Maybe?

I sat in my room, wondering if anyone would actually come and tell me when to be ready for. God forbid they have to speak with me. I knew we would have to leave at about 8 o’clock if we wanted to be ‘fashionably late’, and it was about quarter past 5 when I decided to go ask someone. Daring, I know.
“Mother?” I knocked on the door of her room. “May I come in?”
I heard her sigh. “If you must.”
I pushed open the door. “Mother, may I be permitted to go to the ball this evening? I do not need help getting ready, all of your maidservants can stay with you.”
I could feel her staring at me. The absurdity of my question made me doubt I should have even asked. But, to my surprise, she agreed.
“Fine. Just don’t talk to me, or address yourself as one of us. I cannot have society knowing I birthed a beta. Remember to act dangerous, perhaps you’ll get a mate some day…”
The loathing in her voice stung, not like a razor-blade, but more like barbed wire coiled around my throat, pulled taut. “Thank you, Mother.”
“Thank you, Lady Rhodos, I believe you mean.”
“Yes, Lady Rhodos. Thank you, Lady Rhodos.”
She seemed to judge this response adequate. “I shall send one handmaid with you. We can’t have you mis-dressing yourself, can we?” She laughed slightly. “It’s a rhetorical question. I doubt you picked that up. Delilah? Help this girl. What’s her name again?”
Delilah, a maidservant of my mother, hurriedly put down a palette of makeup and scampered over to her. “That is your daughter, Ana.”
“Yes, help Ana get ready. Go!”
Delilah shooed me out of Mother’s room and into my own. “I’m sorry about your mother.” Her large, sympathetic eyes bore into my soul uncomfortably.
“No, it’s fine. I’m used to it. I’m sorry you have to work for her. How old are you, even?”
“15. Only a year younger than yourself, madam.”
It hadn’t exactly computed that most of the maidservants used by Mother were even younger. I remember seeing Delilah even 4 years before.
The silence lasted only a few seconds. “What will you be wearing, madam?”
I thought about telling her not to call me ‘madam’, then decided to enjoy it while it lasts. “I was thinking green, but Mother was wearing green and she would not want us looking similar.”
“Perhaps a pale blue? It would bring out the bright blue of your eyes, and your light hair.” Delilah walked over to the wardrobe, and shuffled through dresses. “Maybe this one?” She pulled out a light, baby-blue dress with short, puffy sleeves and a short skirt. “It will certainly attract attention.”
I did like the dress, and I still do. But.. “I don’t think Mother wants me to capture attention.”
Delilah tilts her head. “Lady Rhodos did not tell you. The Deyanira family will be there. Lady Rhodos wants you to disgrace them by, well,” She blushed. “sultry means.”
“Ah. Like last time I was permitted to go to a ball.” I reminisced bitterly. “No mate-hunting for me.” I turned back to Delilah. “Yes, that dress looks nice. Let’s do that one.”
The next two hours was a confusing bundle of hair, makeup and one particular moment that quite intrigued me. Delilah sprayed me with a perfume that I could both hardly smell, and smell far too strongly.
“What is that perfume?” I had asked.
Delilah checked the bottle. “Omega pheromones. According to Lady Rhodos, it's so strong that every Alpha in the room will want to, um, mate you.”
“Ah. Last time, I didn’t have this.”
“Yes, it’s quite new. Invented in the last few weeks, I believe.”

And now, I am ready. I have staining lipstick, a pale blue, so everyone will know that whoever is covered in blue kiss marks had, well, been overcome with desire. Desire I would willingly accommodate. I know that any so-called ‘gentlealpha’ would carry what my brothers and sisters often refer to as a ‘protection balloon’. Because they are polite, even when talking to each other. I am not so polite. Instead, Mother tells me to use ‘inappropriate language’ to ‘attract alphas to a dangerous mate’, because alphas like that, apparently. So, I know that any so-called ‘gentlealpha’ will have condoms. But I also know many do not. So, I have some in my clutch. They are extra-small ones, but put into an extra-large box, so they will feel emasculated when it breaks. This is all Mother’s scheming, not mine. There’s more, too, but I don’t remember all the details. I go over the plan, again and again, sitting in the car as it seems to jump over the speed-bumps, jolting my nerves again and again.