My Parents Married Me To A BILLIONAIRE DOG In Exchange For Millions
What if the people who gave you life also gave you away?
Blessing’s parents marry her off to a mysterious billionaire—one who hides a powerful curse beneath his wealth. Trapped in a mansion filled with secrets, sorrow, and silent magic, she must decide: surrender to fear… or rise in love.
My parents married me to a billionaire’s dog. All for 12 million. This is how it all began. This is my story.
My name is Blessing. I’m 16 years old. The only girl among six children. But in my family, being a girl wasn’t a blessing. It was a curse. They never said it out loud, but they showed it in everything: the way I was fed last; the way they looked through me like I didn’t exist. My five brothers had uniforms, books, and dreams. I had a rag, a bucket, and a list of chores as long as my arm.
Every morning, I rose before the sun—boiling water, cooking, sweeping. I packed my brothers’ lunchboxes with trembling hands. They never said thank you. Why would they? I was only doing what I was born to do—what girls were meant to do.
I didn’t know how to read. I’d never stepped foot inside a classroom. Once, I begged my mother to let me go to school. She slapped me so hard my ears rang for hours.
“Who will cook for your brothers if you’re in school? You want them to starve?” she snapped.
They told me girls don’t need school. “You’ll get married one day. That’s your job.” My job. As if I was born to serve, not to dream.
So I learned how to cook instead of count. How to clean instead of write. How to obey instead of hope. I slept on a thin mat in the corner of the room, torn and damp, while my brothers had beds and pillows. I had the cold floor; my meals—always what was left—cold, dry, sometimes already touched by flies.
“They eat worse in the animal world,” my father once said.
No one celebrated my birthday. No one hugged me. No one asked if I was okay. I was just there. And yet, somehow, in the cracks of that cruel life, I still hoped—maybe one day Mama would hug me. Maybe Papa would say, “I’m proud of you.” Maybe my brothers would stop treating me like a ghost. I didn’t want much—just a matter.
But I was wrong. Because one day my brother got sick and everything changed.
Collins, my eldest brother, came home from school holding his head and groaning in pain. Mama panicked. “Is it malaria? Typhoid? God, please no.” That night, he vomited twice. By morning, he collapsed while trying to stand.
Daddy lifted him like he was carrying royalty. Like the crown prince of the land. They rushed him to the hospital, yelling for the neighbors to help. I wasn’t allowed to go. I stayed back, scrubbing the floor, listening to the ticking of the clock. My stomach churned—not just from fear for Collins, but from fear of what would follow. Because in my family, when things went wrong, the blame always circled back to me.
When they returned, my father looked like a ghost. His hands shook. Mama’s eyes were red and swollen. My brothers sat in silence for the first time in their lives.
Then Daddy said, voice flat: “He has a tumor in his brain. He needs surgery.”
“How much?” my mother whispered.
“12 million,” he replied.
Twelve million. That was more than we had ever seen. More than we could dream of.
The days that followed were a storm of panic. My parents sold everything: their old Toyota, the TV, even the generator that only worked on good days. Mama took off her coral beads and handed them to a jeweler, crying the whole way. But it still wasn’t enough. They begged relatives. No one could help. Church people offered prayers, but no money.
Collins got worse. He stopped eating. His eyes turned gray and empty.
And then one night, Mama entered the room where I lay on my torn mat. She stood over me for a long time, her shadow stretched across the floor like a warning. Then, in a voice as cold as metal, she said, “Blessing. There’s one last way.”
I sat up slowly. “What way, Mama?”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s a rich man in the city. He’s offering a fortune to any family willing to give their daughter in marriage to his dog.”
I blinked. “What?” My heart stopped. “You want me to marry a dog?”
She didn’t flinch. “We need that money, Blessing. This is your chance to help your brother—to help us.”
I stared at her, too stunned to cry. At first, I thought it was a joke. A sick, cruel joke. Who marries a dog? What kind of mother says that to her own child? But when I looked into her eyes, I saw something that chilled me more than her words: she was serious. Deadly serious.
I shook my head slowly. “Mama, you can’t mean it. I’m a human being.”
She stood up like my words offended her. “Don’t be foolish, Blessing. This is not about feelings. This is about survival.”
“For Collins?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“For this family,” she snapped. “Your brother is dying. You think we’ll just let him die while you’re sitting here breathing and doing nothing?”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “But, Mama, I’m only 16.”
She rolled her eyes and walked out of the room.
I sat there for hours, hugging my knees, hoping it was a nightmare. But the nightmare was just beginning.
