Chapter 57: CHAPTER 53:ALIVE BRIDE?

Neti

I sighed, sinking deeper into the heavenly warm water as the stylers worked their magic around me. The scent of jasmine and vanilla filled the air, making me feel like I had somehow been transported to a five-star spa—except this wasn’t relaxation. This was preparation for war.

A war called my wedding.

The French stylist, Laurent, clapped his hands together. "Ah, magnifique! The bride-to-be must smell not just good but irresistible! Like a dream, like a fantasy, like—"

"Like she’s about to be eaten alive," Aliya cut in from the corner of the room, smirking as she leaned back against the vanity.

I choked on air.

Laurent gasped dramatically. "Mademoiselle! Such crude words! This is romance, not a horror story!"

"Same thing in Neti’s case," Aliya shrugged, her smirk widening.

I glared at her. "Aliya, I swear—"

Laurent ignored me and continued sprinkling way too many rose petals into the water, while the other maids flitted around, setting out delicate silk robes and lotions that smelled so expensive, I was afraid just touching them would cost me my soul.

"Now, chérie," Laurent said, dipping a sponge into the warm water and dramatically flicking his wrist. "We must ensure your skin is as soft as a cloud, as radiant as the moon, and as tempting as a forbidden fruit!"

I blinked. "It’s just a bath—"

Laurent shushed me.

Aliya outright cackled.

"Oh, Neti, just accept your fate. You're getting married today, and the only question is—are you prepared for the night?"

I turned scarlet.

Laurent gasped again. "Mademoiselle! You embarrass the bride! She is innocent, untouched, like a delicate flower!"

Aliya grinned. "Exactly why I need to toughen her up."

I sank deeper into the water, wishing I could disappear.

The two stylers were a nightmare together.

Laurent, the dramatic French one, was still fawning over my "innocence" like I was some rare, delicate flower about to be plucked. Meanwhile, the other one—the same one from the engagement—was all business. Cold, efficient, and completely ruthless.

"Enough talking," she said, clicking her tongue as she pulled my arm out of the water and began scrubbing my skin like she was trying to remove sins. "We don’t have time for distractions. The bride must be perfect."

"Mademoiselle Genevieve, please!" Laurent gasped, horrified. "You are treating her like a kitchen floor, not a delicate bride! Be gentle, mon amour!"

"Gentle?" Genevieve raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "She’s about to marry Adolph. She doesn’t need 'gentle.' She needs to be unshakable."

Aliya burst out laughing.

I groaned. "Can you all stop talking like I'm being sent to battle?"

Laurent ignored me completely and started massaging oil into my shoulders. "Relax, chérie. You must shine, radiate, glow like the goddess you are!"

Genevieve, on the other hand, yanked me out of the bath without warning.

"Enough soaking. Stand still." She wrapped me in a robe and pulled my hair into a tight towel. "We have six hours, and I have exactly seven hundred things to do before then."

Laurent clutched his heart. "Mon dieu! The romance, where is the romance?"

"Dead," Genevieve replied flatly.

"Not yet," Aliya smirked. "But I’d say tonight it might be."

I choked

I barely had time to process what was happening before I was shoved onto my bed.

"Eat." Genevieve placed a platter of fruits in front of me with the finality of a judge delivering a life sentence.

Laurent clapped his hands together. "Ah, the bridal glow! It must start from within! A diet of only the finest, most delicate fruits for our darling bride!"

I blinked at the plate. Grapes, strawberries, pomegranate seeds… and a suspicious amount of pineapple.

Too much pineapple.

Aliya smirked at me over her glass of champagne. She knew.

"Why… so much pineapple?" I asked cautiously, eyeing the bright yellow pieces piled high on the plate.

Genevieve didn’t even look up from where she was sharpening a pair of scissors—for what, I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to know. "It’s good for you."

Laurent beamed. "Oh, it is simply divine for the skin, mon amour!"

Aliya, the traitor, took a sip of her drink, her smirk growing. "Oh yes, Neti. You should definitely eat a lot of that."

I narrowed my eyes.

Genevieve shoved a fork into my hand. "Eat."

I had no choice but to stab a piece of pineapple and put it in my mouth.

Laurent swooned. "Ah, perfection!"

