I grew up in a home made of cold marble and even colder expectations. My parents, Richard and Diana, treated life like a series of calculated moves, and I was their most valuable asset. When I turned thirty, they delivered an ultimatum with the same emotionless precision my father used in business deals: marry a “suitable” woman before my next birthday, or be cut out of the family will. In their eyes, suitability was defined by wealth, status, and connections. To me, it felt like a sentence.