The next morning, my father called me into the sitting room. My mother was already there, sitting like a queen. My brothers sat around her like kings. No one looked at me with kindness.
“Blessing,” my father began. “You’re going to be married.”
I blinked. My heart dropped into my stomach. “To who?” I asked.
He didn’t hesitate. “To the rich man’s dog.”
I gasped. “No, no, please. This can’t be real.”
His face turned to stone. “This isn’t a request. We’ve accepted the offer. He’s paying 12 million.”
Twelve million. That was what I was worth to them—12 million for me. My legs gave out. I dropped to the floor. “I’m not a thing to be sold,” I cried.
“You should be happy anyone wants you,” my father growled. “You’ve been a burden for 16 years.”
I turned to my mother, desperate. “Mama, please. I’m your daughter.”
She looked away and said coldly, “You should be thankful. You’ll finally be useful.”
Those words shattered something in me. I wasn’t a child to them. I was a payment.
I tried to run, but my father blocked the way. Before I could speak, he slapped me so hard stars exploded in my eyes. I collapsed, my lip bleeding.
“You will go,” he said. “And that’s final.”
Then they dragged me into my room and locked the door.
As I lay there on the floor—shaking, broken, bleeding—I realized something I had tried to ignore for years. Love didn’t live in this house, only duty. And I was the sacrifice.
I must have fallen asleep crying, because I woke to the sound of my mother throwing clothes into a small nylon bag. My clothes: torn skirts, old wrappers, her faded gown I used to wear to church, back when I was still allowed to go. She didn’t say a word. She just packed.
I stood up slowly, legs weak. “Where are you sending me?”
She didn’t answer. She zipped the bag and shoved it into my arms. “Wash your face,” she said coldly. “The driver will be here soon.”
Driver? Was I really going? Were they truly sending me to marry a dog?
I stood frozen, praying someone would stop this. That my mother might change her mind. That one of my brothers would say, “This isn’t right.” But no one did. They acted like it was just another day.
At 9:00 a.m., a black car pulled into our compound. A man in a suit stepped out. He looked rich—too rich to be near people like us. My father rushed out, smiling like a fool. My mother grabbed my arm and dragged me forward.
The man looked at me and then turned to my father. “This is the girl?”
“Yes, sir,” my father said proudly. “That’s our Blessing.”
The man examined me like livestock. “She looks healthy. Good.”
Healthy. Not beautiful. Not bright. Just healthy, like I was a goat in the market.
He handed my father a thick envelope. My father opened it, counted the money, and smiled even wider. “She’s all yours now,” he said.
The man nodded. “Follow me, girl.”
I turned to my mother one last time. She didn’t even look at me.
My feet felt like stones. Still, I climbed into the car. The door closed. The engine started. As we drove away, I looked back at the house I once called home. No one waved. No one cried. No one cared.
That was the day I left my family. Not for love. Not for school. Not for a better life—but to be married to a dog.
The ride was long and silent. I sat in the back seat, clutching the small nylon bag like it was the only part of me left. We passed tall buildings, crowded streets, then turned into quieter, cleaner areas where the houses looked like palaces. Then we reached it: a wide road lined with trees and flowers. At the end stood a massive golden gate. It opened slowly like magic, and the car rolled in.
The mansion before me was the biggest I had ever seen: white marble walls, sparkling windows. A fountain danced in the center of the compound like it had never tasted dirt.
Was this where the dog lived?
The driver opened the door. “Come down,” he said flatly.
My legs trembled as I stepped out. I followed him through the huge front doors, heart pounding in my chest. Inside, the air was cold and clean. It smelled like roses, polished wood, and something else—something ancient. The hallway stretched on forever, lined with mirrors and glittering chandeliers. My bare feet sank into the soft carpet.
Two women in black uniforms passed us, heads bowed. They didn’t speak. They didn’t even look at me.
Then we reached a pair of tall double doors. The man opened them—and there he was: the dog, sitting on a raised cushion like a king on a throne.
He was nothing like I expected. White fur. Blue eyes. Massive and still. Powerful. Quiet.
I froze.
The man beside me bowed slightly. “Master,” he said. “Your bride has arrived.”
My knees locked. My throat went dry. The dog’s eyes met mine—and something passed between us. Something cold. Something old.
Then he stood. He was even larger than I’d thought: his head high, fur shining like silk, a diamond-studded collar gleaming around his neck. He didn’t growl. He didn’t bark. He just stared—those eyes, too blue, too human, like they had lived a thousand years and seen every kind of pain.
