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.