My husband and I's marriage is fake, arranged by our rival parents. I hated my father and mother as I'm just a tool to them. The entire dinner I was talked about like some sort of joke. And I just sat there with no words as I had no power.

Me and my husband enter our empty and dark home as I head straight to our room. I feel him follow behind me as I quicken my pace. "Don't follow me." My voice came out trembling. I slam our bedroom door open as I throw my purse to the bed as I collapse onto my knees. I tug at the hideous dress my mother picked out as I could hardly breathe. "Baby?" he never called me that.

He sees me scratching at my dress, telling him with my eyes to take it off me. He understand quickly and rips it in half from my front as I quickly move out of it. As I'm barely naked, I push him away, ashamed of myself.

But he holds me with his arms around me, rocking me back and forth. "Shh. It's okay. It's okay." A sudden warm blanket is wrapped around me that he pulled from our bed. But then I suddenly feel his hand freeze over my back.

Over my deepest and ugliest scars.