The man in the suit turned to me. “Bow,” he said softly.
I blinked. “What?”
“Bow to your husband.”
I looked at him like he was insane, but his eyes said it wasn’t a request. Slowly, shaking, I bent my knees and lowered my head. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
When I looked up, the dog was closer. He circled me slowly, sniffing the air, his paws soft on the velvet rug. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. When he stopped in front of me, he tilted his head, studying me. Then, to my shock, he nodded.
The man in the suit smiled slightly. “He accepts you.”
Accepts me—like I was property. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved, terrified, or cursed.
The man clapped twice. Two maids entered and led me to another room—this one grand and golden, with a bed bigger than our entire kitchen back home. Velvet curtains, a glowing chandelier, a mirror framed in gold. It looked like a princess’s room, but I wasn’t a princess. I was a girl who had been sold.
The door shut behind me. Click. Locked.
I rushed to the door and tried the handle. It didn’t budge. The window was sealed shut. Iron bars on the outside. And somewhere in the mansion, my so-called husband was waiting.
I sat on the edge of the bed, shaking. Tears poured down my face, soaking into the silk sheets. I didn’t know what they wanted from me. But I knew this wasn’t just about money anymore. This was something darker. Something no one had warned me about.
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat on the bed, knees drawn to my chest, staring at the locked door.
What was this place? Who was that creature? What had I been brought into?
At dawn, I heard footsteps. Then a soft knock. The door opened slowly. A young woman entered—dressed in black and white, her face blank, her eyes tired. She looked about 20, but something about her felt older, like she had seen too much.
“Good morning,” she said gently. “My name is Mera. I’m here to explain the rules.”
“Rules?”
She placed a silver tray on a side table—warm bread, eggs, fruit—then stood still, hands folded.
“There are three rules in this house,” she said. “Break them, and the consequences will be severe.”
I sat up slowly. “What kind of consequences?”
Her voice remained calm. Too calm. “One, never leave your room without permission. Two, never try to run away. Three, never disobey the master.”
I stared at her. “The master?” I asked. “You mean the dog?”
Her lips pressed together, but she nodded.
“He’s not just a dog, is he?” I whispered.
She hesitated, then gave a faint, sad smile. “No, he wasn’t.”
“My heart twisted. ‘What do you mean?’”
Meera finally met my eyes. “Cursed,” she said quietly. “Long ago. And if the curse isn’t broken soon, he’ll remain like this.”
“Forever?”
I swallowed hard. “Curse? Forever?”
“Only the heart of a girl who truly loves him,” she continued, “can break the spell.”
I felt dizzy. Love with a beast? How is that even possible?
“Why me?” I asked.
Meera didn’t blink. “He chose you. Your blood, your spirit. Something about you gives him hope.”
Hope. That word felt strange in this place.
I looked at the untouched food. My stomach twisted. I wasn’t hungry.
“What happens if I follow the rules?” I asked softly.
“You’ll be safe,” she replied. “And if you help him break the curse, you’ll be free.”
Free. It sounded like a lie, but I had no other choice.
Meera turned to leave, then paused at the door. “You may think this place is a prison,” she said. “But it’s safer than what waits beyond the gates.” Then she disappeared into the hallway, the door locked behind her.
I stared at the tray of food, the golden mirror, the velvet curtains. Cursed rules. A beast for a husband. What kind of life had I been pulled into?
The next morning, I woke to the scent of roses and something warm. Baking bread, maybe cake. For a moment, I forgot where I was. I opened my eyes, expecting the cracked ceiling of our village hut. But instead, I saw velvet curtains, a marble floor that gleamed like glass, a golden mirror reflecting a stranger. Me.
And then I remembered. I was in a mansion, married to a dog.
I sat up slowly, the weight of everything crashing back over me like a wave. What would today bring? Another test? Another rule?
A soft knock broke the silence. The door opened and Meera stepped in, her expression calm, but her eyes held something softer this time, almost kindness. In her hands was a beautiful blue dress, silk with tiny pearls stitched along the sleeves.
“Good morning, Blessing,” she said gently. “The master wishes to walk with you. He asked that you wear this.”
I blinked. “He wants to walk with me?”
She nodded. “He enjoys the East Garden. The roses are blooming.”
I hesitated, then reached for the dress. It felt like something from a dream. Soft, cool, expensive. I had never worn anything like it in my life. Meera helped me get dressed. She brushed my hair carefully, tying it back with a ribbon. I moved slowly, like I was stepping into a life that didn’t belong to me.