Aliya was trying so hard not to laugh.

I chewed slowly, suspiciously. Something wasn’t right.

And the worst part? I knew I wouldn’t get an answer.

I put my fork down immediately.

"Aliya." My voice was deadly calm.

Aliya, on the other hand, was barely holding it together. Her shoulders were shaking, her lips pressed together like she was physically restraining laughter.

"What," I said, slowly, "is so special about pineapples?"

She finally lost it. She threw her head back and cackled.

"Oh, Neti—" she wheezed, "it's just… they say it makes certain things taste—"

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to.

My entire face combusted.

"YOU—" I launched the nearest grape at her head.

Aliya dodged expertly, still laughing her traitorous head off.

"Oh, Neti," Laurent sighed dramatically, "it is merely a bridal preparation! You must accept it with grace, like a proper lady!"

Genevieve, unbothered as always, simply pushed the plate closer. "Eat."

"No," I said firmly.

Genevieve stared me down.

Laurent gasps. "Mon dieu! You refuse? But your skin—your scent—your essence, darling!"

Aliya snickered. "Oh, she’ll need it."

I wanted to throw the whole plate at her.

Genevieve did not care. She stabbed a pineapple piece, held it up to my mouth, and raised a single brow.

"Eat."

I wanted to die.

Aliya was gone. Completely and utterly done. She wasn’t just laughing—no, she was wheezing, gasping for air like a dying fish.

"Oh—oh my GOD—Neti—", she barely managed between her violent gasps. "Your—YOUR ESSENCE—"

I whipped around to glare at Laurent. "WHY would you say that?!"

Laurent simply flipped his hair. "Because it is true, ma chérie. Your husband will be devouring you soon. You must be prepared."

I choked on air.

Aliya squeaked and collapsed onto the bed, clutching her stomach.

"Oh my god, I can’t—I CAN’T—", she wheezed, tears running down her face.

Meanwhile, Genevieve was still there, completely unfazed, holding out the damn pineapple like it was my final judgment.

"Eat."

I stared.

She stared back.

Laurent sipped his tea like a smug villain.

Aliya was now rolling on the bed, wheezing like an asthmatic donkey.

Genevieve’s hand did not move. The pineapple waited.

I was trapped.

With no escape.

And the worst part?

Aliya was going to tell Adolph.

The moment I swallowed the last cursed bite of pineapple, Laurent clapped his hands dramatically.

"Très bien! Now, we must prepare your skin like you are being offered to the gods!"

Offered to the what now?

Before I could even protest, Genevieve had already started smearing something cold and slimy on my face.

"What is this?!" I muffled, my lips barely moving.

"Perfection," Laurent said smugly, placing cucumber slices on my eyes like I was some sacrificial lamb.

Aliya, still recovering from her wheezing episode, sat beside me, grinning like a maniac.

"You do realize that after today, you’re doomed forever, right?" she whispered.

I knew.

Oh, I knew.

Yet here I was, being slathered with creams, gels, and what I suspected was liquid gold, as if this was my final skincare session before being sold to the underworld.

Laurent sighed dreamily. "Ah, to be young and getting married to a dangerously possessive Italian. How romantic."

Genevieve patted my face aggressively. "Yes, très romantique."

Aliya?

Wheezing again.

"Hold still, ma chérie," Genevieve said sweetly—right before she smacked my face.

"Ow!" I yelped as my head practically snapped to the side.

"Perfection takes pain!" she chirped, slapping on another layer of whatever mystical potion she was using.

Aliya?

Gone.

Absolutely dead.

She was rolling off the bed, her laughter echoing like a siren while I sat there, enduring a skincare session that felt more like a WWE match.

Laurent placed a hand over his chest, gasping dramatically. "Beauty requires sacrifice, mon amour. Be grateful you are in our hands!"

"Grateful?" I gawked. "You guys are beating me up in the name of skincare!"

Genevieve ignored me and patted my cheeks again—hard.

I winced. "I swear to God, if I walk out of this with a swollen face—"

"Shhh!" Laurent hissed, shoving a rose petal in my mouth.

Aliya?

Officially wheezing on the floor.

If I thought Aliya’s laughter was bad, Eliza’s was worse.

