I was picked up off the streets by a man who brought me home and told me to take good care of him.

From that moment on, I devoted myself to him—fought for him, gave him everything. I became his silent shadow, the decoration on his arm, the most obedient canary in a gilded cage.

Everyone called me “Mrs. Weber” out of habit, assuming I was his woman. I thought so too.

Then, five years later, she appeared—radiant, fearless, everything I wasn’t. She was the sun, and I was forgotten.

I once believed I was special to him, irreplaceable, until the day he looked into my eyes and said:

“I took you home because your eyes looked like hers.”

In that moment, my entire world crumbled.

I didn’t fight back. He had me locked in a mental hospital like a piece of broken furniture no longer useful. Five years I stayed there, abandoned, discarded, forgotten.

Then, one day—

“Patient 009, you’re being discharged. Someone’s come to pick you up.”

I turned slowly, the weight of invisible chains pressing down on me. The attending physician walked in first. Behind him stood a man in a black suit, backlit by the sun. Sharp brows, a straight nose, thin lips—his face was still as cold as I remembered.

—Andrew Weber. The man who imprisoned me for the sake of his first love.

“Long time no see, Geneva,” he said casually, as though nothing had ever happened.

The doctor handed him my five-year evaluation report. Andrew didn’t even glance at it. He tossed it aside and signed my discharge papers without hesitation.

The doctor tried to speak—his lips trembled—but at a glance from me, he fell silent.

My anklet chains jingled with every step. The hallway quieted. Even the other unstable patients, once wild and loud, scattered into their rooms at the sight of me.

Andrew chuckled. “I didn’t know my face could scare away the mentally ill.”

I kept my head down and followed him, silent.

Andrew was now the ruler of the infamous Weber Family—a powerful underworld syndicate. Ruthless. Unforgiving. Feared.

I was once his canary. Starving and homeless as a child, I had nothing. He found me begging on a rainy street, looked into my eyes, and said they were beautiful. That was all it took.

Later, I learned it wasn’t me he saw in them. It was her.

Still, I followed him through fire and death. I poured every ounce of my life into him. I cared for him, stayed by his side night after night, and lived to serve his needs. People joked I was the future Mrs. Weber. I believed it.

Until he didn’t need me anymore.

When he’d finally cemented his power, I waited—naively—for a proposal. Instead, she returned. Diane Knight.

Where I was quiet and gentle, she was bold, seductive. A martial arts prodigy. A dazzling beauty with a flair for butterfly knives. At the banquet that ruined me, everyone adored her. No one noticed me anymore.

She saw me and sneered. Then she whispered something to Andrew.

And just like that, he discarded me like trash.

“I don’t need a nanny,” he said. “Only someone like Diane can win my heart.”

He locked me in a mental hospital that night.

That was the last time I saw the sky.

Until now.

As the hospital gates opened and I stepped out, he looked me up and down and said with cruel satisfaction, “Seems like they tortured you properly. Do you finally understand you were wrong?”

I paused. A flicker of memory—my legs broken at that banquet, dragged away as my blood soaked the carpet. The pain that haunts me every time it rains.

I smiled faintly. “Yes. I was wrong.”

“Good girl,” he said, pleased.

He took me back to the Weber Family estate.

Familiar faces awaited—once my flatterers, now my executioners. Weber Family associates, gangsters, relatives. Diane’s people too—her friends, her bodyguards.

She sat at the center, delicate now, veiled in gauze. Her vibrant confidence had been replaced by a fragile stillness. Her eyes—once so bright—were blind.

“Geneva still looks so obedient after all these years,” Wendell, Andrew’s cousin, laughed.

I looked at him. He had kicked me into a pillar and broken two of my ribs the night I begged for help.

“She’s always been the most sensible,” added Beatriz, Diane’s friend—the same woman who crushed my hand with her stiletto heel as I tried to crawl away.

I scanned them all. These people had turned my body into a bloodstained sacrifice five years ago.

