Page 5 of Valentine's with the Cartel

Hairdressers fussed with my locks, styling them into a sleek coiffure that I knew would be ruined within hours. Makeup artists hovered around my face, dabbing and brushing with an intensity that made me want to flinch away. And seamstresses bustled in and out, making last-minute adjustments to the suit that clung to my frame like a second skin, and in a bad way.

I shifted uncomfortably as they worked, the fabric pulling taut across my chest and shoulders. White had never been a good color on me, I thought morosely as I eyed my reflection in the full-length mirror. It washed me out, making my skin look pale and sickly in comparison. I didn't want to look even deader than I already did.

But Aunt Mara had insisted on it, saying that it was the traditional color for a wedding and that I should be grateful for the honor of wearing it. I bit back a sigh, knowing that arguing would only lead to a confrontation I wasn't ready for.

As the minutes ticked by, I found myself growing more and more agitated. The suit felt constricting, like it was slowly squeezing the air from my lungs. And the way the seamstresses kept tugging at it, pinning and tucking, only added to my discomfort.

I wanted to tell them to stop, to let me breathe, but I knew that would only lead to more lectures about obedience and duty. So, I gritted my teeth and endured, trying to focus on anything else besides the tightness of the fabric against my skin.

But it was hard to think of anything else when there were so many people in the room, their voices blending together into a cacophony of sound that made my head throb. It hurt. I wanted nothing more than to be alone, to have a moment to collect my thoughts and steel myself for what was to come. People usually drained my energy.

And yet, even as I longed for solitude, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity about the man I was to marry. I still didn't know his name, or anything about him really. Aunt Mara had been tight-lipped on the subject, only telling me that he was an alpha with a prominent position in the cartel.

As if that could change my mind about him, I thought. It meant he was dangerous, and I didn't want to live in a constant state of fear.

I wondered if he really was the man I had seen outside or if, perhaps in that moment, I was making baseless assumptions.

Was he intimidating? Kind? Cruel? The possibilities were endless, and I found myself both dreading and anticipating the moment when we would finally meet face-to-face.

As if sensing my thoughts, one of the seamstresses stepped forward and adjusted the collar of my suit, her fingers brushing against my skin. I flinched slightly at the contact, unused to such casual touches from strangers.

"Don't worry, young master," she murmured, her voice low and soothing. Younger master? I didn't like people calling me that. I hoped it wouldn't become the norm. "Everything will be fine. Your alpha will take good care of you." As if that could really be a good thing, I thought.

I met her gaze in the mirror, searching for any hint of deception or insincerity. But all I saw was a calm certainty, as if she truly believed what she was saying. And really, she probably did.

I wanted to ask her how she could be so sure, but I bit back the words, not wanting to encourage further conversation. I didn't want to talk about that right now.

So instead, I simply nodded and turned my attention back to my reflection, trying to ignore the way the suit seemed to tighten around me like a vice. It wasn't working, obviously.

The seamstress stepped back, her work apparently done for now. With her moving away, I couldn't help but feel a sudden rush of loneliness wash over me. In this room full of people, I had never felt so alone, so isolated and adrift.

But I knew that feeling would only intensify once I was married, once I was truly bound to a man I didn't know. A man who held the power to shape my future, to determine the course of my life, and could do anything he wanted to me.

I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as I tried to center myself. I couldn't let my fears and doubts overwhelm me, not now when it mattered most. The alpha would win the moment I started to doubt myself.

Opening my eyes again, I caught sight of Aunt Mara in the doorway, her expression unreadable as she surveyed the scenebefore her. She looked proud, but I was pretty sure it wasn't of me; it was of herself. She was proud to have put me in this complicated situation.

And she must have finished whatever business she had been attending to. I wondered what it was, but of course, wasn't going to ask her. She wouldn't like it.

I stiffened slightly, wondering what she would say, what expectations she would place upon me now that the moment of truth was fast approaching. But for once, she simply nodded approvingly, a rare smile playing at the corners of her lips.

"You look handsome, Anan," she said softly, her voice barely audible above the din of activity in the room. "Your alpha will be pleased."

My alpha. Goodness, I felt as though we weren't really people, but just mindless animals.

I swallowed hard, not trusting myself to speak, but I managed a small, fake smile. How could anyone smile honestly in a situation like this? The truth was, it was simply impossible to do so.

Aunt Mara stepped further into the room, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor as she made her way towards me. Shivers ran down my spine. Whatever else she had to say to me, I didn't want to hear it.

However, as usual, it wasn't up to me.

I watched her approach in the mirror, my stomach twisting with a mix of nerves and resentment.

She looked regal and imposing in a deep red dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair swept up in an elegant chignon. It was a stark contrast to my own pale, nervous appearance, and I couldn't help but feel like a child next to her. And I was pretty sure that, at least in part, that was how she saw me.

As she drew closer, I could see the satisfaction in her eyes again as she took in the sight of me in my wedding attire. It mademe want to shrink back, to hide from her approving gaze, but I forced myself to hold still.

Not to mention, she probably saw it as proof that she won, not that I could have done much against it.

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