Page 115 of Knot Like Other Girls

His eyebrows shoot up. "You're moving in with them? After knowing them for—what—a few days?"

"They're my security team," I say smoothly. "And considering recent events, I think we can both agree my safety is a legitimate concern."

A flicker of understanding crosses his face. "Ah. So that's the story we're telling."

"It's not a story. Heather is still out there," I remind him. "This way, you can tell your parents and your followers I'm staying at a secure location under protection, which is true. I'll come back for the charity gala and any absolutely essential appearances, but that's it. I won't be appearing in your social media posts. I won't be playing the adoring fiancée anymore."

He nods quickly. "That's fair. More than fair. The charity gala is the main thing—my parents will be there."

"One event," I say clearly and firmly, so it really sinks in. "Not two. One."

"Got it." He pauses, swallowing hard. "And it's... safe there? With them?"

The question surprises me with what sounds like genuine concern. I could lie, but what's the point? Braxley knows about the Vanguard pack. He's seen the way they look at me, the way I look at them.

"I'm safer with them than I've ever been," I answer simply.

Understanding dawns in his eyes. "Because they're your matches."

It's not a question, but I nod anyway.

Braxley studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, surprisingly, he laughs—a short, harsh sound without humor. "You know, it's almost poetic. You spent months pretending to be in love with me while secretly longing for freedom. And I spent those same months pretending to be attracted to omegas while secretly longing for..." He trails off, shaking his head.

"Something real?" I suggest.

His eyes meet mine, and for once, I see genuine emotion there. "Yeah. Something real."

In that moment, I catch a glimpse of the person Braxley might have been if he hadn't been crushed under the weight of his family's expectations. If he hadn't built his entire identity around the carefully curated fiction of his perfect alpha life.

"I hope you find it someday," I tell him, and I'm surprised to realize I mean it.

He looks away, his momentary vulnerability disappearing behind his usual mask of polished indifference. "Well. This has been sufficiently awkward," he says, slapping his hands down on his thighs before getting up. "I'll, uh... I'll let you go, then."

And just like that, the glimpse of real connection vanishes. The Braxley I know—superficial, self-absorbed, perpetually performing—clicks back into place like he never left.

"I'll be packed and gone within the hour," I tell him, rising from the sofa.

He nods, already reaching for his phone. "I'll make myself scarce so your new boyfriends don't eat me for breakfast."

"They already ate," I say flatly.

I leave him there in his glass cage, perfectly framed against the Los Angeles skyline, and head back to the kitchen where five tense alphas are trying to pretend they haven't been listening to every word.

Cole's expression is thunderous, but he doesn't speak as I approach. Savva, ever the diplomat, breaks the strained silence.

"Everything alright?" he asks.

I nod, suddenly exhausted by the whole situation. "I need to pack. We're leaving for your place as soon as I'm ready."

"I'll help," Cole says immediately, pushing away from the counter where he's been leaning.

"We all will," Troy adds, his usual playful demeanor subdued.

As I lead them toward the guest room where most of my things are still in boxes, their collective concern soothes my nerves. I can feel it thrumming through the bond my spirit is already weaving with these alphas that are so focused on my wellbeing.

My scent matches.

And if I choose them… my pack.

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