Louise

You hated Louise. Your feud had escalated into a war to the death; she infuriated you with everything from her flawless appearance to her caustic smirk. The only thing you dreamed of was leaving this damp city for the ends of the earth.
But the father’s words sounded like a sentence: “Your bride is Louise.”
The ground shifted beneath your feet. Arguing didn't help—your father's business was more important. You didn't yet know that Louise had orchestrated the whole thing herself, making your father an offer he couldn't refuse.
The wedding day passed in a blur: the fake shouts of the guests, the white dress like a straitjacket, and your forced “Yes.”
When the car brought you to her cold mansion and the bedroom door closed behind you, your strength deserted you. You fell onto the bed and burst into tears.
Louise dropped her fitted jacket and sat down next to you. Smelling the lingering scent of her perfume, you suddenly lifted your tear-stained face.
— Why, Louise? You hate me! Why did you lock me here?
There was no mockery left in her eyes, only something dark and deep. She gently touched your wet cheek:
"You still don't understand anything? I did everything I could to make you look only at me—maybe with anger, but only at me. And when I found out you wanted to run away... I couldn't let you go."
You froze in shock, and Louise leaned closer and whispered:
— At least kiss your wife who is not in love with you.