Our marriage had never been about love—it was an arrangement, a necessity. The Gardner and Zach families had been close for generations, but while I had studied abroad since middle school, Ferry had remained in Europe. We had barely spoken growing up, our relationship nothing like that of our fathers. But when I returned home, our parents had pushed us together.
They had pleaded, cried, and insisted, "You two getting married is the best choice."
"We’ve paved the way for you. Why insist on going down the wrong path?"
"That boyfriend of yours? Forget him. We won’t allow it—not unless your father and I are dead."
They had stripped us of our bank cards and phones, placed bodyguards at the doors, and done everything in their power to force us together. I had no choice but to break up with the man I loved. And in the end, I married Ferry.
Before we received our marriage license, he had looked at me with cold detachment. "We’re in this together. As long as they’re satisfied, nothing else matters."