Page 27 of Knot Like Other Girls

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. Just a few more minutes, I tell myself. Just a few more minutes of sanity before I have to face him again.

"I'll be right out," I call, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. "Just… freshening up."

"Well, hurry up! They'll be here any minute, and I want to capture their first impressions for my followers!"

Of course he does. Everything in Braxley's life is content, a carefully curated feed of hashtag moments and aspirational lifestyle shots. Even a traumatic event like an assassination attempt becomes fodder for his insatiable need for attention.

With a sigh, I unlock the door and step out into the hallway. Braxley is there, phone in hand, already recording.

"There she is, folks! My beautiful fiancée, always keeping me waiting," he says with a wink to the camera that only shows the side of his face that doesn't have a gauze bandage covering the area above his perfectly manicured eyebrow. Pretty sure he doesn't even need a bandage, but God forbid someone sees he has two stitches. "Bella, darling, tell the people how excited you are to meet our new security team!"

I force a smile, hating how fake it feels on my face. "Oh, very excited," I lie smoothly. "I'm sure they'll help us feel much safer."

Braxley beams, clearly pleased with my performance. "Isn't she just the sweetest? Now, let's give everyone a tour of the penthouse before our guests arrive!"

He grabs my hand, pulling me along as he narrates every detail of our surroundings for his virtual audience. The Italian marble countertops in the kitchen, the custom-built walk-in closet that's bigger than my old apartment, the "content creation room" with its professional lighting and backdrops.

It's all so... empty.

Soulless.

A showroom masquerading as a home.

I tune out Braxley's chatter, nodding and smiling at appropriate intervals as my mind wanders. I wonder what these bodyguards will be like. Probably more musclebound brutes like the last batch, all crew cuts and monosyllabic grunts. But maybe they'll provide some buffer between me and Braxley's constant need for attention.

The sound of the doorbell cuts through Braxley's monologue, and his face lights up with an excitement that makes my stomach churn.

"They're here!" he squeals, grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the entrance. "Quick, how do I look? Is my hair okay?"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You look fine, Braxley. Perfect, as always."

He preens at the compliment, adjusting his already impeccable hair in the hallway mirror. "You're right, of course. Alright, let's go meet our new protectors!"

As Braxley flings open the door, phone at the ready to capture the moment, I hang back slightly. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't... this.

Five men stand in the doorway, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. They're all impossibly tall, well over six feet, with the kind of muscular builds that speak of years of hard training rather than hours in a gym. But it's not just their physical presence that's overwhelming. There's an aura of danger around them, barely contained power simmering just beneath the surface.

These aren't the cookie-cutter security guards I was expecting. These men look like they've walked straight out of a war zone.

Braxley, oblivious to the sudden tension in the air, thrusts his phone forward, nearly smacking it into the chest of the alpha in front. "Welcome to Casa de Worthington!" he chirps, his voicegrating in the sudden silence. "I'm Braxley, and this is my lovely fiancée, Bella. Say hi to the camera, boys!"

The alpha, tall with bronzed skin, messy dark hair, and piercing golden-hazel eyes, doesn't even glance at the phone. His gaze sweeps over us, assessing, calculating. When his eyes meet mine, I feel a strange jolt. Judging from the way he freezes when he sees me, he feels it, too.

Whatever it is, it makes my heart race.

The alpha tears his gaze away from me, the muscles in his neck standing out in stark relief. "Mr. Worthington," he says, his voice deep and controlled. "I'm Roman De Luca, head of the Vanguard Pack. We're here to ensure your safety, not to be part of your social media presence."

Braxley's smile falters for a moment, but he rallies quickly. "Oh, come on! My followers are dying to meet you guys. Just a quick intro for the 'Gram, yeah?"

He pushes forward, shoving the phone into the face of the alpha standing slightly behind Roman. Then Braxley turns as white as the alpha’s choppy hair. “Oh, holy fuck, your face?—“

And that's when things go sideways.

It happens so fast I almost miss it. There's a blur of movement and the phone goes flying, clattering across the marble floor as Braxley yelps in surprise.

"What the hell?" Braxley sputters, his face reddening with anger as he rushes to collect his phone, already moaning over a chip in the pearly edge. "Do you know how much that phone costs? It’s limited edition!"

I get my first glimpse at the alpha who knocked the phone away, but it's too quick for me to register anything other than the burn scars marring the right side of his face. They're partially hidden by the angle he's standing at and his stark white hair.

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