I stand in front of you on our wedding day, staring in your eyes. You stare directly into my cold, dark colored eyes.

The man beside us in a black outfit says, “You may now kiss the bride.” I can see any hope you had of not being forced into this marriage leave your body.

Later that day we arrive at my mansion. I don’t speak to you, I don’t even help you carry in your bags. I tell my workers to let you do everything yourself. I am not a nice man.