The hallway was quiet when I stepped out. Staff moved like shadows—polite, silent, unreadable. No one spoke. We passed golden-framed paintings, velvet-lined walls, and chandeliers that sparkled like stars.
Then I stepped outside. Sunlight greeted me, warm and golden. The garden was alive—roses in every shade of crimson, ivory, gold. The air was thick with perfume and something older. Deeper. And in the center of it all, sitting silently among the blooms, was him, the dog, white fur glowing in the light, a golden chain around his neck. His eyes—those deep, haunting blue eyes—were fixed on the sky, as if remembering another life.
When he saw me, he stood. And then I heard him—not with my ears. Inside my mind, a voice low, calm, and filled with sorrow: You’re afraid of me.
I gasped, stumbling back. You can talk.
Only to the one chosen to break the curse.
My mouth went dry. My heart pounded like a drum. You’re not just a dog.
He lowered his head slightly, as if ashamed. I was once a man, a prince.
I stared at him, stunned. A… prince?
My name was Kota. Prince Kota of Ebanrem.
The name felt like thunder. I’d never heard it before, but somehow it carried weight like a forgotten legend.
“Kota,” I repeated.
He gave a slow nod. I was proud, cold, blind to everything but power. I ruled with a hard heart, and for that I was cursed.
He paused in front of a dark red rose and stared at it. These were my mother’s favorite, he said quietly. She planted them before she died.
I stepped closer. “What happened to her?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. My pride killed her, he said at last. There was no anger in his voice, only sorrow.
I didn’t know what to say. What words could fix something so broken? So I said nothing. I just stood beside him, silent. The wind rustled the flowers. A single petal floated to the ground. And in that quiet garden, something strange began to happen. Two broken souls—one cursed by magic, the other by cruelty—stood side by side, not talking about love, not dreaming of destiny, just sharing the silence. And though I didn’t know it yet, something inside both of us had begun to shift. Something real, something that might save us both.
The days that followed passed like a quiet dream. Every morning, I walked with Kota in the East Garden. The mansion still felt strange, like a place I didn’t belong. But the garden—the garden was different. It felt safe, peaceful, alive.
At first, I kept my distance. But slowly, I stopped flinching when he came near. He never barked, never growled. He just watched me with those deep blue eyes. Eyes that seemed to carry centuries of silence.
One morning, we sat beneath the old sycamore tree. The breeze rustled the leaves. Somewhere in the distance, birds sang like they didn’t know sorrow. And I finally asked what had been burning inside me.
“Why were you cursed?”
Coda didn’t answer right away. He looked toward the sky. I broke the heart of someone who truly loved me, he said at last. I mocked her, used her, and then threw her away.
My chest tightened. “Was she a witch?” I asked quietly.
No, he said, but her mother was.
I waited.
The witch came to me disguised as a poor maiden. She begged for shelter. I laughed at her, called her ugly, dirty. I didn’t care who she was. He sighed. That night, she returned in her true form and cursed me.
His voice never rose. He didn’t sound angry, just tired.
She said I would remain a beast until someone who had suffered more than I had could look at me and not run. He turned to me slowly. Someone pure, someone kind.
I swallowed hard. “Why me?”
You were not brought here to save me, he said gently. You were sold. That is your truth. But maybe fate brought you here for more.
I looked at him. He had once been cruel—like my parents, like my brothers. But now he was trapped, caged by a curse, just like me.
“Do you believe the curse can be broken?” I asked.
He was quiet for a long time. I used to hope, he said. But every girl they brought here ran, screamed, called me a monster. Some fainted. One tried to stab me. None ever stayed.
I thought of the way my parents had handed me over. No goodbye. No tears. Just money on the table. And here I was, sitting next to a beast who listened better than anyone ever had.
Then he asked, If you could leave right now—if the gates opened and your parents begged you to return—would you go?
I closed my eyes. I remembered the cold kitchen floor, the bruises, the silence, the way they fed me last and never said they loved me.
“No,” I whispered. “I’d rather stay with a cursed dog than go back to people who sold me like meat.”
Cota looked at me then, not with sorrow, but something warmer. Hope. You’re different, he said.
I didn’t know how to respond, but something inside me—something buried under years of pain—was beginning to stir. Something soft. Something real.
The mansion no longer felt like a cage. I found myself exploring new rooms filled with impossible things: books that whispered, candles that floated, a garden that changed colors with my mood. And somehow, Kota was always near—sometimes from a distance, sometimes watching silently, but always near.