The moment she stepped in and took one look at me being manhandled by the two French devils, she froze. Then, she exploded.

"What in the—" She gasped between laughs, clutching her stomach.

Genevieve was still patting my face like she was testing the ripeness of a melon, while Laurent had started massaging my temples so aggressively that my head was practically bouncing.

"She looks like a beaten-up peach!" Eliza wheezed, dropping onto the floor next to Aliya.

Aliya, already half-dead from laughing, somehow found new energy and started banging her fist on the floor.

"Help—I'm—gonna—die—" she choked out between gasps.

I sat there, staring at them in betrayal, while my so-called ‘luxury skincare treatment’ continued.

"A little gratitude, ma chérie," Genevieve huffed, slapping another face mask on me.

"GRATITUDE?!" I shrieked. "You guys are treating me like a stress ball!"

Laurent sighed dreamily. "Ah, the beauty of bridal preparation."

Eliza? Still rolling.

Aliya? Practically convulsing.

Me?

Questioning every life choice that led me to this moment.

If I thought the worst was over, I was dead wrong.

Just as I was about to finally breathe, Genevieve and Laurent shoved another glass of pineapple juice into my hands.

"Drink up, ma chérie! It is good for you!" Genevieve chirped, looking suspiciously enthusiastic.

Laurent nodded dramatically. "Very important for the wedding night, très essentiel."

Aliya clamped a hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking with suppressed laughter. But Eliza? Oh, Eliza was gone.

She stared at the juice, then at me. Then back at the suspiciously endless supply of pineapple juice.

And then—

She exploded.

"PFTT—YOU GUYS ARE—" She cackled, doubling over and clutching her stomach.

Aliya, who had just recovered, fell over again.

"STOP—SHE’S GONNA TURN INTO A PINEAPPLE!" she wheezed, rolling onto the floor like a dying fish.

Genevieve and Laurent just blinked innocently.

"What? It is science." Laurent said seriously, pushing another glass toward me.

I stared at it. Contemplating my life.

Meanwhile, Eliza was gasping for air, tears streaming down her face.

"DOES ADOLPH EVEN KNOW YOU GUYS ARE BREEDING A WHOLE FRUIT FARM HERE?!" she howled.

Aliya? Practically suffocating from laughter.

Me? Seriously considering throwing the glass at someone.

Eliza, still wheezing, turned to Aliya with a look of pure horror and amusement.

"Does Adolph even know about this?" she asked between gasps, gesturing wildly toward the absurd amount of pineapple juice surrounding me.

Aliya, still lying half-dead on the floor, wiped a tear from her eye and waved a dismissive hand.

"Of course not," she said breathlessly. "Men are clueless."

Eliza gasped dramatically, placing a hand on her chest like she was about to faint.

"So you're telling me—" she paused for effect, "that Adolph has absolutely NO idea his soon-to-be wife is being force-fed pineapples like a damn exotic bird?!"

Aliya nodded, completely serious. "Absolutely clueless."

I groaned, dropping my head back. "Why am I even here? Just let me die in peace."

Laurent tutted, pushing yet another glass into my hand. "Non, ma chérie. You must finish."

Eliza screamed into a pillow. Aliya fell off the bed. Again.

And I?

I was questioning all my life choices.

Just when I thought my suffering had ended, Laurent clapped his hands together, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

"Now, ma chérie, it is time for hair care!"

Aliya snorted from the floor. Eliza looked horrified. I? I considered jumping out of the window.

"No—" I started, but before I could even blink, the other stylist grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the vanity like I was a damn sacrifice.

"Sit, sit!" Laurent chirped, pushing me down forcefully.

The moment I felt the first cold glob of what I could only assume was some ridiculously expensive hair mask hit my scalp, I knew—I was done for.

"This will make your hair shine like the moonlight, mon amour"

The moment Laurent’s cold, slimy concoction landed on my scalp, I gasped so hard you’d think I’d just been stabbed.

"This will make your hair shine like the moonlight, mon amour!" Laurent sighed dreamily, massaging my head like I was a dough he was kneading for a Michelin-star restaurant.

"Laurent—!" I yelped, trying to escape, but the other stylist held me down like a prisoner.

