Chapter 1: The Gift

It was my eighteenth birthday. The big house was full of people—friends, family, and servants. The air smelled like fresh flowers and sweet cake. Music played softly, and everyone was happy. I was excited for the gifts I might get. But nothing could prepare me for the gift my father brought in.

The doors to the hall swung open, and my father stepped inside, holding my gift. A hush fell over the room as all eyes fixed on Jack. Whispers spread like wildfire. With a proud smile, My father looked at me and declared, “Jack is yours now.”

I looked at the young man standing beside him. Jack was twenty-three years old, tall and strong, but his face was serious and cold. His eyes were dark and hard, like winter ice. He did not smile. He wore simple clothes, nothing like the beautiful dresses and suits in the room.

Everyone looked at Jack with hate or disgust. Some whispered behind their hands. My family did not welcome him. To them, Jack was less than a person—just a slave, a gift to me.

But I felt sorry for Jack. I knew his family was once rich and powerful, like mine. They had been rivals for many years. But because of politics, something bad happened to his family. They lost everything. They became so poor that they had to sell their own children just to survive.

Now Jack was here, in my family’s home, given to me like a possession.

Jack’s coldness was clear. He never smiled at me or anyone else. His words were short and sometimes rude. He stayed away from people, as if he did not want to be here. It hurt me deeply, but I did not show it. Instead, I wanted to be kind.

Every day, I tried to talk to him gently. I asked about his past, his family, and his dreams. But Jack rarely answered. His coldness was like a wall, hard to break.

My family did not care about Jack. They treated him badly—ignoring him, speaking to him harshly, or worse. Everyone treated him like trash. I was the only one who tried to be nice.

Sometimes, I asked myself why I cared so much. Maybe it was because I was still young and innocent. Or maybe it was because I could see the sadness behind Jack’s cold eyes.

One night, I lay awake thinking about Jack. I did not understand why he hated me and my family so much. But I knew this was just the beginning. There was a story behind his anger, a story I wanted to learn.

And deep inside, I felt something new—something I could not explain. A small, warm feeling that maybe, with time, Jack and I could be more than what we seemed now.

The gift was more than just a man. It was the start of a journey I did not expect—one that would change both our lives forever.

Chapter 2: Walls Around Jack

Since the day Jack arrived, his coldness made the house feel colder. He rarely spoke, and when he did, his words were sharp and rough. It was clear he didn’t want to be here.

I watched him carefully. He moved like a ghost in the large rooms, always quiet, always distant. He did not laugh or smile. Even when I tried to be kind, he stayed cold.

One afternoon, I sat near the window, watching the sunlight fall on the garden. Jack came into the room and stood by the door.

The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. I looked at Jack, hoping for some sign—anything—that he might open up. I tried asking him another question, but he didn’t say a word. His eyes stayed cold and unreadable.

Frustrated but determined, I leaned a little closer and lowered my voice to a gentle whisper. “Why do you hate me so much?”

Jack’s gaze flickered for a moment, as if surprised by my question. Then he looked away, silence falling heavier than before.

I waited, hoping for an answer, but all I felt was the cold distance between us—an invisible wall I didn’t know how to break.

Jack’s dark eyes locked on mine. For a moment, I thought he might answer. But then, he looked away and said, “I don’t hate you. I hate your family.”

His words hit me like a cold wind. I wanted to understand his pain. “Why?” I asked.

He said nothing for a long time. Then, in a low voice, he told me, “Your family ruined mine. We were once proud and rich. But your family took everything from us. Your father destroyed me,my hole family.”

I am speechless. I never thought of my family as cruel. But now, I hear the truth from Jack’s mouth and cannot believe it. I try to convince my self that my father is a gentleman. He can never harm anyone.

Days passed, and I kept trying to prove him wrong about my father. I sat quietly when he was near. Sometimes, I talked about small things—flowers, the weather, the stars. But Jack stayed quiet.

My family hated him. They whispered and laughed behind his back. Sometimes, they shouted at him for small mistakes. One day, my uncle told him, “Remember your place. You are nothing here.”

Jack never argued. He just bowed his head and left.

I hated how my family treated him. I wished I could protect Jack from their cruelty.

One evening, I found Jack sitting alone in the garden. The moon was bright, and the stars sparkled in the sky. I sat next to him.

I gether my courage and I asked him“Do you miss your family?”.

Jack’s eyes were full of sadness. “Every day,” he said. “But they had no choice.”

“Do you have dreams?” I asked softly.

He looked at me, surprised. “Dreams?”

“Yes,” I said. “What do you want in life?”

Jack was silent. After a long pause, he said, “Freedom. To live without chains.”

His words touched my heart deeply. I wanted to help him.

Slowly, I realized that Jack was not just cold and rude. He was scared and broken. His family’s loss and the pain of being sold had made him close his heart.

I decided to be patient. Maybe, one day, Jack would trust me.

But even as I hoped, I knew it would be difficult. The walls between us were high, built by years of pain and hate.

Still, I would not give up.

Because somewhere inside me, I felt a strange hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, love could break those walls.

Chapter 3: The Invisible Wall

Days passed since I asked Jack why he hated me. But he never answered. His silence was louder than any words.

I watched him closely every day. Jack stayed quiet and distant. He avoided my eyes and kept to himself. Sometimes, I wondered if he even noticed I existed.

One afternoon, I found Jack sitting alone in the library. The sun shone through the tall windows, but Jack did not seem to see it. He stared at a book he wasn’t reading, lost in his own thoughts.

I sat down across from him, trying to find the right words. “Jack,” I said softly, “can we talk?”

He looked at me briefly, then turned his eyes away. “I don’t want to talk,” he said coldly.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I promised. “I just want to understand you better.”

Jack’s face did not change. But for a moment, I thought I saw something—like a crack in his armor.

“I know my family hurt you,” I said gently. “But I’m not them.”

Jack’s eyes flashed with anger. “You are their daughter.”

“Yes, I am,” I said quietly. “But I want to be different. I want to be kind to you.”

He said nothing. The silence stretched between us.

Days later, the house was cold and quiet. One evening, I found Jack in the garden again. The moon was bright, and the air was sharp with winter’s chill. He sat alone on the stone bench, his face hidden in shadow.

I sat next to him. “Do you ever wish things were different?” I asked.

Jack didn’t answer at first. Then he said softly, “I wish I was free.”

“Free?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“To live without fear,” he said. “Without pain. Without chains.”

I reached out and touched his hand gently. “I want that for you, too.”

He pulled away quickly. “Don’t,” he said harshly.

His words hurt more than I expected. “Why are you so cold to me?” I asked, tears in my eyes.

Jack looked away. “Because I don’t trust you. Or anyone.”

Suddenly, a loud voice broke the silence. My father appeared at the garden door. “What are you doing here, Jack?” he barked.

Jack stood up quickly, face hardening. “Nothing, sir.”

My father stepped closer, his eyes filled with anger. “Remember your place,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You are property. Not a person.”

Jack’s hands clenched into fists. I saw a flash of something wild and fierce in his eyes — a dangerous fire that scared me.

“Don’t push me,” Jack whispered.

My father laughed cruelly. “You forget yourself.”

The air was thick with tension. I wanted to protect Jack, but I was frozen, afraid to move.

Jack turned away, voice cold. “I will not forget.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I knew Jack’s anger was deeper than I thought. He was fighting a war inside, and I was caught in the middle.

But no matter how hard things got, I could not stop caring for him.

Because love, I realized, was not simple — especially when it was born from pain and hate.