Page 1 of Valentine's with the Cartel

Chapter 1

Anan

I stared out the window as the city blurred by, my reflection a pale oval against the streaked glass. Aunt Mara sat beside me, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she gazed ahead with a grim expression. Why was she acting like this? It was her fault. All of it was her fault.

The silence between us was thick and heavy, laden with unspoken words that choked the air. We both didn't want to say what we were thinking. We knew it would hurt too much.

My mind reeled, unable to process the bombshell she had dropped only days ago.Only frigging days ago.

So, I was going to be married. And to some stranger in the cartel to boot? I was barely twenty-one, my life still stretching out before me like an endless expanse of potential. The thought of being tied down, of surrendering my freedom and identity to a man I'd never met, made my stomach churn with dread.

The surprising thing was that we knew my groom was in the cartel. That was actually everything we knew about him.

Aunt Mara, sensing my turmoil, reached over to squeeze my hand, but I didn't want it. I hated it, actually.She was feigningempathy for me, but we both knew that she did what she did because she wanted money.

"I know this is a lot to take in, Anan. But you have to trust me on this. It's for the best."

Her words only fueled the resentment simmering in my gut. For the best? Really? I knew she didn't really think that.

She had no right to decide my future like some pawn on a chessboard. The bitter thoughts circled in my head, each one more vicious than the last. It was difficult to control them. It was actually getting possible to keep doing that.

Hadn't she promised to keep me safe, after all? To protect me after Mom and Dad died? And this was how she repaid that trust—by selling me off like livestock to the highest bidder? The truth was hard to ignore.

I wanted to scream at her, to rail against the injustice of it all. But the words lodged in my throat, stuck fast by years of ingrained obedience and the ever-present fear that still lurked in the shadows of my mind. I knew from experience where lashing out could lead.

But I really wanted to do that. I wanted to tell her everything I was thinking.

But I simply withdrew my hand and turned my face back to the window, letting the tears that pricked at the corners of my eyes fall unchecked down my cheeks. Aunt Mara sighed beside me but said nothing more as the car pulled up to the curb outside the pack house.

Maybe now I was finally going to meet my soon-to-be husband, but I wasn't really holding my breath for that. After all, whoever he was, he really wanted to keep his identity secret from me until the very last moment.

I stared up at the imposing facade with a sinking heart, knowing that once I crossed that threshold, there would be noturning back. The die was cast and my fate sealed by my aunt's selfish desire for more money.

My mind drifted back to my childhood with Aunt Mara, a jumble of fragmented memories that I had long tried to suppress. I didn't want to think about them, but they were all coming back. Of course they were. This was the right moment to keep tormenting me.

She had taken me in after my parents' deaths, and for a while, I had been grateful for her presence in my life. But as the years passed, the cracks in our relationship began to show—as they always do. That’s something that happens in every relationship eventually.

I remember the way she would snap at me for the smallest things, like leaving a dish in the sink or forgetting to put my toys away. Her voice was always sharp and biting, and it made me shrink into myself with fear and shame. I learned early on that it was better to stay out of her way when she was in one of her moods. And it happened more often than it should.

And maybe, just maybe, what was happening was an exit for me. Getting married to whoever was going to become my husband meant living with him, after all.

There were moments of kindness with her too, fleeting and infrequent as they may have been. Aunt Mara had a soft side that she rarely showed, and when she did, I clung to those tender moments like a lifeline.The gentle touch of her hand on my head as she tucked me into bed at night. The rare smile that lit up her eyes when I did something to please her.Those were good things.

As I grew older, though, the bad times began to outweigh the good. That wasn't a surprise.

Aunt Mara grew more distant and critical, always finding fault with everything I did. She would make snide remarks about my appearance or my grades, chipping away at my self-esteemuntil I felt like nothing more than a disappointment to her. It was hell.

I started to withdraw into myself more and more, spending hours holed up in my room to avoid her biting tongue. It was in those moments I wished I had friends so I could spend time with them.

Even in my room, though, I found no solace. Aunt Mara would barge in unannounced, rifling through my belongings and making disparaging comments about the books I read or the music I listened to. Why did she feel she needed to know everything about me? I never did the same to her. I never would to anyone. Everybody had a right to their privacy, after all.

It was a lonely existence, filled with a constant state of anxiety and dread. I never knew what to expect from her, whether she would be the caring aunt one moment and the cruel tormentor the next. It was exhausting, always walking on eggshells and trying to appease her fickle moods.

No matter how hard I tried, I could never figure it out—it was beyond my capabilities. I gave up on it a long time ago.

Looking back, I realized that Aunt Mara's actions were a form of emotional abuse, designed to keep me dependent and obedient. She wanted to control every aspect of my life, from what I wore to who I associated with. And for the longest time, I let her because I was too scared to stand up for myself.

Even now, that was still kind of working. Less than before, but it was still present.

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