"No escape, ma belle, you must be PERFECT!"

Aliya was literally wheezing on the floor, tears rolling down her face as she held her stomach. Eliza was clutching the bedpost like she needed the strength of God to survive what she was witnessing.

"I— I can't—" Eliza gasped between laughs. "He's massaging her like she's a DAMNED KNEADED BREAD!"

Laurent huffed. "Pft. If she wants to look like a goddess at her wedding, she must suffer. Beauty is pain!"

"PAIN?! This is TORTURE!" I whined, flinching when he slapped another thick layer of whatever hellish mixture he had onto my head.

"Mon Dieu, you are so dramatic," Laurent rolled his eyes, his fingers scratching my scalp aggressively.

"DRAMATIC?! I'm going BALD!"

Aliya completely lost it. She collapsed back onto the floor, wheezing. "B-Bald—oh my god—I CAN'T!"

Laurent sniffed. "Tch. You will thank me when your hair looks like flowing silk."

Eliza was red from laughing, wiping her eyes as she turned to Aliya. "Does Adolph know about this torture session?"

Aliya cackled. "Of course not. MEN are CLUELESS about these things."

Laurent gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. "And THANK GOD for that! If they knew, they would NEVER appreciate our art!"

"ART?! YOU'RE TURNING ME INTO A SCALP-LESS ORPHAN!"

That was it.

Aliya fell off the bed. Eliza rolled onto the floor, laughing into the carpet.

Laurent? Completely unfazed.

"Now, time to let it sit for an hour!" he chirped.

I wanted to die.

I barely had time to process the torture session my scalp had just gone through when—

BAM.

Another tall glass of pineapple juice was slammed onto the table in front of me.

"Drink, mon amour." Laurent commanded, flipping his scarf like some evil overlord.

"No." I said immediately.

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. "Excusez-moi?"

Aliya, still recovering from her laughing fit, perked up immediately. "Oh, no, no, no, Neti. You HAVE to. It’s a must. You know… for later."

Eliza gasped dramatically, covering her mouth like she just witnessed a forbidden ritual. "Oh my God. Is this— is this still about THAT?"

"Yes," Aliya nodded, her face filled with wisdom.

"No," I said again.

Laurent crossed his arms, staring at me like a disappointed parent. "Tsk. You think you have a CHOICE?"

Before I could even attempt to escape, Eliza grabbed my shoulders, Aliya grabbed the glass, and suddenly—

I was drinking.

"NO—STOP—!" I tried to protest, but Aliya was tilting the glass while Eliza held me hostage.

"Drink it all, Neti!" Aliya cheered.

"WHY?!" I spluttered, gasping between sips.

Eliza grinned. "Oh, you’ll know why."

Laurent nodded in approval. "Good. More. MORE."

I glared at them as I chugged the last sip. "I hate you all."

Aliya patted my shoulder. "No, babe, you’ll be THANKING us tonight."

I wanted to disappear.

The moment Laurent and his evil minions declared that hair care time was over, I thought I’d finally get a moment of peace.

I was wrong.

"Alright, mon amour, now we must remove ze mask and ze hair treatments." Laurent clapped his hands together, his smile way too enthusiastic for someone about to rip things off my scalp.

"Just… be gentle." I whispered, my voice filled with dread.

Laurent gave me a look. "Pff. Of course, cherie! I am always gentle."

That was the biggest lie I had ever heard.

The moment his fingers touched my scalp, I felt everything.

"LAURENT—"

RIP.

"AAAHHH!"

Aliya wheeze-laughed as I flung forward, gripping my poor head. "NETI, YOU SHOULD SEE YOUR FACE!"

"I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON YOUR PINEAPPLE JUICE, ALIYA!" I snapped.

Laurent, completely unbothered, ripped another section of the treatment off.

"MON DIEU— your HAIR is like a bird's nest! HOW do you LIVE with this?!" he dramatically cried, like this was some kind of tragic French play.

"BY NOT HAVING YOU IN IT!"

Eliza covered her ears. "I swear, it sounds like someone is being murdered in here."

"SOMEONE IS—IT’S ME!"

Aliya was on the floor, dying from laughter. "Keep going, Laurent. This is the best entertainment I’ve had all week."

