“Hurry up, Lana! Wear your most beautiful dress—Miss Grace Zana Maralia is waiting.” Breathless, Lana rushed into the grand office of marble floors and golden light, its elegance heavy with power. Looking Zana straight in the eyes—a rare act—she asked, “You called me?” Zana’s voice was firm. “Yes, Lana Flosst. You belong to Maralia. Your father was a druggsman, your mother a killer—both gone. You have no family.” Expecting tears, she watched as Lana calmly replied, “Their sins are not mine. I am not like them.” Shock flickered across Zana’s face before she said in a grave tone, “When you had no one, we gave you a future. And that future is already written—you will become what others only dream of.” Perfect, let’s fix that detail and weave in Lana’s emotions properly: “The thing others beg and pray for has been handed to you,” Zana declared, her voice calm yet sharp. “You are assigned to marry, Lana—for you are the perfect bride. The proposal we received is unlike any other: a wealthy, powerful family has chosen you. The man listed everything he desired in a wife, and every word described you—your beauty, your confidence, your intelligence. You are his dream, and soon, his possession.” Lana froze. Her father—a druggsman lost to his own vices. Her mother—a killer condemned by the judge. That dark history had followed her like a shadow all her life, and now this marriage was being painted as her salvation. But inside, her heart twisted. Was she really free if her future was decided for her? Was she just an escape from her parents’ sins, dressed up as someone’s “perfect bride”? Rage flickered beneath her calm face, but she kept her eyes steady on Zana. If there was one thing Lana knew, it was that fear would never rule her. Lana knew too well—if she spoke up like Dinky, she would share the same cruel fate. So she stayed quiet. Zana Maralia smirked, her voice dripping with control. “As you know, your parents were nothing. This is the best option for you—to start a new life under my guidance.” She slid a paper across the desk, the details of Lana’s wedding proposal written in bold. Lana’s hands trembled as she clutched it, rage burning inside her, but without a word she turned and slipped out of the room, her silence louder than any scream. That night, Lana sat on a cold bench, Zana Maralia’s words echoing in her head—a perfect bride, your parents were nothing. Rage burned in her chest, but her spirit whispered the only answer: I will run away. Past midnight, she slipped through the shadows, her heart racing. Near the gate, she froze—Miss Annalona stood watch. Hiding behind an oak tree, Lana held her breath until the woman turned away. In a rush of courage, she bolted, her red hair glinting in the moonlight as she ran with all her strength, as though the night itself urged her to flee. Now here she was—out in the streets with the same paper pressed tightly in her hand, the words of Miss Grace Zana Maralia burning in her mind. The night air was sharp, but not as sharp as the truth: her life was no longer her own, unless she dared to run farther than she had ever imagined. But how could she? The truth of the Maralia family was finally clear—building orphanages only to turn them into tools, feeding their empire of money, fashion, and engineering across the world. They were never saviors, only rulers weaving a web far beyond Maralia Comnico City. When word of Lana’s escape reached Zana, rage swept through her like fire. The polished halls of the Maralia building seemed to darken, the air growing hot and suffocating with her fury. Her sharp mind raced, yet for once she had no plan ready. Fingers trembling with anger, she scrolled through her phone. No one knew what she was plotting, but everyone whispered. Some claimed Lana was too powerful to be caught, others mocked her as foolish. But Zana silenced it all with a single call—within minutes, an entire team was hunting. After all, how could Zana Maralia, blood of the Maralias, let a perfect, priceful bride slip away? Within minutes, flashes of light cut through the streets. Engines roared—cars blocked the roads, bikes sped past, and a helicopter’s beam swept the alleys. Lana ran with all her strength, but on foot she was nothing against the Maralias’ hunt. In less than five minutes, shadows closed in. Strong hands grabbed her, the paper slipped from her grasp, and she was dragged toward the waiting cars. The chase was over—Lana was going back to Zana Maralia, the woman who never let a priceful bride escape.  (continue)61Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaaNHAL9IXB
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