Page 7 of Knot All is Forgiven

The Perfect Omega, Nora Summers, is a twenty-two-year-old local genetically designed to be everything an Alpha could want. I met her briefly at the photo shoot, and she was … strange. I don't know much about being an Omega, but no one can be that happy all the time, can they?

After too long of a beat, I rush out, "Thank you, sir." Mr. Woods's shoulders stiffen, and his eyes narrow. I could swear his nostrils flared, too.

"Right," he clears his throat, "Milton is very impressed by your work ethic."

Milton is a Beta and the senior executive in the print division. He's nearing retirement age and easy to please, as long as you do your job. I like working with him.

"I'm glad to hear that. Milton is a great boss."

"You've been in your role for two years now, correct?" He pushes back a little from his desk and reclines a bit, his arms behind his head. "Leading a division must be tough."

I finally relax and lean on my elbow on the plush leather chair. His office is a study in quiet luxury, and while it's not overstuffed with things, it is evident that a lot of money has been invested in the furnishings.

"Everyone working on the design team is incredible. I'm just one piece of the well-oiled machine." My wavy red hair falls in my face, and I push it back behind my ear. "Really, I'm fortunate to be a part of such a great division."

He smiles, his teeth one shade too white, and steeples his fingers. "I'm glad to hear that. You're humble and hard-working. The type of person we want working at HUG."

"I can't image being elsewhere." I struggle to understand why I am here. I'm not sure what the point of this conversation is, and I'm starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Nothing Mr. Woods is doing, but something is not sitting right.

"Forgive me if this is too personal, Jordan," he begins, and I inhale sharply. This can't be good. "But are you an Omega?"

My stomach falls out of my ass. Why would he be asking?

As open as I am about my status with friends and family, it's not a good look to come into your office swearing you're one designation when you're another. My therapist humors my belief that I'm an Omega, and even she would say to keep that shit to myself.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable," he says quickly. "I cannot seem to get a good scent of you, but my pack is looking for an Omega…"

"I'm a Beta," I say quickly. "I have been told my scent is strong for a Beta. It's caused confusion before." I plaster on a smile that I hope doesn't make me look like I'm dying inside. "But no, just a Beta."

He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It's like he can tell I'm lying. But am I? Legally, I'm registered as a Beta.

Wouldn't it be funny if the first person who believed I was an Omega was my boss, who was trying to hit on me?

"Well, that's unfortunate. Regardless, I brought you here today to tell you that Milton has requested to train you as his replacement. He's looking to retire next year, and we want to ensure the division is in good hands." He pushes to stand as he speaks, and I mirror his position. "Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"Oh my gosh, yes!" I bounce a little on my toes. "I would love that."

"Good, glad to hear it. We'll discuss more later. Thanks for talking." He ushers me out of his office quickly, leaving my head reeling slightly.

I decide a coffee is in order, and I head down to the shop in the lobby. While I wait for my soy milk latte, I take in the hustle of downtown Lunarcrest City out the front window. It's a typical day, with people in suits walking down the street and traffic moving at a snail's pace.

I've always loved Lunarcrest City. Despite everything that happened before I arrived, Lunarcrest has always felt like a clean slate to me.

The barista calls my name, and I turn to grab my coffee, but a flash of metal in the corner of my eye draws my attention to an expensive-looking motorcycle parked across the street.

I don't know much about bikes, but it looks nice. Leaning against it is a man who looks tall from a distance, with green hair and wearing ripped denim and a leather vest.

The coffee is warm against my palm as I take it from the barista, and when I turn around to look at the green-haired man again, he's gone.

Chapter four

Present Day

"You do realize, ofcourse, Miss Cross, that you are thirty-two years old. You are officially double the age most Omegas present at," the doctor tells me, a cream folder sitting in front of him on the desk.

I brace myself, knowing what's coming next.

For sixteen years, I have fought tooth and nail to find out why I have not presented as an Omega. Everyone is very clear when they speak to me that they believe I am a delusional Beta. And for a while, I believed them.

---