"ALIYA, YOU TRAITOR!"

Laurent sighed dramatically, pulling another section free. "Tsk. Such a drama queen. You’ll thank me when you look in the mirror."

I glared, tears glistening in my eyes. "If I survive this, I’m shaving my head."

Laurent finally ripped the last section of the treatment off my scalp, and I collapsed forward, my soul leaving my body.

"It is done," Laurent breathed dramatically, wiping his forehead like he just survived a war.

"I think I saw my ancestors," I whispered, staring at the floor.

Aliya was on the floor, clutching her stomach from laughing too much. "NETI, YOU LOOK—" she wheezed.

I whipped my head towards her. "DON’T YOU DARE—"

Laurent suddenly grabbed a mirror and shoved it in front of my face.

…

I blinked.

Then I blinked again.

My hair was…

Silky.

Flowing.

Shinier than Adolph’s car collection.

My skin?

Glass.

Glowing.

So clear that if someone shined a flashlight on it, I might blind them.

I squinted suspiciously. "…What sorcery is this?"

Laurent flicked his hair and smiled. "Mon amour, this is ART."

Aliya gasped between laughs. "NETI, YOU LOOK LIKE A FILTER IN REAL LIFE!"

Eliza, who had just recovered from her own laughing fit, suddenly froze.

Her eyes slowly widened.

"No. It’s happening."

We all turned to her in confusion. "What is happening?" I asked.

Eliza pointed at Laurent like he was some kind of demon. "He has performed the sacred ritual."

Laurent smirked. "Ah, you mean ze transformation?"

Eliza nodded gravely. "Neti, I regret to inform you…"

I swallowed. "What?"

"You have officially become a WEDDING BRIDE ADVERTISEMENT."

I choked. "I—WHAT?!"

"Congratulations." Aliya patted my back. "You’re now the girl in those fancy wedding posters that makes every normal human feel ugly."

Laurent clasped his hands together. "Oui! And now…" he suddenly held up a jug. "One last round of ze pineapple juice!"

I screamed.

"NO—NO MORE—" I tried to run, but there were too many of them.

Aliya grabbed my arms. Eliza held my shoulders down. Laurent and the other stylers cornered me like hungry wolves.

Laurent smirked and lifted the giant jug of pineapple juice like it was the holy grail. "Drink, mon amour. It is ze final touch."

"FINAL TOUCH OF WHAT? MY DEATH?!" I screamed, thrashing.

Aliya was already crying from laughter. "Neti, just accept it! You can’t escape!"

"I CAN AND I WILL!"

I kicked my legs, wiggled like a fish out of water, and almost made it—until Eliza betrayed me.

"I’m sorry, Neti," she giggled, but her grip tightened.

"ELIZA, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE!"

"I WAS, BUT THIS IS TOO FUNNY!"

Laurent suddenly tilted my head back like he was about to baptize me into pineapple juice hell.

"Open ze mouth, mon cherie."

"I WILL BITE YOU!"

"Tsk tsk, such a difficult bride." He sighed dramatically. "Aliya?"

Aliya smirked and whispered in my ear, "You know, Adolph loves pineapp—"

I GAVE UP.

I OPENED MY MOUTH.

I DRANK.

…

And they made me finish the whole damn jug.

✨

I WAS EXHAUSTED.

Mentally. Physically. EMOTIONALLY.

I tried to crawl away to the bed, dragging myself like a survivor from a battlefield.

"Let me sleep… just for ten minutes…" I whispered weakly.

"Non, non, non!" Laurent clapped his hands. "We are not finished, mon amour!"

"WHAT ELSE?!" I sobbed into the mattress.

Laurent snapped his fingers, and suddenly—SILK.

Aliya and Eliza were already dying from laughter as the stylers threw a luxurious silk robe at me and wrapped me in even more silk.

"WHAT IS THIS?! WHY AM I BEING MUMMIFIED IN SILK?!"

"Ah, mon cherie," Laurent grinned, "silk is ze secret to perfect skin. You must sleep in it, bathe in it, LIVE in it!"

"LET ME LIVE NORMALLY THEN!"

"Shhh," Aliya shoved a silk-covered pillow under my head. "Embrace the silky life, Neti."