I started talking to him more. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to. He listened. When I told him how Mama said I was useless, he didn’t brush it off. When I told him how I cried into my mat at night, he didn’t say, “Be strong.” He just said, You didn’t deserve that. And he meant it.
One morning, I came downstairs and found the dining table set for two. Cota was waiting at the head of the table. When he saw me, he stood.
Would you join me for breakfast?
I smiled. “I’d like that.”
At first, we ate in silence. But then we started to laugh. I told him how I once hid my brother’s report card so I could feel like I was going to school, too.
He let out a low growl. That’s not funny, Blessing. You should have been in school.
His anger didn’t scare me. It warmed me. It meant he cared.
After breakfast, his tone changed. There’s something I want to show you, he said. A secret room.
We walked behind the library, down a narrow staircase lit with soft golden light. At the bottom was a glass chamber glowing from within. In the center stood a single giant rose—golden and somehow alive.
“What is this?” I whispered.
This, he said softly, is the heart of the curse. He turned toward me, his eyes full of sadness. If that rose dies before I am truly loved—not pitied, not feared, but truly loved—I will remain this way forever.
I stared at the shimmering petals, breathless, because this time it wasn’t just his story. It was mine, too.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I sat by the window watching the moon rise—full and silver, glowing like a secret in the sky. I couldn’t stop thinking about the golden rose. The way it shimmered like it was breathing. Every time a petal trembled, it felt like a whisper, a warning. What kind of pain could trap a soul inside a beast’s body? What kind of curse needed love, not magic, to break?
Kota hadn’t said much after showing me the rose. He just turned and walked away, shoulders low. But his sadness—it stayed. It wrapped around the castle like a fog.
I must be truly loved, he had said, or I’ll remain this way forever.
But how could I love someone I didn’t fully understand? How could anyone?
The next morning, I wandered back into the library, hoping to find answers. Books lined every wall, some dusty, some glowing faintly. My fingers traced their spines until one of them pulsed beneath my touch. I pulled it out: The Curse of the Forgotten Prince.
I opened it carefully. The pages told the story of a young prince—kind but proud, powerful but lonely. One day, a poor old woman came to his gates begging for shelter. He laughed in her face, called her ugly, mocked her. But she wasn’t just a beggar. She was a sorceress. And that night she cursed him—to live as a beast until someone could look past the fur, the teeth, the anger, and see the man within.
I turned to the last page. The words shimmered in gold: Only the purest form of love, freely given without condition, can break the spell.
I closed the book, heart pounding. This wasn’t just a legend. This was Kota. And now, somehow, this story was mine, too.
That night, I found him in the garden, alone beneath the stars. The roses around him glowed in the moonlight. He was still, staring at the sky like it held the answers to everything. I didn’t say a word. I just stepped forward slowly and held out my hand.
“Dance with me,” I said softly.
He looked at me like I’d spoken a spell—confused, hurt, hopeful.
Dance? he asked. Blessing, I don’t look like someone you dance with.
I shook my head. “I didn’t ask what you look like. I asked you to dance.”
Slowly, unsure, he placed his paw in my hand. His touch was rough, heavy, but I didn’t let go. I led him into the clearing beneath the old sycamore tree. There was no music—just the rustling leaves, the rhythm of the wind, the beat of my heart.
We moved slowly, awkwardly at first—his steps unsure—but I stayed. I held on. And then something happened. Magic.
The garden shimmered. Tiny lights rose from the ground like stars set free. The roses opened wider. The air filled with sweetness and warmth. And somewhere far away, a melody drifted through the breeze—not from instruments, but from the castle itself.
He looked at me—truly looked at me. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, he said quietly.
I smiled. “I’m just a girl—one who was forgotten, just like you.”
His face changed. The sorrow didn’t vanish, but it softened. We danced until the stars faded, until the moon sank behind the trees. And when we stopped, he bowed. A real bow, like a prince.
Thank you, he whispered. For seeing me.
And for the first time in my life, I felt seen. I felt chosen. And somehow I knew that this story wasn’t just about curses or roses or beasts. It was about becoming whole.
The next morning, I woke in the softest bed I had ever known. Silk sheets. A pillow that smelled faintly of roses. Sunlight streamed through the velvet curtains. For a few seconds, I forgot everything—the curse, the mansion, the past.
But then I looked at the mirror on the wall and something happened. The surface of the glass rippled like water. Then slowly, a face appeared. A woman. She had long silver hair, skin like moonlight, and eyes that glowed with power and sadness. Her smile was gentle, almost motherly.
