Do not embarrass me
It didn’t take long for them to arrive. The door opened, and suddenly my quiet room was swallowed by the soft chaos of stylists unpacking their kits. Brushes, palettes, cases, and gowns appeared all at once. I was ushered into the chair before I could think of resisting.
One of the makeup artists leaned close, studying me. “You have beautiful skin,” she murmured. “I’ll just do a little touch-up. It would be a shame to hide what you already have.”
I sat still as her hands moved lightly, smoothing foundation, brushing color into my cheeks, adding just enough to make my eyes stand out.
When the dress finally slid over my shoulders, it fit as though it had been waiting for me alone. Black satin clung to every line of my body, hugging my waist, skimming my hips, flowing down my legs with a high slit that left little to imagination.
I turned toward the mirror, a little hesitant.
The girl staring back didn’t look invisible anymore. The dress revealed curves I had always tried to hide, defining me in ways that felt both powerful and exposed. My waist was narrow, my shoulders straight, my legs long beneath the satin. I barely recognized myself, but there was no denying that I looked like someone who belonged at the side of a king.
By the time the clock neared five, the last of the pins were slipped into my hair.
“You look magnificent,” the hairstylist said softly, stepping back to admire her work.
“Thank you,” I mouthed.
They packed up quickly after that, wheeling their cases out of the room, leaving behind the faint smell of hairspray and perfume. The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
I stepped out of my room, clutching tightly to the bag I was holding. My father was waiting in the living room, going through something on his phone.
He looked up when he heard my footsteps. And for a brief moment, sadness flickered in his eyes.
“You look so much like her,” he said under his breath.
But the words were gone as quickly as they came, his face shuttering back to stone.
“Let’s go.”
My stepmother and Athena appeared behind him, their heels clicking against the floor. Both of their expressions were tight, carefully schooled, but I could see the anger underneath. Athena’s lips pressed together so tightly her smile almost looked painted on, while my stepmother’s gaze raked over me like claws.
Clearly, none of them liked what they saw.
Outside, a black limousine waited, it was sleek and gleaming under the fading light. The driver held the door open with a bow. My father stepped in first, followed by my stepmother and Athena. I hesitated for the smallest second, then slid in after them, the leather seats cold against my skin.
The ride was silent. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the steady tick of the clock on the dashboard. My stepmother’s perfume filled the car.
Was she trying to choke someone to death?
It didn’t take long before the city gave way to high walls and gates. There were multiple checkpoints, each more intimidating than the last. Armed men in black suits with earpieces scanned the car, their eyes cold and efficient. Devices beeped and flickered as they passed detectors along the sides of the vehicle. One checkpoint had guards with dogs. Another required my father to present a card, pressed against a scanner that glowed blue.
The deeper we went, the tighter the security became, until finally the limousine slowed in front of an iron gate that opened like the jaws of a beast.
Beyond it rose a mansion, sprawling and enormous, lit like a palace in the night. Its windows gleamed like watchful eyes, and the driveway curved in a perfect sweep, lined with more men in black. Every detail screamed power and danger.
The Donnells’ empire. The heart of New York’s deadliest family.
The limousine rolled to a stop at the foot of the mansion’s steps. The doors opened smoothly, and the crisp evening air spilled inside. My father stepped out first, tall and composed. My stepmother followed, one gloved hand on his arm, her posture regal and stiff. Athena emerged next, her lips curved into a perfect social smile, though I caught the disdain in her eyes when they flicked toward me.
When it was my turn, the driver offered his hand. I hesitated for only a second before placing mine in his and stepping down. The hem of my dress brushed against the ground, and the night air kissed my skin, carrying with it the scent of roses.
The mansion loomed above us, every window glowing with glowy light. The Donnells knew how to put on a show. Their power wasn’t just in the guns and the men they controlled; it was in this display, this carefully curated magnificence that made everyone else feel smaller the moment they stepped onto the property.
At the top of the stairs, uniformed men stood in pairs, eyes vigilant, hands clasped neatly in front of them. Even their stillness carried weight, as if a single gesture could unravel anyone foolish enough to step out of line.
“Remember,” my father murmured as he adjusted his tie a bit, his voice low but steady, “tonight is all about appearances. Do not embarrass me.”