A R I A N A
Just like my father had said, two days later I was getting married to Dante Russo. The morning of my wedding arrived like a death sentence.
I sat stiffly in front of the vanity as a team of stylists buzzed around me, transforming me into a perfect bride.
The white dress hugged my body tightly, the lace scratching my skin. The heavy veil weighed down my head like a crown of thorns.
I felt nothing.
Empty.
Dead inside.
The girl staring back at me in the mirror was a stranger pale face, red lips, hollow eyes, I looked like a doll dressed up for a show.
"Beautiful," the makeup artist murmured, dabbing more powder on my cheeks.
I didn't respond, what was beautiful about this? About being sold off like cattle to pay for my mistakes?
I gulped a lump my eyes s