“Geneva’s eyes are really beautiful,” they whispered again, all in unison. And then I understood:

They weren’t admiring me.

They were hunting me.

That night at the asylum gates, I had begged Andrew for mercy. He had kicked me into the darkness and said, “We’ll never meet again.”

Now, he stood before me again, holding an agreement.

Organ donation.

He leaned close and murmured, “Didn’t you always want to be my wife? If I marry you… would you give your eyes to Diane?”

That was it. They wanted my eyes.

The same ones he once praised.

I signed.

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Sir Andrew, I told you! Say you’ll marry her and she’ll give anything!”

“For the title of Mrs. Weber, she’ll even gouge out her own eyes.”

“Why bother marrying her at all? Just take the eyes and throw her away.”

Andrew just smiled and walked back to Diane, handing her the agreement. “I won’t let your world go dark.”

Diane asked, “Will you really marry her?”

He patted her head. “Only on paper. You’re the one I love.”

Then he turned to me. His tone softened.

“The Weber Family honors loyalty. Once your eyes are transplanted, I’ll keep my promise and marry you. But don’t dream of anything beyond the name. Understand?”

I nodded obediently.

“Okay, Mr. Weber. I’ll be good. I’ll wait for the surgery in seven days.”

But what they didn’t know—

A new patient record was issued for me: Patient 009.

Not Geneva the obedient canary.

Geneva, the nightmare that kept doctors awake.

In five years, I learned how to wear obedience like a mask. I smiled while I strangled. My kindness kept them close enough to kill.

They once thought I was harmless. That was their first mistake.

Seven days from now, they will remember what happens when the prey bites back.

I was about to head upstairs to my old room to rest when I was intercepted by Beatriz—my so-called best friend. She stood in my way, her arms folded, looking me up and down like I was some stray mutt who’d wandered into the wrong house.

"Still clinging to your past glory as Miss Geneva, shining by Mr. Weber’s side?" she sneered. "Now that Diane is back, it’s time you learned your place."

I kept my voice calm. “Then where’s my room?”

She lifted her chin, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. Around us, the crowd that had once praised me now laughed behind their wine glasses. I turned slowly to see where she was pointing.

In the far corner of the courtyard stood a weathered wooden shack—its walls splintered, paint chipped, covered in deep bite marks. A Rottweiler stood guard beside it, panting heavily, its chain taut with tension.

“There,” Beatriz said sweetly. “That’s your new room. And that’s your new roommate.”

Laughter erupted.

I glanced at Andrew, but he remained silent, unmoved, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. My former follower, Wendell, chuckled cruelly.

“Go on. You’re lucky to share a room with the guard dog. After all, you’re just a lunatic. What right do you have to be in the Weber Family’s house?”

“Better hope it doesn’t tear you apart in your sleep,” another added, snorting. “Bit a bodyguard to death last month.”

“A madwoman and a mad dog—what a perfect match!”

More laughter.

I pushed open the gate to the backyard. The Rottweiler let out a bone-chilling growl and lunged, stopping just five centimeters from my leg. The iron chain snapped tight, clanging violently against its post. One step further and I would have been torn apart.

“Geneva, don’t bark,” a soft voice called behind me.

The dog stilled immediately and lowered itself to the ground. Diane approached slowly, leaning on a cane, her expression cloaked in gentle pity. She smiled, holding out a piece of raw meat, and the dog licked her hand obediently.

“Sorry—did I scare you?” she asked sweetly. “This is Geneva. Andrew and I raised him together. Funny, right? Same name as you.”

Yes. Just like the dog, I had bled and labored for this family. And now I was being fed scraps.

“Diane, careful,” someone warned behind her.

She moved closer, eyes hidden beneath gauze, and whispered in a voice only I could hear:

“Did you really think you could walk back into the Weber Family like nothing happened? I won’t let that happen.”

Her words were ice against my spine.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you back then. I didn’t expect you to survive the mental hospital. But this time... you won’t be so fortunate.”

