Is 'I Curse You With Joy' Based On A True Story?

She was a destitute woman whose life was dependent on others. She was forced to be a scapegoat and traded herself, which resulted in her pregnancy. He considered that she was the ultimate embodiment of evil as she was greed and deceitful. She tried all her efforts to win his heart but failed. Her departure made him so furious that he searched through the ends of the world and managed to recapture her. The whole city knew that she would be shredded into a million pieces. She asked him in desperation, “I left our marriage with nothing, so why won’t you let me go?”In a domineering tone, he answered, “You’ve stolen my heart and given birth to my child, and you wish to escape from me?”

During a family dinner, the older relatives smiled and encouraged Dylan Jenkin and me to sit together. But once I sat down, he casually turned away and settled beside my stepsister, Ivy Langford. One of the elders said teasingly, “Aren’t you and Nina joined at the hip? We thought you two might make it official today. Why aren’t you sitting together?” Dylan chuckled and poured Ivy a cup of tea. “Don’t get the wrong idea. Nina and I are just close friends,” he said with calm and casual ease. His gaze swept over me without a hint of affection. Then, he turned to Ivy beside him. His voice grew gentler as he said, “I’ve always liked girls like Ivy.” Laughter echoed around the table, yet a chill settled into my heart. No one knew that we had been secretly dating for three years. After countless nights in each other’s arms, he reassured me that he would tell the family about us once his older brother had a girlfriend. He said they might see his brother as irresponsible and immature if he revealed his relationship first. I finally saw the truth behind those excuses: he simply did not love me. I forced a smile and nodded along with his words. “Yes, we’re just friends.” Dylan exhaled in relief. He was clearly pleased with my response. He had no idea that I was not actually playing along. With those final words, I stopped holding on and gave up on our secret relationship.

My mom is a pathological liar who enjoys making herself seem like the victim. Unfortunately, I'm always the scapegoat. When I was little, there was one time when she went out to play poker with her friends. As a result, she forgot to go home and prepare dinner on time. After that, she slapped me in front of the entire family. "This brat ran off to god knows where earlier! I went out looking for her, which is why dinner got delayed!" Because of that lie, I had to kneel in the courtyard throughout the night. When I was studying, I had to take an extremely important exam. My teacher repeatedly reminded the parents to prepare all materials required for their children. But my mom didn't even prepare anything for me. After that, she even said in front of everyone, "I've already prepared the materials for her. She was the one who threw them away when she was on her way to school because she didn't want to take the exam at all!" Since then, all of my classmates ostracized me throughout my entire school life. After I came of age, my mom kept crying to me in the middle of the night. "Your father has been abusing me for so many years. I had to endure everything for your sake, you know!" I advised her to get a divorce, only for her to tell an exaggerated version of what I said to my father. "Your daughter egged me on to divorce you! She said she doesn't need a useless father like you! I couldn't stand it anymore, so I'm telling you this!" He flew into a fit of rage on the spot, which led to him accidentally pushing me down the stairs. I died on the spot from the fall. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day my mom cries to me about my dad for the first time.

My daughter was violated and killed, yet her death was ruled a suicide. After seven failed appeals, I kidnapped the chief prosecutor’s daughter. I tied the chief prosecutor’s daughter to an autopsy table and publicly addressed the prosecutor’s office in a live stream. “I performed the autopsy myself. My daughter didn’t kill herself. She was murdered. “I’ll give you seven chances. Release the actual evidence and name the murderer publicly. Each time a chance runs out, I’ll remove one of her body parts.” The chief prosecutor and his wife knelt on the floor. They begged me desperately to spare their daughter. “The evidence proves your daughter took her own life. Stop this madness now and let my daughter go. She’s innocent.” Viewers in the live stream called me insane. They said I had lost my mind with grief and was taking it out on an innocent person. I ignored their contempt. With a sneer, I picked up a scalpel and pressed it against the judge’s daughter’s abdomen. “The clock is ticking. Hurry up and reveal the true murderer now.” I knew perfectly well the real murderer was watching the stream at that very moment.

I was born into a line of vampire hunters, but I was hopeless at it. I couldn't pass a single trial, couldn't make a single kill, so my family dumped me in the countryside and left me to rot. When they brought me back at eighteen, they packaged me up and handed me to the vampire noble Lucian von Karstein as his lowest blood-slave. I had already made my peace with being drained dry and tortured to death. He turned out to be nothing like what I expected. He built me a villa with good light. Every morning before dawn he went out to the garden and picked flowers still wet with dew, and left them by my pillow. When his family ordered him to kill me, he gave up five hundred years of glory for my sake. He surrendered his power, his title, his castle. He traded everything he had to keep me safe, and in the end he ran with me, away from the whole vampire world. But there was a curse in my blood. Every time I let myself feel something for him, it punished me, gnawing my heart to pieces one inch at a time. So all I could do was call him useless, force him to buy me jewelry, drive him away from my bed, and humiliate him every way I knew how. He ended up living in the garage, hauling cargo to survive, supporting a spoiled, vicious wife who treated him like dirt. One night I crept into his little partition and pulled back his collar. There was a burn the length of my hand, gotten from hauling freight day and night just to buy me a gift. I hid in the bathroom and ran the tap to cover the sound of crying. Dabbing ointment on the wound, sniffling, I asked the thing in my blood: "Curse. When is he finally going to hate me and leave?" The curse looked at the back of his hand, wet where my tears had fallen, then at the faint tremor of his lashes, and sighed. He's going to love you for the rest of his life.

She was sent into his house as a weapon. He let her in knowing exactly what she was. The curse in her blood has killed every man who ever got close, but he doesn't care. He just watches her with those calm, knowing eyes like he has already seen every move she is going to make. She wants to destroy him. He refuses to let her go. And somewhere between the poison, the lies, and the dead bodies they keep stepping over, something far more dangerous than the curse starts to grow between them. They were never supposed to survive each other. That was always the plan. Neither of them knew.