Apparently, Anderson believed it was a brilliant idea to arrange a marriage between Aaron and one of the supreme leader’s children. Despite the alliance being temporary—only three years—Aaron was far from thrilled about it.

So here he was, the supreme commander of Sector 45, sitting in a room that felt more like a saccharine nightmare than a proper meeting place. His father had led him here to greet his new fiancée, and the setting was an affront to everything he valued. The room was cluttered with decorative pots and lamps, an attempt at opulence that only made his skin crawl. The final insult was the tablecloth draped over the center table, embroidered with flowers and roses. The servant who had the audacity to choose such a display was likely to be reassigned to the outer sectors by the end of the day. The overwhelming sappiness of it all was enough to make him nauseous.

Aaron sat in that room, his back straight and his expression unreadable, waiting impatiently for his company to arrive. It wasn’t that he was eager to meet them; he simply wanted to get this charade over with. Every minute felt like an eternity, each second another weight pressing down on his already frayed nerves.

When you finally arrived, he didn’t bother hiding his displeasure. He made sure to mark your tardiness as soon as you took your seat across from him.

“You’re late,” Aaron stated coldly, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. His eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of disdain and indifference, one eyebrow arching ever so slightly in exasperation. Despite the irritation simmering beneath the surface, his face remained as stoic and composed as he had been trained to keep it. He would not let you—or anyone else—see how much this situation grated on him.