Page 67 of Knot Happening Again

"Oh, Ophelia," she breathes. "You look stunning."

She guides me to a full-length mirror, and I can't help but stare at my reflection. The woman looking back at me is a far cry from the tired, nervous wreck I've been feeling like lately. She looks confident, beautiful, maybe even a little dangerous.

"It's perfect," I admit, running my hands over the soft fabric. "But are you sure it's not too much? I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard."

Natalie snorts, shaking her head. "Trust me, you're going to knock those alphas dead. In a good way," she adds quickly.

As I change back into my own clothes, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirls in my stomach. I'm still not sure this whole thing is going to work out. There are so many ways it could go wrong, so many reasons why I shouldn't let myself hope.

But as I hand over my credit card to pay for the dress, I can't help but feel a tiny spark of optimism.

Maybe Natalie's right.

Maybe these alphas are different.

Maybe this could be the start of something good.

And even if it all falls apart, at least I'll look hot while it happens.

CHAPTER 18

LEON

As I stand in the foyer of our pack house, my heart heavy with the weight of everything I've been keeping from my packmates. From my own bond mate. The familiar scents of home—sandalwood from Rhys's favorite incense, the lingering aroma of Mace's cooking, the faint trace of Troy's leather jacket hanging on a hook by the door—all assault my senses, reminding me of everything I've been avoiding.

I've been gone for weeks, telling myself it's for a good cause, that I'm doing this for the pack. But deep down, in the darkest corners of my mind where I can't hide from the truth, I know I'm being a coward.

My fingers trace the smooth surface of my phone in my pocket, a constant reminder of my failure. I've been trying to track down Ophelia again, to make things right, to prove that she's our true scent match.

But I've got nothing to show for it.

No contact.

No progress.

Just a growing sense of desperation that gnaws at my insides like a hungry beast.

I know that Rhys is going to want me to meet this new omega he thinks is our scent match. I knew the moment he sent that text asking me to come home and those four dreaded words.

We need to talk.

Time is up.

But how can I explain to him that this omega, whoever she is, can't possibly be right for us? How can I make him understand that our true match is out there when she won't even talk to me?

I need to have a solid case for why this new omega isn't our match, but without any contact with Ophelia, my arguments feel flimsy, built on a foundation of sand that's rapidly eroding beneath my feet. I still haven't been able to track down her personal phone number, despite paying my private investigator enough to ignore every other client on his list.

I pace the length of the foyer, my footsteps echoing in the empty space. The house feels too big, too quiet without the usual bustle of pack life. It's my fault, I know. I've disrupted the harmony we've worked so hard to build, all because of my past mistakes and current cowardice.

I debate whether I should show up at the Scent Bar again. The memory of my last visit there flashes through my mind—Ophelia's cold eyes, her bitter words, the threat of her calling security. I don't think she was bluffing about calling them if I showed up again. The thought of being thrown out, of causing a scene that could potentially harm her job and make her hate me even more, is far from ideal.

Even if the thought of her doing that kind of work churns my stomach. But I know she won't accept my help, either. Not unless I can find a way to convince her.

With a heavy sigh, I make my way through the house. Each step feels like I'm walking through molasses, my body resisting the confrontation I know is coming.

The familiar surroundings mock me. Photos of happier times on the walls, the half-finished puzzle on the coffee table that we all work on together during pack nights. All reminders of what I stand to lose if I can't fix this mess.

I find Rhys in the upstairs living room. He's standing by the window, his back to me, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. The sight of him sends a pang through my chest. Loyalty and guilt and fear all tangled up in a knot that I don't know how to unravel.

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