Before dawn even tries to break, I'm lying awake, tangled in sheets that feel too lavish, thoughts spiraling. Today's the big day, mom's marrying Archer, and here I am, supposed to beam like the world's all right. But it's crumbling inside, piece by piece.

Ares. That name alone sends chills through me. It's wrong, so wrong. He's going to be my uncle, for heaven's sake. But the way my heart races at the thought of him, you'd think it didn't know, or worse, didn't care.

I'm counting minutes till this wedding's done, till I don't have to dodge Ares's shadow or the weight of his gaze.

Every part of me is on edge, vibrating with a tension I can't shake off. The thought of facing Ares again, under these circumstances, it's almost too much. As I get ready, my hands tremble, not from excitement but from a deep, unsettling dread.

Dragging my dress and the day's essentials, I head down to where mom's supposed to be mid-transformation. The suite's filled with her perfume and the soft strum of music.

"There you are," comes her voice, half-lost in the air.

She's sitting at a small vanity, a makeup artist applying her makeup. Her hair is pinned up in loose curls. She looks gorgeous, and despite my current anxiety, I feel a rush of excitement for her.

"Wow, Mom. You look amazing."

"Thank you, dear," she says, giving me a smile in the mirror. "Are you ready to get started?"

I nod, and she gestures to the makeup artist. "She'll help you get ready."

"Thanks," I say, giving her a nervous smile.

As I sit down in front of the large mirror, the makeup artist begins her work, her hands moving skillfully over my face. I try to calm my racing heart, focusing on the soft brush strokes against my skin.

"There," she says after a while, stepping back to admire her work. "You're ready."

I look at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup is light and natural, highlighting my best features. My hair is pinned up in a neat chignon, a few soft curls framing my face.

I look elegant, sophisticated. Not at all like the anxious mess I feel like.

"Thanks," I say, smiling. "It's perfect."

The makeup artist nods, gathering her things.

I stand, taking one last look at myself in the mirror.

"You look beautiful, Emma," my mother says, coming up behind me. "Would've been nice if you listened to me about shedding a few pounds. That dress is screaming for mercy."

Her words hit me hard, despite the fact that they're familiar.

"Mom," is all I manage, a protest lodged in my throat.

"What?" she says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just being honest. You'd look much better if you lost a few pounds."

I can't help but roll my eyes, the annoyance clear on my face.

"Don't be like that," she scolds. "I'm trying to help you. If you're ever going to find someone, you have to be willing to make sacrifices. Look at me. I lost thirty pounds and got a face-lift, and look how well it worked out."

I stare at her in disbelief. She's talking about herself like she's a catch. Like she's somehow superior because of her weight loss and plastic surgery.

Swallowing the sting of her words, I turn away, clutching at the edge of the vanity for a moment of strength. "Mom, today's about you and Archer, not my... weight or my love life," I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. The reflection in the mirror now feels like a costume, a facade I've put on to navigate through the day without falling apart.

She sighs, a sound that's half frustration, half resignation. "I just want you to be happy, Emma. To find someone who looks at you the way Archer looks at me."

I want to believe her, to understand that beneath her harsh words lies a desire for my happiness. But it's tangled up in expectations, in societal norms that measure worth by waistlines and marital status. "I know, Mom," is all I say, because what else can I say?

As she turns back to her own reflection, touching up her lipstick, I slip out of the room. The hallway feels too narrow, like it's closing in on me with every step towards the ceremony. The weight of Ares's impending presence looms larger with each heartbeat, a reminder of the forbidden thoughts I've been trying to bury.

I head towards the garden where the ceremony will take place, needing a moment of solitude, of fresh air to clear my head. The early afternoon light is soft, the flowers and arrangements look like something out of a fairy tale. It's beautiful, serene, and for a fleeting moment, I let myself get lost in the tranquility.

Selene and a few others are busy setting up the chairs and arranging the flowers. Selene spots me and waves, her smile bright.

"You look great, Emma. We have everything almost ready. The flowers arrived on time and everything else is going smoothly. The weather is cooperating, so we should have a nice day for the ceremony," she gushes, her excitement palpable.

"Thanks, Selene. Everything looks perfect," I say, meaning it. "You did an amazing job."

