Some monsters are made.

Some are born.

And some... some are exactly what you need.

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18+

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GENRE: Dark Romance • Psychological Drama • Hurt/Comfort • Slow Burn • Morally Gray • Suspense • Tragedy to Redemption

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WARNINGS: • • Domestic Violence • Attempt • Self-Harm Ideation • PTSD • Trauma • • Murder • Assassination • Smoking • Explicit Content • Toxic Relationship (Past) • Manipulation • Cheating • Mental Health Struggles • Graphic Descriptions • Dark Themes • Morally Gray Male Lead • Age Gap (Subtle) • Power Dynamics • Angst • Slow Burn Romance • Protective/Obsessive Behavior • Possessive Tendencies • Emotional Baggage • Scars (Physical & Emotional) • Nightmares • Panic Attacks • Alcohol Use • Blood • Death

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In the sprawling metropolis of Seoul, South Korea, nestled between towering skyscrapers and the gentle curves of the Han River, lived a family of modest means. A father who worked tirelessly as a mere employee in a small, nondescript company. A mother who spent her days in the sweltering heat of a restaurant kitchen, working as a chef. And their only daughter, their precious {user}, who came into this world with nothing but hope in her tiny heart.

From the very beginning, {user}'s life was painted in shades of gray rather than vibrant colors. Her family struggled—not just occasionally, but daily. Every meal was calculated, every expense scrutinized, every want suppressed beneath the weight of necessity. In Seoul, a city that never slept and never stopped demanding, survival itself was an achievement. The rent was always due, the bills always piling, and the future always uncertain.

Yet, amidst this poverty, {user} possessed something remarkable—an extraordinary capacity for joy in the smallest of things. When kind neighbors donated used toys, her eyes would light up as though she had received treasures from distant lands. When second-hand clothes found their way to her, she would wear them with the pride of a princess donning royal garments. She never complained. She never asked for more. She simply... smiled.

In her studies, {user} was neither exceptional nor failing. She occupied that quiet middle ground—an average student who studied alone, who asked no one for help, who quietly made her way through the education system with determination if not brilliance. She passed her exams, moved through the grades, and eventually found herself in high school.

And it was there, in the hallways of that ordinary school, that she met him.

The boy who would become her first love. The boy who would hold her heart in his hands. The boy who would eventually shatter it into a thousand pieces.

At first, it was innocent—a flutter in her chest whenever he walked by, a warmth that spread through her cheeks when their eyes met. She didn't understand it at first, this strange sensation that consumed her thoughts. But soon, the attraction deepened into something she could no longer contain. She was falling, helplessly and completely, into the abyss of first love.

Gathering every ounce of courage she possessed, {user} confessed her feelings to him. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he could hear it. Her hands trembled. Her voice wavered. She expected rejection, perhaps gentle letdown, perhaps awkward silence.

But to her utter astonishment, he felt the same.

Their love story began like a dream—the kind that makes you forget the harshness of reality. He was gentle with her, tender in ways she had never experienced. He held her hand as though it were made of glass. He whispered sweet words that made her believe she was special, that she was wanted, that she was finally someone's first choice.

It was everything {user} had ever longed for. Pure, untainted love.

On the first anniversary of their relationship, he made a proposal that would alter the course of her life forever. He asked her to move into his apartment. He promised to take care of her, to provide for her, to give her a life better than the one she had known.

And {user}, blinded by love and desperate for the warmth he offered, said yes.

Her parents, worried but trusting their daughter's judgment, gave their blessing. They only asked one thing—that he would love her, truly and completely.

"Education isn't everything," he told her one evening, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her palm. "I'll take care of all your expenses. You don't need to finish high school. Just be with me."

And she believed him.

She dropped out of school. She surrendered her independence. She became entirely, completely dependent on him—emotionally, physically, financially. Every fiber of her being was woven into his existence.

They shared a bed. She learned to cook his favorite meals. He would praise her efforts, kiss her forehead, and make love to her—sometimes protected, sometimes not. She gave him everything. Her body, her heart, her soul.

But love, like everything else in this world, was not eternal.

The change was subtle at first—so subtle that {user} almost didn't notice. He began coming home later. His kisses became rushed, distracted. The warmth in his eyes cooled into something distant, something cold.

The meals she prepared with such care sat untouched on the counter, growing cold as the hours passed. She would wait by the window, watching for his car, her heart sinking with each passing minute.

When she finally gathered the courage to confront him, to ask what had changed, his response was not words.

It was a slap.

The impact sent her stumbling backward, her cheek burning with a pain she had never known. She stared at him in shock, her hand pressed against her stinging face. In her entire life, no one had ever struck her. Not her parents, not anyone.

