Page 137 of Hard Knot

"You spiral," I say slowly, understanding blooming in my chest. "Everything you've built in your mind, every future you've been told to expect...it all comes crashing down. The foundation you thought was solid turns out to be sand, and you're left trying to figure out who you are without all those expectations defining you."

I think about my own family — the subtle and not-so-subtle pressures from both sides. The Abercrombie legacy weighing heavy on one shoulder, the expectations pressing down on the other.

"I can relate, in a way," I admit, fidgeting with the pages of the book in my lap. "The pressure from both family sides was intense, even though my actual parents weren't the ones pushing the hardest. Mom…she gets swayed easily by what her family says. All those generations of carefully maintained status, of knowing exactly what your role should be...but then again, she never really understood Alpha or Omega dynamics until I got plagued with it."

A soft laugh escapes me as I think about my father.

"But Dad? He didn't give a shit what other people said. Still doesn't, from what I hear. All he ever cared about was making sure his girl was okay." My voice softens with affection. "Even when I presented as an Omega, even when it 'ruined' all their carefully laid plans...he just wanted me safe, even if it meant hiding me home for as long as I needed to get my shit together. Even then, it was never rushed or forced to jump into this world. He let me take the reigns, to lead myself down this foreign path."

I glance at Holmes, seeing something flash in his expression at the mention of fathers who actually care about their children's wellbeing.

"Not everyone has that luxury," he says quietly. "Some families see children as assets to be managed, alliances to be forged. Vivian was raised knowing exactly what was expected of her…who she would mate with, what position she would hold, and how her life would play out. When that certainty was taken away..."

He trails off, but his hand moves unconsciously to his scarred eye.

"She couldn't handle the loss of control," I finish for him, understanding blooming in my chest. "So she tried to take control in the only way she could. By making sure you'd never forget her."

"By making sure no one would ever want me," he corrects, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. "A marked Alpha is a broken Alpha in our world. Who would want to align themselves with someone who couldn't even protect themselves from an Omega?"

The self-loathing in his voice makes something in my chest ache.

"Is that why you wear the blindfold?" I ask softly. "To hide what she did?"

He's quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if I've pushed too far.

But then he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"To hide what I let her do," he says. "I saw the blade. Saw the intent in her eyes. But I didn't stop her. Couldn't bring myself to hurt her, even when she—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching. "Some Alpha I turned out to be."

Understanding floods through me as pieces click into place. His careful silence, his maintained distance, the way he pushes people away before they can get close enough to see the vulnerability behind his walls.

It was never about superiority or disdain.

It was about protection — not just for himself, but for anyone who might get too close.

"You didn't let her do anything," I say firmly, surprising myself with the intensity in my voice. "She took advantage of your decency, of your unwillingness to harm an Omega, and she used it as a weapon. That doesn't make you weak. It makes her a monster."

He seeks refuge in my eyes, searching for any hint of deception or pity. But I hold his gaze steadily, letting him see the conviction behind my words. This isn't about comfort or platitudes —it's about truth, raw and unvarnished.

"You deserved better," I say softly but firmly. "And though she got the peaceful way out with death, that doesn't mean you should be plagued for the rest of your life. Allowing such harm to be a permanent reason for isolation from the world...that's letting her win long after she's gone."

My hand finds his cheek again, and this time he doesn't flinch from the contact.

Instead, something seems to unravel inside him — years of tension seeping from his bones like poison from a wound. His eye closes, face turning slightly into my touch as if seeking warmth he's long denied himself.

The vulnerability in the gesture makes my heart ache.

Moving with deliberate slowness, giving him every chance to pull away, I lean in until our breaths mingle. The kiss I press to his lips is gentle, barely there — a whisper of connection rather than a demand.

When I pull back slightly, his eye opens halfway, heavy-lidded as he processes what just happened. The look in that single visible eye makes my breath catch — something between wonder and wariness, like he can't quite believe this is real.

"I don't care how the world perceives us outside these walls," I whisper, the words falling soft between us. "I don't even care if we have to keep acting like we despise each other relentlessly...but what I want to make clear here and now, in the depths of these comforting shadows, is that you are an Alpha worth fighting for."

My thumb traces the curve of his cheekbone as I continue.

"That's what she missed out on. That's what she would have never acknowledged, and maybe even in the afterlife she still doesn't see it,” I emphasize but carry forward. “But I'm here. I'm alive and can see very clearly, deep behind all those layers, is an Alpha who wishes to be among the living again. For the past to not plague him with constant regret and turmoil. A man whoyearns to be loved the right way and not set up to love someone who doesn't align with his wants, passions, and needs."

My hand drifts higher, fingertips ghosting over his injured eye. I pause, giving him time to stop me, but his silence feels like permission. With infinite care, I trace the scar itself, mapping its contours with the lightest touch.

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