She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear.

“The night before your little wedding, I’ll make sure there’s not even a body left to bury.”

And then I knew—she wasn’t blind at all.

The gauze was a lie. A trap. Everything had been planned so I could die without suspicion.

She straightened, the picture of elegance. Between her fingers was a small, barely visible scrap of paper—dosed with stimulants.

Before I could react, her cane struck me hard in the back. Pain exploded through my spine and I collapsed. The next moment, white-hot agony pierced my ankle.

The Rottweiler had sunk its teeth into my leg and was dragging me across the courtyard like a rag doll. I barely registered the gasps or the sound of my own blood soaking into the garden soil. I reached out instinctively, searching for something—anything—to hold onto.

My eyes darted around in panic. Through the blur, I saw Andrew rushing toward Diane—not me.

“Diane, get inside! Don’t let the dog hurt you!”

“What’s wrong with this dog today? Why is it attacking people all of a sudden?”

The servants kept their distance. No one dared step forward. Inside the villa, the rest watched through the glass, sipping wine and laughing like it was a circus performance.

“I haven’t seen a dog fight in ages. Think she’ll bleed out before it finishes?”

“I’ve got ten grand on the dog. Anyone betting?”

In their eyes, I was less than human.

Andrew’s gaze finally landed on me. A flicker of worry—not for me, but for the condition of my eyes. Would the damage affect the transplant?

The Rottweiler, now twitching from the drugs, growled again—its eyes bloodshot, its jaws snapping toward my throat.

But I was no longer the obedient canary they remembered. Years of torment in the asylum had taught me one thing: how to survive.

Silently, I reached into my sleeve. My fingers found the dagger I always kept hidden.

“Kill her!” someone shouted.

The dog lunged.

I raised my arm to shield my face. Its teeth tore into my flesh, blood erupting from the wound. Pain threatened to blind me, but I grit my teeth, twisted my body, and plunged the blade into its abdomen.

A howl pierced the courtyard. The dog staggered back, whimpering, then collapsed.

“What the hell?” Andrew barked. “Why isn’t it moving?”

Two bodyguards rushed over to check.

“Sir Andrew... it’s dead.”

Silence.

Everyone stared at me, stunned. Disbelief twisted their faces. They hadn’t expected me to fight back, let alone win.

Diane burst into tears, collapsing into Andrew’s arms.

“My Geneva… How could she be so cruel? I’m blind now. Andrew, you’re just going to let her kill our dog?”

Andrew’s eyes flicked back to me. I knelt in the blood-soaked snow, covering my mangled arm and ankle, looking up at him with practiced innocence.

“I didn’t kill it,” I said softly. “There was a sharp stone on the ground.”

His gaze narrowed. For a moment, something unreadable passed through his eyes. Then he sighed.

“You promised to donate your eyes. I’ll let this go.” His voice dropped. “From now on, you sleep in the doghouse. Don’t set foot in the Weber Family’s main house again. Understand?”

I nodded meekly.

That night, wrapped in a thin cotton blanket inside the cold wooden shack, I watched snowflakes fall silently through the slats above. The cold pierced my skin, but I’d known worse. The hospital was colder. Lonelier. In there, I was whipped, shocked, humiliated—broken until I became something else.

Outside, through the frost-covered glass, I saw Diane and Andrew’s shadows moving close together—laughing, drinking, embracing.

That used to be my place.

I curled into myself, holding the blade in my hand.

In the dead of night, I heard footsteps crunching in the snow.

I gripped the dagger tighter.

The door creaked open.

Then—splash.

A basin of ice water crashed down on me.

The ice-cold water slammed against my skin, jolting me awake. Before I could react, a pair of rough hands yanked me out of the doghouse. In the dim glow of the courtyard light, I saw the face of Wendell.

"What do you want?" I asked, voice hoarse from the cold.

He sneered, his expression twisted with cruelty. "Did you really think bringing you back meant welcoming you into the Weber Family?"

