Page 59 of Knot the One They Want

Breathe, Evie. You're fine. You've done this a thousand times.

I inhale slowly through my nose, imagining I'm breathing in serenity and poise, my fraying composure knitting back together. I can't fall apart, not here, not in front of Damien and his impressively banal business associate.

I paste on my most dazzling smile yet as a server sets dessert in front of me, a fancy concoction drizzled in chocolate. The servants were having a hard time earlier with the glaze, so I just handled it myself.

The investor makes an approving noise, his eyes lingering on me in a way that makes my skin crawl. I avert my gaze, focusing on delicately lifting a forkful of the rich confection to my lips. Just a little longer and then I can retreat to the privacy of my room and let the suffocating mask drop.

Under the table, I curl my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms. The sharp sting helps center me, reminds me that this is just another role to play, another act to put on. The perfect, poised omega hostess, hanging on the big, important alpha's every word.

Never mind that inside I feel like I'm splintering apart piece by piece, the cracks in my facade widening with every fake smile and forced giggle. I'll hold it together through sheer force of will if I have to.

I catch Damien watching me again out of the corner of my eye, his expression unreadable. Daring me to let him down.

I lift my chin and take another bite of the cloying dessert. I won't. I'll show him, show everyone, just how perfect an omega I can be.

Even if it means erasing the real Evie, piece by broken piece.

As the investor takes another bite of dessert, he lets out an appreciative moan. "My compliments to the chef. This is exquisite." He turns to me with a smile that's just a touch too familiar. "And might I say, you are quite the talented omega. Beautifulandskilled in the kitchen. The alphas of this pack are lucky indeed."

I duck my head, feigning a pleased flush even as irritation prickles under my skin. Guess there's a silver lining to the fever, after all.

Damien cuts in smoothly. "Yes, we are fortunate to have such an excellent staff. The chefs outdid themselves tonight."

My head jerks up, hurt lancing through me at the dismissal. He can't even let me have this small moment, this one acknowledgment of my efforts?

Lori, bless her, pipes up from her spot against the wall. "Actually, Mr. Blackwood, Miss Evie made the dessert herself. She was in the kitchen all afternoon."

I risk a tiny smile at Lori in thanks, even as I feel Damien's glare boring into the side of my head. He sips his wine, the line of his shoulders rigid with barely suppressed fury.

The rest of the meal passes in a blur, forced pleasantries and strained smiles. I push the food around my plate, stomach twisting with nerves and exhaustion.

Finally, after an eternity, the investor sits back, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "I must say, Damien, I had my doubts about placing my faith in such a young alpha, especially not knowing which direction the company will go in once you take over from your father."

But the investor just chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm happy to say those fears were clearly unfounded. It's clear that you're a family man with a good head on your shoulders if you managed to land yourself such a perfect omega." He winks at me.

I avert my gaze again, murmuring a humble thanks even as bile rises in my throat. Damien's jaw clenches, but he inclines his head graciously. "Your confidence in me and in the future of Blackwood Enterprises is greatly appreciated."

Lake catches my eye as Damien rises to see the investor out, giving me a small, reassuring smile. It does little to soothe the maelstrom brewing in my gut. The unspoken words hang heavy in the air.

I played my part. I was the perfect, charming omega, complimenting the alpha and fading into the background. And yet it still wasn't enough. The dessert, my efforts, dismissed like they were nothing. Like I'm nothing beyond a pretty ornament on Damien's arm.

No… that would mean he actually had to touch me.

Humiliation burns hot and prickling across my skin, warring with the bone-deep fatigue settling over me. I need to get out of here, need to breathe air not choked with alpha posturing and disdain.

Mechanically, I push to my feet, pasting on one more bright smile for the staff as I praise them for their efforts tonight before I excuse myself. My heels click too loudly against the wood floors as I stride down the hall.

The hall seems to stretch on forever, the walls wavering and tilting at odd angles as I stumble toward my room. I blink hard, trying to clear the haze from my vision, but it only makes the vertigo worse. My skin feels too tight, like it might split at the seams, and a cold sweat beads at my hairline.

Just a little further. Just get to your room and you can rest.

I fumble with the doorknob, my fingers clumsy and trembling. It takes three tries before I manage to twist it open and practically fall inside, catching myself on the edge of the vanity.

Alone. I'm alone and I can finally stop pretending. The smile slides off my face like oil, my shoulders slumping as if a puppeteer has cut my strings. In the mirror, my reflection stares back, eyes glassy and cheeks fever-bright against pallid skin.

God, I look awful.

I need to check the bandages, see if the antibiotics are doing anything to combat the infection. My fingers shake as I peel back the gauze, the pain sharpening to a searing burn that steals my breath. I grit my teeth and look down.

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