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“I'll make it on my own terms,” I whispered to myself. “As a designer.”
The words were an oath to myself—a promise carved from their scorn and shaped by my determination. With each contemptuous remark they persisted in making about me, my resolve only intensified—fueling dreams they'd never have the power to tarnish again.
Peeling off the body wrap felt like shedding a second skin—one that had been carrying the weight of their scorn and my own insecurities.
The stylist ushered me into her chair, her hands working through my hair with an artist's touch. As she snipped and styled, the mirror began to reveal someone I barely recognized. Someone who seemed to belong in the glossy pages of a fashion magazine rather than behind the counter of a coffee shop.
“You've got amazing hair,” she murmured, her fingers weaving magic into every strand. “It frames your face perfectly.”
I wanted to believe her, to see myself through her eyes, but doubt lingered like a stubborn shadow.
Then came the face—a gentle assault of creams and powders that highlighted my features. The makeup artist hummed a tune I didn't know, dabbing and blending until the face staring back at me was transformed.
As she added the final touches—a hint of color here, a dash of shimmer there—she stepped back, her expression one of pride and satisfaction.
“You're stunning,” she said simply, as if stating an irrefutable fact.
I looked at myself in the mirror. The reflection that gazed back at me was radiant, almost otherworldly in its beauty. My hair cascaded around my shoulders in soft waves, framing a face that glowed with an elegant polish I'd never managed on my own.
The hairstylist and makeup artist stood beside me, beaming as if they'd just sculpted a masterpiece from marble. “You could be a supermodel if you had a few more inches to your height,” the hairstylist declared with confidence. “You have the perfect look, the perfect body—a man's dream girl.”
Heat crept up my cheeks at her words—a blush that no amount of makeup could conceal. It wasn't just the compliment but the acknowledgment that I could be seen as desirable, as someone worth noticing.
I wondered what Colton and Jaxon would think if they saw me now. During our two dates, I had dressed up and thought I looked beautiful. But this... This was something else entirely.
I felt more elegant and polished, like someone who truly belonged in their world of wealth and luxury—not just playing dress-up but actually fitting in.
The idea sent a thrill through me mixed with a twinge of sadness. For all this beauty and poise staring back at me from the mirror, it wasn't really me—or was it? Was this polished version just another layer waiting to be discovered or an illusion destined to fade?
Shaking off those thoughts, I squared my shoulders and embraced my new look. This was more than a physical transformation; it was a symbol of what I could become—of potential waiting to be unleashed.
“Thank you,” I told them sincerely, seeing their craft for what it was—an art form that had given me a glimpse of a different life.
Stepping out onto the bustling street outside the salon, I took a deep breath. The city seemed different somehow—as if it had changed while I was inside or perhaps it was me who had changed.
People passed by without sparing me more than a glance—a sea of strangers unaware of the storm of emotions swirling inside me. And yet I walked with my head held higher than before, buoyed by their ignorance and my secret transformation.
As I got into the car that’d take me home, I caught sight of my reflection in a shop window—elegant, polished, ready for whatever lay ahead. And for just a moment, I allowed myself to revel in that image—to believe in its promise before reality could claw its way back in.
* * *
I stood in the small bathroom of my apartment, the mirror reflecting a version of Delcy I barely recognized. The girl who used to hide behind loose shirts was gone. In her place was someone who carried a touch of elegance even in simplicity. The white blouse I chose this morning was one of my best—frilly and delicate—and it made me feel like a character out of a story where everything ends happily ever after.
My hair, now silky and shiny, fell around my shoulders in gentle waves, a testament to the stylist's skill. My face, with its radiant glow, owed its soft luminescence to the makeup artist's deft hands and the new techniques she had generously shared. The natural makeup look felt like a delicate armor, enhancing rather than hiding.
A nervous flutter danced in my stomach as I peered at myself. Any moment now, a car would arrive to whisk me away to an adventure I never could've imagined—two weeks at a private island in the Caribbean with Colton and Jaxon. Two weeks in a centuries-old manor where every corner promised luxury and every moment held the possibility of change.
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart. It wasn't just the trip that had me on edge—it was the fact that I'd be spending so much time with two alphas. As an omega, it wasn't just my social status that made this arrangement unusual—it was biology itself.
I stepped out of the bathroom and into the living area where my luggage sat waiting by the door. My fingers traced over the soft fabric of my suitcase as I crouched down to double-check its contents.
Clothes for every occasion—check. Toiletries—check. Sketchpad and pencils—check. My heart skipped as my hand found the small bottle tucked safely within an inner pocket—suppressants.
I ordered extra for this trip, aware that being around Colton and Jaxon would make my body more... aware... than usual. The suppressants were necessary—a way to keep myself composed and ensure that I could focus on more than just instinctual reactions.
I zipped up my suitcase once more, standing upright with a newfound resolve.
“You can do this,” I murmured to myself—a quiet pep talk meant only for me.
