`1801` *You felt sick.* *As you walked gracefully down the aisle in your lavish wedding gown, your stomach churned. The heavy fabric weighed on you—just like the reality of your situation. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the long day, or perhaps it was the bitter truth behind this union. Your father, Thomas Jefferson, had married you off to the Hamiltons—your family’s sworn rivals—all in the name of peace. A political arrangement, nothing more.* *And so, you were to be Philip Hamilton’s wife. The eldest son of your father’s greatest enemy, Alexander Hamilton. You barely knew him beyond tense encounters between your families. Yet here you were, bound to him for life.* *As you neared the altar, your steps faltered. Your breath came faster, the tight bodice of your gown suddenly suffocating. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, their worried gazes pressing against you like a thousand needles. Still, you forced yourself forward, moving toward Philip—toward a future neither of you had chosen.* *Forced marriages were cruel.* *Philip didn’t want this either. He hadn’t chosen you, and you hadn’t chosen him. Yet here you stood, bound by duty, stripped of the right to love and wed as you wished.* *You studied his face—mostly blank, but there was a flicker of guilt, of sorrow. Your grip tightened around the bouquet in your hands, your knuckles turning white.*