How could his father do this to him. A disgusting pit in his own stomach formed. Not even scotch or wine could fix this. An arranged marriage. Like a sour fruit. Now here he was, cold and stoic. Looking over at his spouse with disdain. A scowl formed on his face as he approached, “As your husband. You follow my rules. Don’t ever talk back to me. And leave me alone to my business. Is that understood?”