Blessing, she said softly. You’re changing everything.
I froze, stepping back. “Who—who are you?”
I am the guardian of this place, she replied. This castle was built on magic, love, and sacrifice. But it has been asleep until you arrived.
“Why me?” I whispered. “I’m just a girl nobody wanted. A girl they sold for money.”
Her eyes softened. No. You are more than that. You have the rarest gift: a heart that sees beyond the surface. A heart that can love even after pain.
I felt my eyes sting. “You’re the one who cursed him, aren’t you?”
Her smile dimmed. Yes, she said. He needed to change. And for a long time, he refused. I thought the curse would break with time, but pride—pride runs deep.
I swallowed hard. “Do you think I can really break it?”
She didn’t answer right away. Then, softly: You’ve already begun to.
“But I don’t even know if I love him,” I admitted. “I just… I know I don’t hate him.”
That is enough, she said. For now.
Then her expression darkened. But beware. Darkness is coming.
My breath caught. “What do you mean?”
But she was already fading. Trust your heart, Blessing. It will know what your mind fears. Then the mirror stilled. Only my reflection stared back—pale, uncertain, afraid.
I turned away from it, heart pounding.
Two days had passed since the woman in the mirror—the guardian—spoke to me. I hadn’t seen Koda since the night of our dance. Meera said he was troubled. He walked around alone, stared at the sky, ate nothing, said nothing.
And me? I was scared. Not of him—of this feeling inside me. What if I said the wrong thing? What if I made it worse? What if I wasn’t enough to break the curse?
So I stayed busy. Helped Merror with the sheets, cleaned dusty corners of the house that sparkled like it was alive.
Then, one afternoon, a butler ran into the laundry room, out of breath. He held something in his hand. “This just arrived,” he said. “It’s for you.”
He gave it to me. I saw the writing on the front. I couldn’t read it, but I knew who it was from. My mother.
The envelope smelled like home—dust, smoke, and kerosene. My hands shook. I looked at Meera. “Can you read it?” I whispered. “Please.”
She nodded and opened the letter carefully. Her eyes moved across the page slowly. Her face changed. First soft, then sad, then quiet. She looked at me.
“It says,” she began to read, “Blessing, your brother Collins is sick again. The surgery helped, but the doctors say he needs more treatment. We don’t have the money anymore. Please, we beg you. Talk to the rich man who married you. Ask him for help. You are our only hope. Your mother.”
That was all. No “How are you?” No “We miss you.” No “We’re sorry.” Just another request. Another use. Like I was still a rope for them to climb. Still a bridge. Still a tool.
My fingers curled tight on the table edge. Meera folded the letter gently and placed it down like it might break.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
I nodded, but my voice cracked. “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t.
That night, I found my way back to the garden. The same tree, the same moon, and there he was. Coda—still silent. But when he saw me, he didn’t look away.
Blessing, he said in my mind, his voice low and tired. Thank you for caring for me.
He stood beneath the tree where we had once danced, his white fur silver in the moonlight, his blue eyes glowing. I’m not just cursed to look like a beast, he said. I’m cursed to live half a life haunted by guilt, silence, and loneliness.
He looked up at the stars. But something is changing.
I didn’t speak. I couldn’t.
The night we danced, he said, I almost changed. I felt it. I was close. But the magic slipped away again.
Then he turned to me. You are the key, Blessing. Your heart, your pain, your hope—they are stronger than magic.
Tears welled up in my eyes. “But I don’t understand. I’m nobody.”
He stepped closer. No, he said. You are everything they never saw. Everything they crushed. And still, you shine.
Then his voice shifted, urgency curling in his tone. Something is coming, he said. A trial, a moment where you’ll have to choose—me or your freedom.
I froze. “What do you mean?”
He shook his head. Not yet. But when that moment comes… I hope your heart leads you right.
In that garden full of roses and moonlight and unsaid fears, I knew one thing. My heart wasn’t mine alone anymore.
That night, the sky turned black. No stars, no moon—just clouds, heavy and churning, like something ancient had woken up. Then the storm came. The wind howled like wolves. Rain pounded the windows like fists. Thunder cracked the sky open.
I couldn’t sleep. The storm felt alive. Hungry. Angry.
And then a knock. Not Meera—Jake, the master’s right-hand man. His face was pale, his voice urgent.
“Come with me,” he said. “Now.”
My heart jumped. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s happening,” he said. “The storm is feeding the curse. He’s losing control.”
