Snow White and the Alpha

“Do you think he will like me?" I gazed intently at my reflection, then shifted my eyes to the mirror where the most important person in my life stood behind me. Seated at the vanity, I saw my grandmother’s deep blue eyes meet mine through the glass. Her smile was the first thing that greeted me, a comforting presence in the mirror’s frame. I wanted to mirror her smile, to reflect her warmth, but found myself unable to coax my lips into a grin. The anticipation of her response tightened my chest, leaving me restless. Though I had a strong sense that her answer would be reassuring, the flutter of nervousness in my stomach persisted. "Of course he will love you. Who could possibly resist you, Nieves?" Her voice, soft and soothing despite its gentle rasp, reverberated through me. I swallowed hard, absorbing her words, and allowed myself a few moments to linger on her reassuring gaze. Then, with a deep breath, I turned my focus back to my own reflection, searching for the confidence that eluded me. Despite my grandmother’s endless reassurances, an undercurrent of anxiety still churned within me. The nagging worry of whether I would be enough for my groom-to-be haunted my thoughts. My mind buzzed with a flurry of what-ifs, each question more unsettling than the last. Would he be captivated by my hair? My eyes? The delicate sweep of my lashes? Would he embrace the entirety of who I am? I swallowed hard, my throat tight, as Lola’s skilled hands continued to work through my long, silver tresses. The compliments I received about my appearance seemed to hang in the air like distant echoes. People often told me my beauty was otherworldly, that I resembled a celestial being gracing the earth. My knee-length, wavy silver hair cascaded behind me like an intricate spider’s web, each strand shimmering in the dim light. Lola’s gentle combing was a comforting ritual, a preparation for the night ahead. My brows and lashes mirrored the silvery sheen of my hair, framing my pale, ice-blue eyes. My lips, too, were a ghostly shade, so faint that I found myself biting them to bring a hint of color. My skin, nearly translucent, was so delicate that even the lightest touch left a pink imprint. As I glanced at myself, the reflection of my pale form only deepened the swirl of uncertainties within me. Being naturally pale, my freckles have always been my greatest source of insecurity. Those tiny, scattered spots on my face seem to declare my uniqueness to anyone who looks at me. I often think about how different my life might be if I had more common features—brunette hair and brown eyes, perhaps. In that case, I would admire those who shared my appearance, blending seamlessly into the crowd. Instead, the very traits that should make me special only seem to amplify my discomfort. Even as people around me offer their praise and admiration, I struggle to shake off the feeling of inadequacy. I don't yearn for distinction or extraordinariness—I simply crave normalcy. The name Nieves was given to me because I was born with skin as pale as snow and hair of an ethereal silver. As a baby, my unusual appearance led some to call me a monster. If it hadn't been for my grandmother's influence and the protection her status afforded me, I might have succumbed to the harsh judgment of others. In our clan, I stand alone with my silver hair and ghostly skin, a solitary figure among my peers. At nineteen, I am also the only young woman who has yet to master the ability to shift into her wolf form, further marking me as different in a world where conformity is expected. “Now, we’re finished,” Lola’s voice broke through my reverie, pulling me back to the present. I reluctantly shifted my gaze to her reflection. Her face was once again lit with a warm, reassuring smile. Yet, her eyes quickly detected the unease that must have clouded my own expression. Her brows furrowed slightly, and the delicate lines at the corners of her eyes deepened with concern. “What’s wrong, dear?” she inquired, her voice softening as she approached me. She drew up a chair and took a seat beside me, positioning herself so that her eyes met mine with a concerned gaze. I bit my lower lip, struggling to find the right words. “I’m just… I’m just feeling a bit anxious about meeting David soon, Lola,” I confessed, attempting to offer a reassuring smile. However, the effort only resulted in a strained grimace. I’ve never been particularly skilled at concealing my true feelings. Even though I might manage to mask my emotions for fleeting moments, Lola has an uncanny ability to see right through me. It remains a mystery how she manages to read me so effortlessly, as if her gaze could penetrate to the very core of my being. Lola’s smile radiated warmth as she reached out, her hands gently cradling my cheeks. Her touch was tender as she smoothed my hair with her other hand, her affection palpable. "I've told you time and again, Nieves," she murmured softly, her voice carrying a soothing, maternal tone. "You must learn to love yourself. Perfection is a myth in this world. It's our very flaws that often set us apart and make others cherish us even more." "But you’re my grandmother," I replied, a hint of skepticism in my voice. "Of course, you’re bound to love me just as I am." A soft, melodious chuckle escaped her lips, and she drew me into a warm embrace. I leaned into her, my lips forming a small pout as I wrapped my arms around her in return. "David will love you just as deeply as I do, Nieves. He’s your destined partner. Have faith in that," she reassured me, her words enveloping me in a cocoon of comfort. I closed my eyes, tightening my hold around her as her words resonated within me. Hearing David’s name seemed to chase away the lingering fears in my heart. David Clarkson is… the love of my life. The news of my selection to marry him felt like a stroke of fate’s favor, transforming my world into the happiest place I had ever known. Once, I had been just one of five hopefuls vying for his hand. The other candidates hailed from prestigious families and powerful lineages, making my chances appear slim. I had long resigned myself to the belief that I would not be chosen. Yet, here I was, living a dream I scarcely dared to hope for. Despite my lack of influence in the grand scheme of things, especially given my status as an omega, I had been chosen for something far beyond my initial expectations. It was a stroke of fortune, considering I hailed from a mere branch family of the Aphrodite Clan. The union between the Ares and Aphrodite Clans had always seemed predestined, and once it became known that David and I were destined mates, the decision for our marriage was made with an almost inevitable certainty. Our union was not merely a personal choice but a strategic alliance. For David’s family, it meant an expansion of the Ares territories, increasing their influence and power. For my own family, it was a crucial step toward ensuring that, despite our position as a subsidiary branch of the Aphrodite Clan, we could remain self-sufficient and secure. David, my fated mate and the man who would become my husband in six months, was set to visit our territory in three months. With his arrival in our territory, I tried to convince myself to trust in the possibility of his genuine affection for me. My hope was to navigate the waiting period with optimism, hoping that nothing would mar the anticipation. But reality, as it often does, had other plans. The very people I had looked to for protection and support—the clan my grandmother had placed her unwavering trust in—turned out to be the ones who would precipitate the downfall of my own people. The betrayal was not just a personal blow but a devastating unraveling of everything I had believed in and hoped for.