Page 50 of Knot Happening Again

"Where?" I manage to ask, the word barely more than a whisper.

"I haven't managed to get her home address yet," Johnson admits, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. He's not used to dead ends, to information that eludes him. "But I found out where she works."

There's a long pause, and I can feel my patience wearing thin. Every second that passes is another moment of uncertainty, another twist of the knife in my gut.

"Spit it out, Johnson," I growl, pushing off the wall and beginning to pace the narrow alley.

He sighs, a heavy sound that carries the weight of bad news. "She usually works at a rut bar called the Scent Bar. And there's a record of her working with an omega escort service as recently as a few years back."

The world tilts on its axis, the ground beneath my feet suddenly unstable. Sweet, innocent Ophelia, working as an escort? The girl I knew, with her designer clothes and carefully manicured nails, having to slum it inrut bars?

It doesn't compute.

Part of me wants to reach through the phone and throttle Johnson for even suggesting it.

"You've got to be mistaken," I snarl, my free hand clenching into a fist.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Carver," Johnson says, his voice gentle, almost pitying. It makes my skin crawl. "I'm sending you a picture now. It's from the escort agency's private website."

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. With shaking hands, I pull it away from my ear and open it.

And there she is.

Ophelia.

She's older now, and somehow even more beautiful than I remember. Her raven hair falls in soft waves around her face, framing those piercing blue eyes that seem to stare straight into my soul. She's wearing a high-collared dress, deep blue satin that hugs her curves. The collar, I realize with a start, is no doubt hiding the mark.

The mark I left on her neck all those years ago.

My chest aches as I stare at the picture, drinking in every detail. The slight tilt of her chin, defiant even in this degrading situation. The curve of her lips, not quite a smile but not a frown either.

And her eyes...

They're harder now, guarded in a way they never were before. But there's still a spark there, a fire that refuses to be extinguished.

Is this what I reduced her to?

She's living like this because of me.

The questions swirl in my mind, a torrent of guilt and self-loathing that threatens to drown me.

"Mr. Carver?" Johnson's voice pulls me back to the present, tinny and distant through the phone's speaker. "What would you like me to do next?"

I hesitate, torn between the desperate need to see her and the crushing guilt that threatens to overwhelm me. What right do I have to barge back into her life after all this time? Haven't I done enough damage?

But the thought of leaving her like this, of turning my back on her again...

I can't do it.

I won't.

"Nothing for now," I say finally, my voice hoarse. "I'm cutting my trip short."

"Understood," Johnson says, and I can hear the surprise in his voice. He's used to clients who want to dig deeper, to uncover every sordid detail. But I've heard enough. More than enough. "Shall I continue the investigation?"

"No," I tell him, my tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll take it from here. Thank you for your work."

I end the call before he can respond, my mind racing. I should be heading home, back to Rhys and the others. Back to the omega who's supposedly our scent match. A chance to complete our pack, to build the future we've always dreamed of.

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