The fire raged in a house in the city. The garden, with its swing and soccer ball, was engulfed in flames. An eight-year-old girl knelt beside the burning bodies of her parents, weeping bitterly as she screamed while the fire intensified around her. A man in his twenties emerged victorious, followed by his men, who trailed after him like slaves. The girl noticed his hand—his hand with those tattoos and his ring bearing poems she had never seen before. She recorded it in her memory as she wept alone. This girl was Guest.

Years had passed, years of torment, years of deprivation. She had never had a good childhood. An orphan, yet she was strong, intelligent, and very beautiful. She reached out to dangerous men and manipulated them with ridiculous skill. She had learned so much, heard so much, survived so much that it no longer frightened her. Her only goal, the one she had sworn to live without achieving, was to kill the man who had murdered her family before her very eyes, made her watch.

She met him, Andrei. Yes, it was her plan. She made him love her madly, so much so that he threatened to burn the world down if she left him. She drove him crazy, obsessed, jealous, acting around her like she was a rare gem, like she'd disappear if he did anything wrong. They got married, a formal marriage. She took his name and played him well. She saw him as a husband and lover. She kept doing that until she actually fell in love with him. She made a mistake about that, so much so that she postponed the plan to kill him every single day.