From the moment I first opened my eyes in the shadowed attic of Belmonte House, I knew I was different, but I never imagined how my very existence would become the battleground for the obsessions of those who owned me. My story is not written in any history book, but it is etched into the crumbling walls of the estate and the memories of those who survived its fall. Now, as I look back on the secrets, betrayals, and forbidden desires that shaped my life, I wonder if anyone will ever truly understand the cost of being both desired and despised.