"Thank you. Now, go back to the bride's suite until it's time," she says, shooing me away. "We are usering guests to their seats in ten minutes, the groom will come in ten minutes after that, and then Miss. Maid of Honor, you and the best man are set to walk down the aisle."

"Got it," I say, heading back inside.

I'm glad I have some time before the ceremony. My stomach is a bundle of nerves and I need a moment to calm down. I head towards the bride's suite, wanting to check on my mother. But before I get there, I get distracted by a storage room of alcohol. One little drink won't hurt, right?

As I step into the dimly lit room, the smell of alcohol is almost overwhelming. There are rows of bottles, all lined up perfectly. I make my way through the maze, looking for something that catches my eye. Whisky preferably. Or something just as strong.

I finally find what I'm looking for, a bottle of vodka. I grab it and make my way back to the door, hoping no one will notice. But before I can escape, someone else walks in.

Ares.

He sees me immediately, and his gaze sweeps over me, taking in my appearance. I'm suddenly aware of how tight my dress is, and how much cleavage I'm showing.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, shutting the door behind him. His voice is low and I remember how it sounded when he was giving me commands.

"I needed a drink," I reply, holding up the bottle of vodka. "What about you?"

"Archer sent me to get something for him, but I could use a drink, too," he says, taking the bottle from me. I watch as he flicks the cap off and takes a swig. He doesn't even wince as the alcohol slides down his throat.

He offers me the bottle, and I accept, taking a sip. The vodka burns as it goes down. Ares's eyes are on me the whole time, watching as I drink. It makes me feel exposed, vulnerable. I hand the bottle back to him, and he takes another sip.

We're standing close, the heat of his body warming mine. The silence between us is heavy, charged with anticipation. I'm acutely aware of the fact that we're alone, in a locked room. His gaze breaks from mine, only to roam down my body. Heat scorches my skin where his eyes land. I feel overly self-conscious, my mother's words about my weight playing back in my head.

"Ares," I whisper, my voice betraying me. I'm not even sure what I was going to say, but this silence is getting to me. I feel like we are doing something wrong.

He puts the bottle down and turns to me. "Emma," he says, his voice rough. He reaches up, his fingers grazing my jaw. I feel his touch like an electric current, sending sparks down my spine. His thumb brushes my bottom lip and my knees feel weak.

He leans in, his lips inches from mine. His breath is warm against my skin. I can smell the faint scent of his cologne. My heart is racing, the beat so loud it's almost deafening.

"You look delicious in this dress," he says, his voice husky. His hand slides down the fabric, stopping just above my hip.

I can't think straight, the heat of his touch sending a wave of desire through me.

"Thank you," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckles, his hand resting on the curve of my ass.

"But it'd look better on the floor," he adds, his eyes never leaving mine.

"We can't," I say. It's more of a plea than anything.

"How often do you think about the other night?" he asks, his lips inches from mine. "Because I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or you."

His words send a thrill through me, but I know this is wrong.

"Ares, I—"

"Tell me you haven't thought about it," he cuts me off, his voice low and husky.

I can't lie to him. I can't even lie to myself. I have thought about it, and him. All the time.

"I have," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what's stopping you?" he asks, his voice a low growl.

The weight of his words hangs in the air, the question hanging between us. It's the wrong time and the wrong place, but the urge to give in is so tempting.

"Everything," I reply, my voice unsteady. "We can't, I can't, do this. It's wrong."

His hand slips under the hem of my dress, his fingers grazing my inner thigh. The contact sends a jolt of electricity through me.

"What if we could?" he asks, his eyes locked on mine.

"We can't," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper. My whole body is on fire, inside and out. The familiar warmth of arousal is forming in my lower stomach, making its way down to where wetness is pooling.

His hand moves up, his fingers ghosting along the lace of my panties. My breath hitches, the anticipation driving me crazy. But then he steps back, leaving me feeling cold and empty.

"It's a shame," he says, a hint of sadness in his voice. "But I can respect your decision."

With that, he walks out, leaving me alone. The ache between my thighs is almost unbearable, the tension building inside of me. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. But it's no use.

As I hear the guests arriving, I quickly fix myself up. The ceremony will begin soon, and I can't be late. My mind is a mess, torn between wanting Ares and knowing how wrong it would be.