**Chapter One: The Most Handsome Boy Invited Me to Dance? A Fairytale for the Ugly Duckling** 

The soft morning light filtered through the small attic window, casting a glow over Jane Valeran's face. She slowly opened her eyes, listening to the familiar clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen downstairs. The air carried the distinct scent of cheap instant coffee—this was the smell she woke up to every morning. 

She turned to her side, her fingers brushing over the two books beside her pillow—Harry Potter and a translated copy of Dragon Raja. The pages were worn, the edges curled from being read over and over again. 

She rolled onto her back and rubbed her forehead. Her thick bangs shifted slightly, revealing the faint outline of the flame-shaped birthmark. The moment her fingers brushed against it, her movements paused for a brief second. 

She had long grown used to hiding it beneath her bangs, just as she had grown used to people's whispers and stares. 

But today, she had to make herself look good. 

Today was her fifteenth birthday. It was also the day of the graduation dance. 

And more importantly—Edgar Howard had invited her to dance. 

Yes, that Edgar Howard. The one every girl in school wanted to talk to. The one whose family was the richest in the city. The one who dined at the White House with the president every year. 

Jane sat up, pulling a cracked mirror from the windowsill and studying herself. 

A pale complexion, delicate features, and brown eyes that always held a trace of quiet contemplation. Her lips were pressed into a slight line, carrying a familiar stubbornness. 

She turned to the lowest shelf of her closet and carefully pulled out a dress—a soft golden hue shimmering under the light. 

Her fingertips brushed the fabric, her gaze softening. 

This dress had been a gift from her grandmother, bought with the money she had secretly saved from her own medical expenses. 

Jane still remembered the night she had snuck out to visit her. 

Her grandmother lay on that old wooden bed, her face pale and weary, yet her voice was as gentle as ever. 

"Jane, your birthday is coming up… Grandma… bought you a dress." 

The moment Jane saw the dress, her eyes burned. 

She knew how tight money was. She knew exactly how many meals her grandmother had skipped just to save enough for this. 

She wanted to say something, to refuse, but her grandmother pressed a frail, warm hand against her lips. 

"Put it on, Jane," she whispered, her voice as soft as the autumn wind. "Wear it… and go dance." 

Jane swallowed hard, then nodded with all her strength. 

Now, standing in front of the mirror, looking at the dress in her hands, she felt a familiar sting behind her eyes. 

She would wear it. She would go to the dance. 

"Dressed like that? Who are you trying to impress?" 

Jane had just stepped into the kitchen when her aunt, Martha Blackwood, looked up from her coffee with a frown. 

Her cousin, Allen Blackwood, let out a sneer, leaning back in his chair as he tapped a finger against the table. "You really think someone like Edgar would seriously invite you? Keep dreaming." 

Jane's heart tightened. 

He must have read her diary. 

She cast him a cold glance but said nothing as she moved toward the table. She knew Allen enjoyed tormenting her—making her miserable was one of his daily hobbies. 

"Allen, don't say that…" her cousin, Lily Blackwood, murmured hesitantly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. 

Allen raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. "Oh? So you actually think she looks good dressed like this?" 

Jane's fingers twitched slightly. Her gaze flickered toward the glass of milk on the table. 

Without hesitation, she picked it up—then splashed it all over Allen's lap. 

The kitchen fell into dead silence. 

Allen shot up from his seat, his face turning red with rage. "You—!" 

Jane calmly set the glass back down, her tone light. "Relax, cousin. It's not the first time you've wet yourself, is it?" 

Her aunt's face darkened as she opened her mouth to scold her, but Allen was faster—he lunged for Jane, his hand reaching out. 

But Jane had been expecting it. She sidestepped him smoothly, leaving him grasping at thin air, then turned on her heel and walked out without a backward glance. 

She didn't need to see his expression. She already knew it was ugly. 

As Jane stepped onto the school grounds, the whispers started immediately. 

"How does she still have the nerve to show up?" 

"I heard her mother died the moment she was born. She's cursed." 

"Look at that mark on her forehead—it's like something straight out of a horror movie…" 

She kept walking, her expression blank, ignoring them. She had heard these things too many times before. They didn't affect her anymore. 

She quickened her steps toward the main building, but her gaze involuntarily drifted toward the massive oak tree by the sports field. 

That tree— 

That was where she had first met Edgar Howard. 

It had been half a year ago, on a rainy autumn afternoon. 

The drizzle had soaked the school grounds, damp wind scattering the last remnants of golden leaves. Jane sat curled up at the base of the oak tree, hugging her knees. 

