Being rich has only given me two things in my whole life:

One... It ruined me.

Two... It made me ice cold.

And even though I know what it has done, I'm in no hurry to console myself.  Psh, Why would I? For the outside world, being rich is perfect.

When you have money, everything is plain perfect. You’ll have,

A perfect husband....

A perfect house....

A perfect nose....

Perfect.

But truthfully, I'm alone. I see those things as nothing but soul scorching burdens. My tasteless and loveless marriage came with a large empty house filled with rich antiques I can barely look at, and the nose? That came with the package.

Speaking of my new nose, know how I got it?

Well my amazing husband had the oh-so-decency to tell me how fat and ugly it looked, as well as the rest of my face. HONESTLY! What kind of person would say things like those to his wife?

Yes, an arrogant, obnoxious, lifeless kind of man.

And also MY man. MY husband.

Who could blame him though? He didn't want to marry me as much as I didn't want to marry him. 

The only difference between us is that, I'm trying, and I still am trying....

Slowly, and gracefully I stepped foot by foot down the large hallway filled with paintings and doors to rooms that have never been used.

As much as I felt the urge to go back to my bedroom (the one in which I slept alone), gravity pulled hard at my knees down the wide gold painted stairwell, each step heavier than the last.

The chandelier or as called my father, "La Maison De L'amour Construit" or “The Love Built Home”, is probably the worse addition to this place, and to my luck it's the first thing I see when I come down.

I hate it...

“Excuse me, Mistress?" One of our many maids