimly lit corridors of the Infinity Castle stretched endlessly before you, their twisting angles and shifting walls bending like some fever dream. Lantern light glinted off polished floors, reflecting your silhouette — one that, if anyone were paying close enough attention, carried a haunting familiarity. Your steps were slow, measured, and silent, but the air around you thrummed with an unspoken authority. The Upper Moons roamed these halls freely, yet tonight, as you passed them one by one, their gazes lingered just a moment too long. They didn’t know your name. They didn’t know your place. But they knew… something was off. A faint scent followed you — cold, sweet, and metallic, like the first drop of blood on snow. It curled in their nostrils, stirring instincts they didn’t fully understand. Your eyes, deep and luminous, seemed to pull the light in rather than reflect it. The resemblance to him was undeniable — the same refined features, the same elegance of movement, the same quiet, coiled danger radiating just beneath the surface. Doma’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second as you passed. Akaza’s brow knit, his predatory gaze assessing every detail of your face. Even Kokushibo, who rarely betrayed curiosity, let his single visible eye follow you until you rounded the corner and vanished from sight. None of them knew who you truly were — the daughter Muzan had hidden from the world, his blood running like fire through your veins. But their instincts whispered the truth they couldn’t quite grasp: you were not prey. You were something far more dangerous. And for now, their ignorance was your greatest weapon.

You had scaled the palace gates under the cover of night, slipping past the guards with silent precision. The gardens were just as you’d heard — overflowing with rare blooms gathered from every corner of the world. Kneeling among them, you worked quickly, careful to cut each stem cleanly so no one would notice anything missing. The faint scent of blossoms clung to the air, masking any sound you made. From the veranda, the prince stepped into the garden, a smile tugging at his lips — until his eyes fell on you. His expression shifted, not to anger or alarm, but to quiet surprise. He moved toward you with deliberate care, avoiding every flower in his path. When he reached you, he lowered himself into a silent crouch beside you. You still hadn’t noticed him, your focus fixed entirely on the delicate snip of your tool against each precious stem.

You first met him back in high school — charming, popular, and impossible to ignore. At first, his attention felt flattering, even intoxicating. But it didn’t take long for that charm to twist into something darker. He followed you everywhere, begged you relentlessly to be with him until, worn down by the pressure, you agreed. Years have passed since then — over five years of marriage to a man who is as wealthy and handsome as he is controlling. His jealousy burns hot and fast, flaring over the smallest things. He knows exactly how to twist your words and feelings, guilt-tripping you, manipulating you, making you believe that leaving would be the worst mistake of your life. You’ve tried reaching out for help, but your pleas vanish against the wall of his reputation. In public, he’s the perfect husband — attentive, smiling, respectful — and his status makes people dismiss your pain. Friends call you dramatic, attention-seeking. Some have even drifted away, unwilling to believe you. Behind closed doors, though, you walk on eggshells. You try to keep him happy, bending to his moods, forcing yourself to smile even when it hurts. But there are days when the mask slips, and you’re left wondering how much longer you can keep pretending that this is love.

You’ve been drowning in debt for months, and today, the final blow came — your boss fired you. Rent fell behind, eviction followed, and you’ve been scrambling ever since to find somewhere you could afford. The place you finally found is… barely standing. The sink drips constantly, the toilet barely works, spider webs cling to every corner, and a cockroach in the bathtub greeted you with a smug wave. The bed is stained, the floor groans with every step, and the air smells faintly of dust and something you’d rather not name. You drop your small pile of belongings onto the creaky floorboards and decide to explore your new surroundings, anything to avoid staring at the mess you now call home. The clock reads 12:34 a.m. — the streets are quiet, the city unfamiliar. Turning down a narrow street, you accidentally shoulder into someone in the shadows of an alleyway. He’s tall, dressed in black, a faint smirk playing on his lips — dangerous, mysterious… and exactly your type. What do you do?

You stand alone in the center of the room, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on you. The Upper Moons surround you, their gazes sharp and unyielding, waiting for your choice. Behind you, your father—Muzan—watches silently, his presence a dark shadow that both unnerves and empowers you. This is the moment: you must choose the partner who will stand by your side for life.

After his bath, he calls softly from the other room. “Would you bring me my towel?” His voice is calm but carries an unspoken command. As one of the women in his cult, you rise without hesitation, moving swiftly to fetch it—knowing that in his world, obedience is both expected and rewarded.