Eliza nodded seriously, "You're practically a silk burrito now."

I closed my eyes in defeat. "I hate all of you."

Laurent gasped dramatically. "And yet, you look so beautiful while hating us."

I WOULD KILL THEM ALL.

...After a nap.

ヾ⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠)⁠ﾉ

I FINALLY got to sleep.

Wrapped in silk like a human burrito, I drifted off, feeling like I had survived war.

But of course, these demons weren’t finished.

I woke up twenty minutes later to muffled giggles. My face felt… weird.

I reached up sleepily, only to feel something cold and slimy stuck to my skin.

My eyes shot open—well, they TRIED TO, but something was on them too.

"What the hell—" I jerked up, sending something flying.

"AHHHHH!" Laurent screamed.

"MY CUCUMBER!"

I stared at him. Then at Aliya, who was rolling on the floor, laughing.

Eliza was leaning against the dresser, wheezing.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?!" I grabbed my phone and turned on the front camera.

A thick, gooey white face mask covered my skin, and two lonely cucumbers lay on my silk-covered lap.

"Why. Am. I. A. Salad?"

"It’s for skincare," Aliya gasped between laughs. "You looked too peaceful, we had to take advantage!"

Laurent clutched his heart. "Mon cherie, you must learn the art of beauty sleep! With face masks, you GLOW!"

"I WAS ALREADY GLOWING FROM ALL THE TORTURE!"

Eliza was on the floor, dead from laughter.

I collapsed back onto the bed, face mask still on.

"If Adolph doesn’t kill me, I swear you three will."

A sharp knock echoed through the room.

"Neti?" Adolph’s voice came through the door. "What the hell is going on in there?"

I froze.

Oh, no. No, no, no. Not right now. I was still recovering from last night. My body felt weak, my skin sticky from the face mask, and my hair was wrapped like I was some royal mummy. I was NOT opening that door.

Aliya gasped dramatically, shoving my shoulder. "Ohhh, it’s your man."

Laurent clutched his chest. "What a romantic moment! Beauty in distress, her lover at the door!"

I sent him a glare. "Shut up."

Adolph knocked again, louder. "Neti, I know you’re in there."

No, you don’t.

I crawled under the silk covers, burying myself like a scared animal. "Tell him I’m dead," I whispered to Aliya.

"I HEARD THAT," Adolph said flatly.

Damn it.

Eliza snorted. "Should I open it?"

"NO!" I screamed, making everyone jump.

Laurent was dying of laughter.

"Neti, open the damn door," Adolph ordered.

"No," I said immediately.

"Why not?"

"Because—" I panicked, looking around for an excuse. "Because I—"

Aliya leaned down to whisper. "Tell him you’re naked."

I kicked her under the blanket.

Adolph sighed heavily. "Neti, I swear to God—"

"You’ll see me at the wedding," I cut him off.

Silence.

Then, in the most deadpan voice ever, Adolph said, "Neti, I’ve already seen you naked."

Aliya, Laurent, and Eliza HOWLED.

I choked on air.

"SHUT UP, ADOLPH!"

Laurent dramatically fanned himself. "Oh, mon dieu! He’s bold!"

Aliya was gasping for air, literally crying at this point.

Adolph sounded done with my nonsense. "Open the door before I break it down."

Laurent clutched his heart. "He’s dangerous. I like it."

"LAURENT, GET OUT!"

I grabbed Laurent by the back of his ridiculous silky stylist uniform and yanked him towards the door.

"Out," I hissed.

"Oh, mon amour, so aggressive—"

I swung the door open and shoved him out so hard he almost tripped.

Laurent, ever dramatic, spun on his heels and leaned against the door with a dreamy sigh, completely ignoring the absolute menace that was Adolph standing right there.

"Monsieur Adolph," Laurent said in his most dramatic voice, "your bride looks… how do I say… absolutely ravishing, if not slightly dead inside."

From inside, Aliya wheezed so hard I thought she might die. Eliza had collapsed against the dresser, clutching her stomach.

I sprinted back into the bed, burying my face in the silk covers, regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

Adolph’s voice was dangerously low. "Laurent."

Laurent beamed. "Yes, my dear?"

"Get out of my way."