He wrapped a metal chain around my neck, pulling it tight. I stared at him, not struggling—only watching him with quiet confusion.

"You used to follow me like a shadow," I said. "Why the sudden betrayal? Was it Diane’s return that turned you?"

He laughed coldly. "I followed you because you were favored by Andrew. But when Diane came back, you were discarded like trash. That’s the real world, Geneva. In a family like ours, being obedient gets you nowhere."

His grip on the chain tightened, choking my breath. "In your next life, learn to beg properly. And don’t cross paths with Andrew again."

My vision blurred. As darkness crept in, I reached for the dagger hidden in my sleeve. But before I could strike, a sharp gleam flew through the air and embedded itself in Wendell’s foot.

He screamed and released me.

"You’ve got guts," a cold voice said from behind him.

Andrew stood at the top of the stairs, a long robe wrapped hastily around him. The scent of desire still clung to him—he had come straight from Diane’s bed.

Wendell dropped to his knees, clutching his foot. "Sir Andrew, I don’t understand why you’re keeping her alive. Why not just take her eyes and be done with it? Why pretend to marry her?"

Andrew's expression didn’t waver. "You dare question me?"

A beat of silence. Then his voice dropped, deadly calm. "If you interfere again, the next blade will pierce your heart."

Wendell scrambled away.

I clutched the bruises on my neck and crawled toward the doghouse, but before I could reach it, a hand gripped my chin hard. Andrew crouched before me, face cold, voice colder.

"Starting tomorrow, you won’t live in the doghouse. We’re getting married, and you’ll receive the ‘treatment’ you deserve." He paused, his thumb pressing into my jaw. "But don’t get any ideas. The only thing I value about you is your eyes. No matter how devoted you are, you’ll never have a place in my heart. Understand?"

I nodded, eyes lowered. "I understand."

But deep inside, a memory surfaced—seven years ago, on a rain-soaked night. I had carried Andrew, half-dead, from a mound of corpses. He had touched my cheek with a bloodied hand and whispered, "You saved me. My life is yours now."

He had grown up and learned to walk again—but the first thing he did as a man was cast aside the crutches that held him up.

That night, he took me back to the villa. As I turned to find a guest room, his voice stopped me.

"Don’t bother. Just keep watch outside my and Diane’s door. Wasn’t it your specialty to serve me?"

The cold of the corridor bit deeper than the winter winds. I curled up like a stray mutt at the threshold of the room where he now lay tangled with another woman.

I’d stood watch for him once, through fevers and wounds. Now I guarded his pleasure.

But it was still better than the mental hospital. At least here, I wasn’t being electrocuted or starved.

I drifted into sleep—until the sharp pain of something crushing my face woke me.

A high heel.

Diane stepped on me as if I were trash on the ground, her expression innocent.

I clenched my fists but said nothing.

“Geneva, I remember how good you used to be. After I was done with Andrew, you’d come in and clean everything up. Five years in that asylum, and you’ve forgotten the rules?”

She leaned close, smiling sweetly. “From start to finish, you were never anything more than the Weber Family’s loyal dog.”

I bowed my head and apologized softly. Around me, the room’s details swirled—familiar. Too familiar.

The soft ivory palette, the delicate patterns on the wallpaper, the curve of the armchair—I had chosen it all. Even the clothes in the closet—agile, elegant—were pieces I had custom-made. But none were in my size.

He had been preparing for Diane’s return long before I ever suspected.

While I had been dreaming of becoming Mrs. Weber, he had been plotting to make me the dressmaker for someone else's wedding.

I glanced at the calendar. The wedding date loomed like a knife.

"Why are you staring at it?" Diane’s voice came from behind me. "Excited? Counting the days until you die?"

A flash of silver—her butterfly knife came at me fast. I jerked aside, but not fast enough. A shallow cut opened on my cheek.

She blinked in surprise. "You dodged?"

Then her smile turned cold. "You’ve been pretending to be obedient, haven’t you?"