I gazed through the tinted glass, the cityscape becoming a mere streak as we raced along the highway. A line of polished black vehicles led the way, a stark reminder that my autonomy had slipped away. This wasn’t just another day—it was the day. The day I would become Lysander Vincenzo’s wife, the man whose name was spoken in hushed tones but who now occupied the very core of my existence.

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, attempting to alleviate the pressure building in my ...