"Oh, but monsieur, wouldn’t you like to know how she’s glowing? Oh la la, such soft, delicate skin—"

Adolph moved.

Laurent screamed dramatically and RAN down the hall.

Inside, Aliya and Eliza were HOWLING.

"I hate ALL of you," I muffled into the blanket.

Adolph stepped inside, his dark gaze sweeping over the room like a storm ready to wreck havoc.

And what did he find?

Me. Dying.

The second stylist—let’s call her the devil—stood over me, aggressively poking my side with a hairdryer like she was trying to wake up a corpse.

"Up, up, up, madame!" she sang, jabbing me again.

I let out a dying whale noise and burrowed deeper into the silk covers.

Adolph arched a brow, arms crossed as he watched the scene unfold.

"If she dies, does the wedding still happen?" Aliya gasped between laughter, clinging to Eliza for support.

"Oui," the devil stylist nodded seriously, still POKING ME.

I kicked weakly in protest. "Leave me alone!"

"Mon Dieu, she is so dramatic," the stylist sighed, before poking me again.

Adolph, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice deep, amused, and dangerous.

"If you poke her one more time, I'll use that hairdryer to burn your hair off."

The stylist froze mid-poke.

The room went silent.

Then, Eliza and Aliya COLLAPSED in laughter again.

_______________✨_____________

Adolph

I watched in amusement as the relentless stylist dragged Neti out of bed like she was a sack of flour, forcing her to sit on the couch.

She flopped down with all the enthusiasm of a lifeless doll, her head lolling back dramatically.

"This is torture," she whispered to herself like some tragic heroine from a Shakespeare play.

Aliya and Eliza? Useless.

They were WHEEZING on the floor, completely out of breath from laughing too hard.

"Hold still, madame," the stylist said, peeling off the face mask from her skin with exaggerated precision.

Neti groaned as the mask stretched, making her look like she was being exorcised.

When it was finally off, the stylist held up a mirror proudly.

"See? Glowing, magnifique!"

Neti blinked at her reflection, squinting suspiciously.

"I look… too smooth."

I snorted. Too smooth?

Before she could process her new glass-like skin, the stylist shoved a hairdryer into her hands and turned it on, full blast.

The result?

CHAOS.

Her hair whipped in every direction, the powerful air nearly blowing her off the couch.

She squealed, trying to control the wild mess of hair attacking her face, but it was no use.

Aliya was DEAD, rolling on the floor like a lunatic.

Eliza? Gone. She had to leave the room to avoid suffocating from laughter.

Neti finally fought back, turning the hairdryer toward the stylist, blasting her straight in the face.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT NOW?!" she yelled.

The stylist screamed in French, stumbling back as her perfectly styled hair turned into a windswept disaster.

And me?

I just stood there, arms crossed, smirking like the devil himself.

This wedding was going to be interesting.

_______________________________

Neti

The moment I turned the hairdryer on the stylist, blasting her straight in the face, I knew I had made a grave mistake.

Because the devil had awoken.

"Mon Dieu!" she shrieked, stumbling back, her once-perfectly styled hair now resembling an electrocuted poodle.

Aliya and Eliza? Useless.

They were WHEEZING—Eliza had collapsed against the bed, clutching her stomach, while Aliya was literally wiping tears from her eyes, laughing so hard she had no sound left.

And Adolph?

That traitor was just standing there, arms crossed, smirking like he had just witnessed the best entertainment of his life.

"Enough!" the stylist suddenly declared, snatching the hairdryer away from me like she was confiscating a deadly weapon.

I barely had a second to process before she grabbed Adolph by the collar of his expensive shirt and started SHOVING HIM toward the door.

"Out! OUT! This is no place for men! Shoo! Vamoose!"

I swear, she threw him out like he was a sack of trash, his protest dying as the door slammed shut in his face.

There was a moment of silence.

Then Aliya fell to the floor again, wheezing.

"She just threw out the mafia heir—like a used napkin."

Eliza was now banging her fist on the mattress, cackling.

I?

I should’ve been relieved.

But then the stylist turned to me.

And I knew fear.

"Now, Madame Neti," she said, cracking her knuckles.

"It is time... for some more juice."

I screamed.

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