Page 30 of Knot Like Other Girls

"We'll need to implement additional security measures here," Roman says, all business. "Window reinforcements, panic buttons, possibly a safe room."

Braxley's face falls. "But... but that'll ruin the aesthetic! Do you know how long it took to get this room perfect?"

I watch as Roman takes a deep breath, clearly summoning every ounce of patience he possesses. "Mr. Worthington, I understand your concerns about maintaining your image. But our primary concern is your safety. Yours and Miss Emerson's."

At the mention of my name, all eyes turn to me. I feel a flush creeping up my neck under the weight of their collective gaze. "I... I think we should listen to them, Braxley," I say, my voicesounding small even to my own ears. "They're the experts, after all."

Braxley pouts, looking for all the world like a child who's been told he can't have dessert. "Fine," he huffs. "But I want final approval on everything. And it all better be removable. I can't have my followers thinking I live in Fort Knox."

Roman nods, a tight smile on his face. "Of course. We'll work with you to ensure everything meets your... aesthetic requirements."

As Braxley launches into a detailed description of his preferred color scheme and materials, I find myself drifting toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. The view of Los Angeles spread out below us is breathtaking, the city lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth.

It's beautiful, in a distant sort of way. But standing here, looking down at a world I'm no longer part of, I've never felt more alone.

A presence at my side startles me out of my melancholy thoughts. I turn to find Cole standing there, looking out at the same view. He doesn't speak, doesn't even look at me, but somehow his silent presence is comforting. This side of his face is unscarred, save for a fresh-looking scratch on his cheek. Like the other Vanguard Pack alphas, Cole is relentlessly handsome. His features are sharp, almost beautiful. Like a fallen angel. His bone-white hair, falling in choppy layers that almost brush his broad shoulders, makes the comparison even more apt.

Is it white from shock? He can’t be beyond his late twenties at the most, and his eyebrows are darker with just a few white flecks. At least, the one I can see is. I think the other might be scarred over. What hell has this alpha been through?

We stand there for a moment, two outcasts in a world of glitz and glamor, watching the city below. I breathe deeply, catching a hint of his scent. Stone, with a hint of smoke and cool mountainair. It's subtle, barely there beneath all the scents Braxley pumps through the ventilation system, but it grounds me in a way I can't explain.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" I say softly, not really expecting a response.

To my surprise, Cole grunts, a low sound that might be agreement. When he speaks, his voice is rough, like gravel underfoot. "Looks can be deceiving."

Before I can respond, he's moving away, melting back into the shadows as if he was never there.

I'm left staring after him, a strange ache in my chest. In those few words, Cole managed to articulate everything I've been feeling since I entered this glittering, empty world.

Looks can be deceiving indeed.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of technical discussions and thinly veiled power struggles. Braxley insists on having his say in every decision, from the placement of security cameras to the type of locks on the doors. The alphas, to their credit, remain patient throughout, though I catch more than one exasperated glance exchanged between them.

As the night wears on, I find myself growing increasingly exhausted. It's not just physical tiredness, though that's certainly part of it. It's an emotional fatigue, born from months of playing a role I never wanted, of smiling and nodding and pretending this is the life I've always dreamed of.

Finally, mercifully, Roman calls an end to the discussions. "I think that's enough for tonight," he says, his voice brooking no argument. "We'll reconvene tomorrow to begin implementing the security measures we've agreed upon."

Braxley yawns dramatically, stretching his arms above his head. "Yes, yes, I suppose that's best. Beauty sleep and all that. You understand."

I watch as the alphas start to gather their things, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. The valet must have brought up their luggage while we were busy with Braxley's grand tour, because suddenly there are bags scattered around the living room. It's not much. Just a few pieces here and there. Savva seems to have the most, his luggage looking sleek and expensive. In contrast, Cole has nothing but a single, well-worn duffel bag.

As they busy themselves with their luggage, I move toward the cabinet where I keep my bedding. The familiar routine is almost comforting after the chaos of the day. I pull out my pillows and blankets, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the cold, modern aesthetic of the penthouse.

I can feel eyes on me as I make my way to the couch, arms full of bedding. When I look up, I'm met with five pairs of surprised eyes. Troy's eyebrows are practically in his hairline, his mouth slightly agape.

"Uh, Bella?" he says, his voice tinged with confusion. "What are you doing?"

I freeze, suddenly feeling like a child caught doing something wrong. "I... I'm getting ready for bed?"

The alphas exchange glances, a silent conversation passing between them. It's Roman who speaks up, his voice carefully neutral. "On the couch?"

Before I can answer, Braxley's voice cuts through the tension. "Oh, right! I forgot to mention. Bella sleeps out here." He laughs, but it sounds forced, even to my ears. "It's a... trauma thing. You know how it is."

I wince at his words, hating the way he throws around "trauma" like it's just another quirky personality trait. Like it's something to be casually mentioned to strangers. But then again, these men aren't exactly strangers anymore, are they? They're going to be living with us, protecting us. They're bound to find out sooner or later.

And I don’t sleep out here because of trauma, but it’s easier to explain than the fact that I have no interest in Braxley trying to make a move on me all night.

Roman's eyes narrow slightly, his gaze moving from me to the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the couch. "You sleep here? By these windows?" His voice is calm, but I can hear the undercurrent of concern. "That's a significant security risk."

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