Her bangs covered her forehead, her clothes were drenched, and her thin jacket did nothing to keep out the cold. She sat there, motionless, like a stone statue. 

She didn't want to go home. She didn't want to return to class, either. 

Just earlier, a group of girls had cornered her by the staircase, tearing up her textbooks and tossing the shredded pages over her like confetti. 

"Get out of here, freak." 

The cruel laughter still rang in her ears. Her nails dug into the dirt, her fingertips scraped raw, yet she barely felt the pain. 

Then— 

A voice, calm and effortless, sounded above her. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Jane's head snapped up. The rain blurred her vision for a second. 

A boy stood before her, wearing the school's neatly pressed uniform. He held a black umbrella, his face almost unfairly handsome—golden-brown hair damp from the rain, a few strands clinging to his forehead. 

Edgar Howard. 

She knew who he was. 

The boy who had transferred in not long ago. The boy who instantly became the center of attention. 

He was rich, good-looking, smart, a basketball star, and the dream crush of every girl in school. 

But Jane had never expected him to be standing in front of her. 

She stared at him, momentarily forgetting how to react. 

"Aren't you cold?" Edgar tilted the umbrella slightly toward her. His voice was casual, but there was something genuinely curious in his tone. 

Jane instinctively shrank back, like a startled animal. 

Edgar's eyes flickered over her soaked uniform, his brows knitting together. "You… just got bullied, didn't you?" 

Her throat felt tight. She hesitated, then muttered, "It's nothing." 

"You don't look like it's nothing," he remarked, studying her expression. 

She said nothing. 

The silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft pattering of raindrops against the umbrella. 

Then, after a beat, Edgar sighed. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. 

Jane stiffened, her fingers automatically reaching up to push it away— 

But he stopped her. 

"Don't," he said simply. "You're already soaked. You'll get sick." 

She looked up, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes held no mockery, no pity, and no condescension. 

Just… something casual. As if this was no big deal. 

Edgar Howard wasn't like the others. 

And that made Jane's heart waver in a way she couldn't understand. 

"Why are you helping me?" she finally asked, her voice quiet. 

He blinked, then chuckled. "Helping? This doesn't count as helping." 

He leaned back slightly, propping his chin on his hand, a lazy smirk on his lips. "I just saw someone getting rained on. Thought I'd share an umbrella." 

Jane lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the borrowed jacket. 

The rain kept falling, but the world didn't feel so cold anymore.

"Jane, right?" 

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked up at him. 

Edgar smiled, tilting his head slightly as he extended a hand toward her. 

"Come on, let's get back inside. If we stay here any longer, we'll both be late for class." 

Jane hesitated. She stared at his outstretched hand, her fingers instinctively curling against her damp sleeves. 

A beat passed. 

Then, slowly, she reached out and placed her hand in his. 

The moment their fingers touched, she felt her heartbeat quicken. 

Edgar pulled her to her feet with an effortless motion, then handed her the umbrella. He took a step back, giving her a lazy wave. 

"See you around, Jane." 

He turned and walked away, the rain blurring his figure as he disappeared toward the school building. 

Jane remained where she was, glancing down at the umbrella in her hand and the warmth lingering on her shoulders from his jacket. 

Her fingers tightened around the fabric. 

That day, she remembered his name for the first time. 

Edgar Howard. 

"Jane!" 

A voice called her back to reality. 

She turned around just in time to see a familiar figure standing a few steps away, golden-brown hair glinting under the morning sunlight. 

Edgar. 

Her heartbeat quickened. 

His gaze flickered over her, landing momentarily on her dress. Then, with a small, knowing smile, he leaned in slightly. 

"You look beautiful," he said, voice smooth as always. 

Jane wasn't sure why, but she felt an unfamiliar nervousness creep into her chest. She subtly tugged at the hem of her dress. 

Edgar chuckled, his voice dipping into a teasing, almost languid tone. 

"Tonight, I'll be waiting for you." 

He paused, then smirked. 

"And… there's something even more exciting than the dance waiting for you after." 

Jane's breath caught. 

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as if trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. 

Edgar only grinned, reaching out to lightly ruffle her hair before turning to walk away. 

The sunlight fell on his retreating figure, wrapping him in a golden halo—like a prince out of a fairytale. 

Jane stood frozen in place, fingers unconsciously clenching at her dress. 

Her heart pounded wildly. 

For the first time in her life, she felt a flicker of anticipation. 

And yet, deep down, something told her— 

She should be afraid. 

Because no fairytale ever comes without a price.