Page 47 of Knot Their Omega

“Nothing wrong with that,” Icarus mutters calmly. “You’re only nineteen. Can’t expect you to suddenly be able to travel the world and do every activity in the books of social productivity. The point of life is to discover new things but not to feel pressured to race through it where you don’t acknowledge the journey at hand.”

Never thought I’d comfortably admit it, but Icarus is the most interesting Alpha I’ve ever had the privilege of interacting with. From our first interaction, I expected some cocky douche who knew the power he carried in this world by being born an Alpha male in this society of power.

However, after our intense sexual fling that led to another steamy session of lust in the shower, then us distracting ourselves by getting lost in conversation, I realize what an amazing man he really is.

It’s odd to compare him, but this calm aspect of himself gives me a bit of Knox when he delivers words of wisdom and encouragement. There’s also a bit of Velvet in the mix with his demeanor and short temperament.

Not much correlation, but seeing as I have very few individuals in my circle of family and friends, it’s the best way for me to categorize his traits.

I didn’t expect him to get upset when I explained my upbringing and the situation going on with my mother. He got defensive on my behalf, explaining how wrong and exploitative her behavior and lifestyle had impacted my and my dad’s life. How his pack had no choice but to distance themselves because that toxic cycle of repetitive agony can leave someone in a whole lot of regret as time goes on.

Regret leads to resentment, and that in an Alpha can shift into a dangerous layer of fury.

Anger that can unravel into something so negative, someone will get hurt at the end of it.

“You’re still young, too,” I admit. “Twenty-three, yes?”

“Mhmm.” He’s been playing with my hair for a few minutes now. I doubt he even realizes it. We’ve been laying in this bed—that I’ve yet to learn who it belongs to—talking about our lives as though we’ve dated for months. What’s comforting is how I don’t feel as though he’s judging me.

“You’ve done a lot, though, for your age,” I comment. “Becoming a talent manager means you climbed the ladder ruthlessly to get there.”

“In this industry, yeah.” He doesn’t sugarcoat it. “Many stopped trying to use my age against me. Seemed childish.”

That makes me giggle while trying to envision a confrontation with one of the many snarky Alpha douches who think they’re better than you for far too many reasons.

“You have the typical workers who think they’re better than you because they’ve been in the industry longer,” I summarize the first potential coworker who’s ready to ignite conflict. “Then there are the ones who will emphasize how close they were to a promotion, but they declined the offer versus losing it to someone ‘less’ qualified because they were focusing on their mental health. Then there are the ones who have to emphasize working with every single celebrity because they’re that sought out,” I summarize the top three in my mind. “Did I miss the mark?”

“Bullseye multiplied by three,” he says with a lazy smirk. “Don’t forget the ones in management who were one step closer to being in your very position, but the timing wasn’t right.”

That has me laughing because I’ve heard that excuse in various scenarios. It’s one of the benefits of being a secret celebrity lyricist.

Hearing and witnessing all the tea while blending in the shadows like an average, boring person in society.

”Outside of the daily struggles of being in the creative industry, do you like it?” I’m curious because he can’t be doing this just for the money. He doesn’t look like the type who would put up with the stressors of managing various bands and artists.

He thinks about it for a long minute before he answers.

“Yes. Aside from how stressful and unfair this industry is, I do enjoy what I can bring to the table. How an artist can go from an unheard nobody into an idol everyone is fascinated with. I feel like it’s more of my duty to ensure they remain humble, but it’s tricky in this industry, especially surrounded by Alphas. Even I get cocky sometimes, but I have people in my life to keep me accountable when it gets too much,” he quietly confesses.

I’m surprised by the vulnerability in his voice, as though there are very few who have heard him express these words of admission.

“A lot of these artists have emotional pasts. Stories that are told in the music they work hard to get out there. It’s my purpose to use all avenues to get them acknowledged by a world that moves far too quickly. It’s rewarding when you get to see them have their ‘I made it’ moment. Whether that’s on the stage with thousands of fans waving their lit phones to the music or in a small gathering of VIP individuals who’ve paid thousands to meet them for the first time.” He’s looking at the ceiling, his gaze far away as he envisions his reality. “The hardest part is translating their experience into musical creations that speak to their audience.”

“So, creating the song?” I offer.

“Sort of,” he admits. “There’s the music that needs to be just right. It’s difficult when we’re in a generation where everything needs to be a trendy pop hit. Lyrics are getting less impressive, in my honest opinion. Most music now doesn’t make sense. Just talking about sex. Dick and pussy. So much stupid shit. Talent is going viral not because of the impact a song has on the individual but the stupidity around its creation. It makes you lose out on appreciating the music that are lyrical masterpieces.”

“They get slept on,” I whisper with a smile, following his gaze as I stare at the ceiling with him, the skylight in particular catching my attention. “That’s why finding the right lyricist matters. Even if it means you need multiple ones to create the masterpiece that hits the mark in expressive artistry. I don’t think artists realize how powerful it is to have someone who can write a powerful piece of music.”

“No, they realize,” he whispers. My attention is drawn to him, the two of us sharing a look. “Yet, their desperation to go viral overrides creating works they’re proud of.”

“That’s what leads to their ultimate failure,” I conclude. “Their longevity is severed until they’re no longer relevant in our fast world.”

“Unless their creations are written by Vesper,” he notes. “Somehow ‘he’ creates music that trends continuously.”

I smirk at the use of ‘he’as I give him a side glance.

“Why aren’t you running to the hills to tell everyone Blair Vesper is a weak Omega?” I suggest, expecting him to rat me out because what does he gain from keeping this a secret? In my gut, I don’t feel like he’ll do that, but I barely knew this man for twenty-four hours. He can flip a switch when he feels like it.

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