Page 23 of Knot Like Other Girls

I pull up the security footage on the big screen TV. The image is grainy, but we can make out the basics. A crowded terrace overlooking the Mediterranean. Braxley on one knee with a ring box in his hand, proposing to the omega before him.

I'm momentarily distracted from the scene by her beauty, even in the grainy, low-resolution footage. By the way her chestnut hair flows in soft waves down her shoulders, by her guarded stance.

Then chaos as a shot rings out.

"Single shooter," Cole murmurs, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Professional. That's a difficult shot to make with all those people around."

I nod, agreeing with his assessment. "The bullet grazed Worthington's eyebrow. Could have been a warning shot, or the shooter could have been thrown off by the crowd."

"Or they're a shit shot," Troy adds helpfully.

I ignore him, focusing on the footage. "The shooter escaped in the chaos. No clear images, no DNA left behind. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing."

Savva leans forward, his hazel-green eyes narrowed. "What's the motive? Money? Revenge? Political statement?"

"Unclear," I admit. "The Worthingtons have their share of enemies, but nothing that stands out as an obvious suspect. Could be business rivals, could be a personal vendetta. Whateverthe case, it's nowhere near as chaotic a situation as what we're used to."

Troy grins. "Man, and here I thought this was gonna be a boring babysitting gig. Sounds like we've got ourselves a real mystery on our hands."

I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. It's infectious, and God knows we could use some of that right now. "Don't get too excited. Our primary job is still protection. The investigation is secondary."

"Yeah, yeah," Troy waves me off. "But you can't tell me you're not at least a little intrigued. I mean, come on. Rich playboy, small-town omega, assassination attempts... it's like something out of a movie."

"Life isn't a movie, Troy," Cole says quietly, his eyes still fixed on the security footage. "People die in real life."

"Here comes the rain on our parade," Troy mutters.

But Cole is right. We've seen enough death, caused enough of it ourselves, to know that real violence isn't glamorous or exciting. It's brutal, messy, and final.

I shake my head, trying to refocus on the task at hand. "Alright, let's dig deeper into our clients. Savva, what else can you find on Worthington's social media?"

Savva's fingers fly over his phone screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Well, our boy Braxley certainly loves himself. His Instagram is a shrine to his own face. Lots of shirtless gym selfies, 'candid' shots of him lounging by pools in exotic locations, the occasional product placement for some overpriced skincare line."

Troy leans over Savva's shoulder, snorting at whatever he sees. "Jesus, does this guy own a shirt? And what's with all the hashtags? #AlphaLifestyle, #BlessedAndBoujee, #WorthingtonWednesday? Is that last one even a thing?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Focus on anything that might be relevant to the case. Any posts about enemies, business rivals, disgruntled ex-girlfriends?"

Savva scrolls further, his expression growing more amused by the second. "Nothing obvious. Though there is a rather dramatic post from about six months ago about a 'fake friend' who 'betrayed' him. Lots of vague statements about karma and 'real ones know who they are.' Very high school drama queen energy."

"Great," Liam mutters. "So we're bodyguards and babysitters after all."

I'm about to reprimand him when Savva makes a small noise of interest. "Well, hello there."

"What?" I ask, moving closer to see his screen.

"I found the fiancée's Instagram. Bella Emerson." Savva turns his phone so we can all see. "She's... not what I expected."

The screen shows a young omega with long, dark hair and striking green eyes. She's not done up like the typical Instagram model. No heavy filters or provocative poses. Braxley is grinning like an idiot, but Bella just looks bored as she stands beside him, a soft smile on her lips that doesn't reach her eyes.

Something stirs in my chest, a feeling I can't quite name. She's beautiful, yes, but it's more than that. There's a warmth to her, a genuineness that seems at odds with the world she's about to marry into.

"Damn," Troy breathes with a low whistle. "How the hell did a guy like Braxley land a girl like that?"

I find myself wondering the same thing. Bella Emerson looks nothing like the vapid socialites that usually hang off the arms of men like Braxley Worthington. There's an intelligence in her eyes, a quiet strength in the set of her shoulders.

"She doesn't post much," Savva observes, scrolling through her feed. "Mostly books she's reading, a few nature shots. Eithershe doesn't like to post, or Braxley—or his family—doesn't let her."

I nod, filing away the information. "Could be useful. Savva, see what you can find about her family and background. If someone's targeting Worthington, they might try to get to him through her."

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