He led me through the candlelit halls, down a corridor I’d never seen. The walls pulsed with strange symbols, glowing softly in the dark. At the end, a door made of steel, carved with markings that looked like they were burned into the metal.
Inside was Koda—but not the Koda I knew. He was bigger, twice his size. His fur stre with silver lightning. His eyes glowing gold. He wasn’t pacing. He was shaking, growling, fighting something deep inside.
“He’s resisting,” Jake said. “But the storm—it strengthens the curse.”
I stepped forward, terrified. But something deeper pulled me closer. “Can he hear me?” I whispered.
“Yes,” Jake nodded. “He knows you’re here.”
Cota’s golden eyes locked onto mine. There was panic in them—pain, fear. He didn’t want to hurt me, but the beast inside him was rising.
I knelt beside him. “Cota,” I said, voice shaking. “I’m here.”
He growled—a deep, guttural sound that shook the floor. His body trembled violently.
“Touch him,” Jake said. “Speak to him. Hold him. Anchor him.”
I reached out, hand trembling, and laid it gently on his fur. Hot, electric, alive.
“You’re not alone,” I whispered. “You don’t have to fight this by yourself anymore.”
He let out a tortured howl. It echoed through the chamber, raw and broken.
“I see you,” I said louder now. “Not the beast. Not the curse. You.”
His breath slowed—just a little.
“I’m not afraid,” I said. “I choose to stay.”
The wind outside howled louder. The candles flickered. The symbols on the walls pulsed like a heartbeat.
And then everything stilled.
The growling stopped. The shaking slowed. And Kota collapsed beside me—breathing. Calm. Alive.
By dawn, the storm had passed. The sky was gray and still, like it had cried itself out.
I stayed by Cota’s side until his breathing returned to normal. He didn’t transform, but something had changed. He looked lighter—not free. Not yet. But closer.
Jake placed a warm blanket around my shoulders. “You did it,” he said.
“No,” I replied softly. “He did. He just needed someone to believe in him.”
Kota stirred. His glowing blue eyes met mine—just for a moment—then closed peacefully.
Jake walked me back to my room. At the door, he paused. “You gave him something no spell ever could,” he said. “Love without fear, without force.”
“Is the curse breaking?” I asked.
He gave a quiet nod. “I’ve been here since the beginning,” he said, “and this is the closest he’s ever come.”
He bowed, then disappeared into the shadows.
I closed the door behind me, heart full of something new—not just hope. Faith.
The next morning, I went to check on Kota. He looked tired, but calm—his breathing steady, his eyes no longer burning with wild magic. Just sadness and quiet. When he saw me, he smiled softly.
Thank you, he said. For staying. For believing. For saving me from myself.
I stepped closer. “Are you okay?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Then he looked at me—really looked at me.
That was the final test.
I froze. “Final test?”
He nodded slowly. Not of strength. Not of blood. But of the heart. He stood slowly, his voice filled with something ancient and heavy. Tonight you’ll see my truth. The part of me no one else has ever survived.
A chill ran down my spine. “Kota? What do you mean?”
He stepped closer, his voice softer now. Don’t be afraid of what you see. Just remember who I am.
That evening, I was called to the great hall. The doors opened on their own. The room was dark, lit only by candles that floated through the air like stars. Koda stood in the center—still, silent, waiting. His body shimmered with strange glowing markings, symbols that pulsed like veins of light.
I stepped inside. “Cota?”
He lifted his head. His blue eyes were brighter than ever. His voice echoed—not just in the room, but in my mind. This is who I truly am.
And then it began.
His body rose from the floor, light wrapping around him like fire. His shape shifted—not into a dog, not into a man—into something else. Something holy. Something cursed. Wings burst from his back, glowing with golden light. Horns curled from his temples, shimmering like crystal. His hands sparked with power. His skin—glowing with marks I couldn’t read.
He was floating now. Not a prince, not a beast—a creature of legend. A god, a demon, a man, all in one.
Do you still see me, Blessing?
His voice echoed. Tears filled my eyes. My chest ached.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I see you.”
He lowered himself to the ground, his glowing form shaking. Then come end it.
I walked forward, heart pounding—every step a choice. “I choose you,” I said. “In every form, in every shadow, forever.”
And in that moment, the curse cracked.
The wind rose—not from outside, but from within the castle. The candles blew sideways. The golden markings on the walls shimmered like fire. Cota dropped to his knees, groaning—light pouring from his chest, his eyes, his hands.
I ran to him, held him as the room shook around us. “Cota, hold on!” I cried.
