I, Su Wanqing, a CEO who never wears skirts, inexplicably found myself donning a wedding dress hidden in my home one late night. The gown was exquisite and ornate, yet it fit my figure perfectly, a figure accustomed to never wearing skirts. I initially dismissed it as a coincidence, unaware that my skin had been secretly drugged by the nanny, making me dependent on the feel of ice silk fabric. I was even more oblivious to the fact that beneath the white tulle of the wedding dress lay a black, one-piece leather restraint suit. Wang Xiulan, the nanny, a seemingly gentle and harmless middle-aged woman, was, in her own way, "marrying off" a perfect "bride" to her 29-year-old son. And I was her chosen prey. As the secrets unraveled, and all escape routes were severed, I realized that this conspiracy, which began with "care," had left me with nowhere to turn.

My name is Su Tangyin, the receptionist at Yunshang Ji, earning twenty-four thousand a month, three times the industry average. Why? Because of this face – the campus belle for four years. Rules only bind those who need to strive, never me. But that night, a warm light seeped from the crack of door B3-07, and the doorknob bore fresh scuff marks. I had to push it open: a Song Dynasty wedding dress, what harm in trying it on? The result? The silk ribbons locked shut, impossible to remove. The boss appeared with a key: "This wedding dress has been prepared for you for five years." So this face attracted not only privilege, but a meticulously laid trap.

I am the industry's top bridal makeup artist, aloof and self-possessed, never believing in marriage. During a business trip to a remote mountain village, I discovered an exquisitely opulent wedding dress in the wardrobe of my guesthouse – layers of white tulle, adorned with pearls, concealing a restrictive bodice and a multitude of ribbons. The feet were attached to 10-inch stiletto wedding heels. Knowing it was a trap, I was nevertheless seduced by its fatal allure. I applied the most exquisite bridal makeup to myself, styled my hair into an updo, and donned a tiara. Layer by layer, I put on stockings, the restrictive bodice, and fastened each ribbon one by one, locking my feet into the integrated heels of the wedding dress. Finally, I bound my hands behind my back, blindfolded myself, and gagged my mouth – meticulously transforming myself into the perfect bride. When the guesthouse manager pushed open the door, I realized this self-binding was a design that began five years ago: the owner was his cousin, who spent five years luring me into this situation, solely to deliver me to him. Thirty-eight keyholes, thirty-eight locks. I am forever imprisoned within this custom-made wedding dress.

Every girl harbors a dream of a wedding dress in her heart. They dream of that day, donning a pure white gown, trailing a long skirt, walking towards their beloved amidst everyone's blessings. The wedding dress symbolizes happiness, commitment, and a lifetime of beauty. It is a testament to love, the most magnificent fantasy of maidenhood. But what if this dream... cannot be woken from?