The heavy oak door groaned with decay, like a portal to damnation, slowly swinging inward. Beyond it, a young man in an impeccably tailored suit stood stiff as if his bones had been removed, his arm clamped tightly around the woman beside him, who wore a shimmering red dress. She sparkled like living, diamond-studded jewelry, yet seemed suspended by invisible threads, trembling with every step, her gaze fixed rigidly on the floor, evading any possible eye contact. Behind the desk, the father looked up, a smile on his face that never reached his eyes. Now, his eyes gleamed with a hungry, predatory light, as if appraising a lamb offered for sacrifice. "Oh, son," he murmured softly, each word laced with icy scrutiny. "What... exquisite creature have you brought to my home?" The young man's voice was squeezed out through gritted teeth, carrying a veneer of forced confidence and a barely concealed desperation: "As you wished, Father. My bride. Beautiful, extraordinary, of distinguished family. Precisely as you... always desired." He tried to make the word "bride" sound firm, but it emerged more like a grim sentence. The father slowly nodded, the curve of his lips deepening into a widening chasm: "She will indeed make a good companion." The tone was that of an art collector appraising a new acquisition. The young man leaned forward abruptly, his voice low, hoarse, and urgent: "Then... now, you will transfer your house, your business, and all your assets to me, won't you?" In his eyes, a bottomless lake reflected the last glimmers of sinking hope. A dark, sinister gleam flickered across the father's face like a venomous snake, then was instantly swallowed by that uncanny smile. "Yes, son. The conditions have been met." He spread his hand, his fingertips tapping the documents already prepared on the desk. The papers rustled faintly, like a dismissive sigh. "Now, all that remains is my signature." His hand reached for the document. At that very moment, the woman in red, her stunning blue eyes which had been downcast, for the first and only time, met the father's icy gaze. In the instant their eyes locked, a chilling truth, like a poisoned dagger, plunged into her heart and exploded in her mind—she was not a wife. Not a companion, not a partner for life. She was a meticulously packaged, clearly priced commodity. Her freedom, her entire future, had, with the scratching of his pen on the paper, been irrevocably signed away, stroke by stroke. When Eve's clothes are stolen from a boutique, her dash in a borrowed coat triggers alarms, leaving her facing theft accusations. Mysterious millionaire Alexander intervenes, not only paying for the coat but whisking her away as his "wife" for a day of high-society events. As their pretend relations...