He clutched his chest. The markings flared—then silence.
A soft golden glow spread across the floor. The floating candles stilled. The trembling stopped. And Kota collapsed in my arms.
But this time, he wasn’t glowing. There were no horns, no wings—just skin. Just breath. Just a man—warm, real, alive.
He opened his eyes slowly. Still blue, but softer. Clearer.
I’m— he whispered, voice shaky. I’m free.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “We both are.”
He laughed—soft and amazed. You did it. You really did it.
I held his face in my hands and smiled. “No. We did.”
From that moment on, everything changed. The castle lit up like spring. The staff smiled freely. Doors once locked swung open. I was no longer a prisoner. I was a guest, a friend—a queen, as Meera liked to whisper.
And Kota—he walked the halls. Not as a beast, not as a legend, but as a man—no longer afraid of the storm.
I learned to read, to write. I danced barefoot in the garden. I laughed until my stomach hurt. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who had once been invisible, now radiant. I was healing. I was home.
And then—a knock.
Mirror burst into my room, her face pale. “Blessing,” she said breathlessly. “You need to come now.”
She didn’t wait. She grabbed my hand and pulled me down a hallway I had never entered before. The West Wing. The air was colder. Colder, and full of tension.
When we stepped into the room, I froze.
My parents were standing there. My mother held her old handbag tight like it held her last hope. My father wore a smile I recognized too well—fake, greedy.
“Blessing,” my mother said gently, like she hadn’t once sold me to a stranger. “We sent letters. You didn’t answer, so we came.”
I didn’t move.
“Collins is sick again,” she said, voice cracking. “The doctors say it’s worse this time. We need help. Please.”
I took a step back. “No.”
My father stepped forward. “We heard your dog-man has treasure rooms. Gold, jewels, all kinds of things. Show us where they are.”
And Kota entered—fully human, fully calm. But his eyes—ice.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said quietly.
My mother’s eyes widened. “Wait—you married a man. I thought it was a dog.”
I looked at her. No tears. No trembling. “You sold me to a dog,” I said. “And that’s the only reason the curse broke. So, thank you for showing me what I had to escape.”
My father stepped forward, trying to smooth his voice. “We’re still your parents, Blessing. We love you. We made mistakes, but—”
My voice shook, but it didn’t break. “You didn’t love me. You used me. And I’m not yours anymore.”
Cota stepped closer. His hand rested at the small of my back. Protective. Steady. “You need to leave,” he told them. “Now.”
My mother’s face twisted. “You ungrateful child.”
My father’s eyes darkened. He raised his hand like he might hit me.
But Cota moved first. One step—no roar, no violence—just power. “If you touch her again,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “I will forget mercy.”
For the first time, they looked afraid. Cota didn’t need to shout. Didn’t need to transform. He had nothing to prove.
And I—I stood taller.
The guards arrived—tall, silent men dressed in black. They said nothing. They didn’t need to. They escorted my parents out of the castle. No one looked back.
Cota didn’t speak for a while after. He just walked me back to my room. His touch was gentle. His silence said everything.
At the door, I looked up at him. “Are you okay?” I asked.
He nodded. “I’m fine. But more importantly, you’re safe now. You’ll never be treated like that again.”
Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead. Soft. Steady.
We stood there in that quiet moment—like two people who had once been shattered, learning how to be whole again. And for the first time in my life, I felt truly seen, and I knew I was never going back.
One morning, Kota led me back to the garden—the one where it all began. The sun was warm. The flowers were in full bloom. The roses swayed gently in the breeze, each petal glowing in the light. It felt like the garden itself was holding its breath.
Under the old tree—the one where we had danced in silence—he stopped. Then he turned to me and knelt. In his hand was a small golden ring—simple, elegant, but shining like it had waited its whole life for this moment.
“Blessing,” he said softly. “Not because I was cursed. Not because I needed saving. But because I love you.”
My eyes blurred with tears. Not of pain. Not of fear. Of freedom. Of choice.
I smiled, heart full. “Yes,” I whispered.
We weren’t broken anymore. We were whole—not rescued, not owed, but chosen together.
And that’s how the girl who was sold like an object—the girl who had never heard I love you without strings—the girl who was called a burden—became a queen. Not because of magic, but because of love that saw her, chose her, and never asked her to be anything but herself.
This moving fantasy story is filled with heartbreak, resilience, and a love that changes everything.
The end. If you love this story, make sure to like the video and subscribe to my channel for more captivating stories like this one.
