Page 135 of Hard Knot

"Honestly," I continue, flipping to one of my favorite passages, "I think it takes more intelligence to admit when you need the 'easier' version of something than to pretend you understand everything perfectly. Like, look at this."

I point to a particularly dense section of text.

"The original is beautiful, but sometimes you need those modern translations to really grasp the wordplay and hidden meanings. It doesn't make you less intelligent to want clarity — it makes you smarter because you're actually trying to understand rather than just nodding along pretending you get it."

I catch him watching me with an intensity that makes heat rise to my cheeks.

"Sorry," I mutter, suddenly self-conscious. "I tend to ramble when I'm passionate about something. James used to say it was like trying to drink from a fire hose — once I get going, it's hard to stop the flow of information."

But there's something almost soft in his expression now, like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

The silence stretches between us, but it feels comfortable rather than strained. Natural, like we're both taking the time we need to process this moment.

Looking around this hidden corner of his home, at the carefully preserved books and the way light plays through the blinds, I find myself understanding him a little better.

This is where he comes to be himself — no blindfold, no carefully maintained distance, just a man who finds solace in well-loved pages and ancient words.

A man who might understand more about hiding behind facades than anyone would guess.

"Victoria isn't really my ex," Holmes says quietly, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

I frown, looking up from my page-turning to study his profile. He's not looking at me though — his attention is fixed ona particular passage in his edition. The page is well-worn, with both highlighting and a tab marking its significance. My eyes catch the text he's studying:

"'These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume.'"

— Romeo and Juliet. Act II, Scene VI.

Words about passion leading to destruction, about love burning too bright too fast. There's something heavy in the way his finger traces the highlighted lines, something that speaks of personal experience rather than just literary appreciation.

"Victoria had a sister," he continues, his voice carrying that careful measure I'm starting to recognize as him choosing his words precisely. "Older by two minutes."

Twins.

The realization clicks into place as I process this information.

"Vivian," he says, answering my unspoken question. "Our families arranged it. The perfect match on paper. The Holmes heir and the elder Sinclair twin. An Omega from a prestigious family, carefully groomed to be the perfect mate."

His laugh holds no humor.

"We dated for months, going through all the expected motions. But there was no chemistry. No spark, no connection, nothing that would make a genuine bond possible. I wasn't happy, and it was painfully obvious to anyone who saw us together. We were just...performing. Playing roles we'd been assigned without any real feeling behind them."

He turns a page, though I don't think he's really reading anymore.

"I couldn't stand the idea of being tied to someone who shared none of my interests. Who only saw the financial benefits of our union. When I officially formed the pack with Carterand Felix, I thought it would give me an excuse to end things gracefully."

A shadow crosses his features.

"There was a fourth member originally — Marcus. He had his eye on a young Omega, much younger than us. The age gap raised some eyebrows, but he wasn't interested in her that way. More like a guardian angel, always watching out for her, making sure she was safe. I saw her once. So bright and full of life. It was almost sickening, but you could tell just watching her from afar was enough for him."

His voice grows rougher.

"When Vivian started pushing to be our pack's Omega, Marcus couldn't handle it. The timing wasn’t right at all. That Omega he was protecting…she was found in an alley, barely breathing. They rushed her to the hospital with his command, but..." He trails off, his grip tightening on the book. "No one really knows if she survived. Another statistic in our world's endless cycle of violence against Omegas."

The weight of his words settles between us like lead.

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