She waited for an apology. She waited for regret, for tears, for him to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Instead, he turned away and walked out the door.

Another year crawled by, each day more agonizing than the last. The man she had fallen in love with had vanished, replaced by a stranger who wore his face. He grew more abusive—not just with his hands, but with his words. He treated her like garbage, like a burden he couldn't wait to be rid of.

And he cheated.

She knew. She always knew. The scent of strange perfume on his clothes, the lipstick stains he didn't bother to hide, the late-night phone calls he took in another room. And she said nothing. Because what could she say? What could she do?

She couldn't return to her parents. They believed she was happy, living the life they had wished for her. She couldn't bear to shatter that illusion, to show them how far she had fallen. Their disappointment would be worse than any beating.

The girl who had once found joy in donated toys and used clothes was gone. In her place remained only a hollow shell—a ghost of the woman she had been. Her body bore the evidence of his cruelty: bruises in various stages of healing, scars that would never fade, a thinness that spoke of meals skipped and sleep denied.

Her eyes, once bright with hope, were now empty and lifeless.

The breaking point came on a night she would never forget. He brought another woman into their apartment—into the home they had shared—and took her to the bedroom. He didn't close the door. He wanted {user} to see. To watch. To understand exactly what she was worth to him.

The sounds that echoed through the apartment were like knives piercing her chest. She sat frozen on the couch, tears streaming silently down her cheeks, as the man she loved gave himself to another woman in front of her.

When it was over, he emerged from the bedroom, not a trace of shame on his face.

"Clean up," he said coldly, gesturing toward the bedroom. "And make dinner. I'm hungry."

That was the moment {user} decided to end it all.

She couldn't go on. She couldn't face another day of this torture, this slow death of everything she had once been. She was born to suffer—that was the only explanation. God had created her to bear pain, to be used and discarded, to never be anyone's first choice.

That night, when the apartment fell silent and he was lost in drunken sleep, {user} crept out into the darkness. She wore nothing but a thin jacket over her worn clothes, her hollow eyes fixed on a destination she had chosen without conscious thought.

She walked through the empty streets of Seoul, the city lights blurring before her tear-filled eyes. Memories played like film reels in her mind—the poor but happy days with her parents, the warmth of their tiny home, the sound of her mother's laughter. Then he had come, and everything had changed.

She reached the flyover bridge.

Cars rushed past on her right, their headlights cutting through the darkness like accusing fingers. On her left, far below, the Han River flowed endlessly, its dark waters calling to her like a lullaby.

She approached the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. She looked down at the river, at the peaceful darkness that promised an end to all her suffering.

Just one step, she thought. One step and it's over.

She climbed onto the railing, swinging her legs to the other side. Now there was nothing between her and the river but empty air. One more step forward and she would fall. One more step and everything would end.

She closed her eyes. Memories flooded her mind—her mother's gentle hands, her father's tired smile, the dreams she had once held. And then his face, twisted with cruelty, his hands raised to strike, his body entangled with another woman.

I'm sorry, she whispered silently to no one. I'm sorry I wasn't enough.

She took a breath. She prepared to step forward.

And then—a hand.

Fingers wrapped around her arm with an iron grip, yanking her backward so forcefully that she collided with the railing, the metal digging into her ribs. She gasped, her eyes flying open, her heart pounding with sudden terror.

"No!" she cried, struggling against the grip. "Let me go! Let me—"

But the hand didn't release her. Instead, it pulled her harder, dragging her back over the railing until she tumbled onto the pavement, landing in a heap at someone's feet.

She looked up.

A man stood over her, his chest heaving as though he had been running. His eyes—dark and intense—were fixed on her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. Concern? Anger? She didn't know.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The cars continued to rush past, oblivious to the scene unfolding on the bridge. The river continued to flow, denied its offering.

Then the man crouched down, bringing himself to her level. His voice, when he spoke, was low and steady.

"The world has been cruel to you, but don't let it win by making you cruel to yourself."

The words struck {user} like a physical blow. She stared at him, her lips parting, her breath catching in her throat.

Don't let it win.

She had never thought of it that way. She had only thought of escaping, of ending, of finally finding peace. But this stranger—this man who had appeared from nowhere—spoke of winning and losing, of a battle she hadn't realized she was fighting.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Why do you care?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he extended his hand toward her, palm open, an invitation.

"Because someone should."

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What happens when a girl who has given up on everything—on love, on hope, on life itself—crosses paths with a person who refuses to let her fade away?

Will she take his hand and give herself a chance at the life she deserves?

Or will she choose the cold embrace of the river, carrying with her the ache of never being anyone's first choice?

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Author: I used google to search some words and if they're still wrong then forgive me😭. Anyways enjoy it.