Page 65 of Knot Like Other Girls

The caption reads: "Night out with my favorite cousin! Thanks for always having my back! #BestFriends #DynamicDuo"

But it's not the caption that interests me.

It's the mystery fan's comment.

"She looks like a slut."

Complete with a knife emoji.

What the fuck?

I open up the replies and see a few other fans pointing out she's Braxley's cousin, but the fan didn't reply to them. Guessing Braxley hasn't seen it, either, considering he gets a flood of comments and reactions on everything he posts.

Guess the plot just got a little bit thicker.

CHAPTER 20

SAVVA

My jaw clenches tight enough to crack walnuts as I stride down the hallway toward Braxley's "content creation studio." The gaudy opulence of this penthouse scrapes against my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Today, it feels particularly offensive.

All this wealth, all this excess... and for what?

To create the illusion of a perfect life for strangers on the internet?

It's fucking pathetic. All of it.

But I'm not here to judge our client's life choices. I'm here to keep this prissy little brat alive, no matter how much I question whether he deserves it.

I pause outside the door, taking a deep breath to center myself. Braxley's voice carries through—that affected, high-pitched tone he uses when filming. It sets my teeth on edge, but I force my face into a neutral expression. Years of undercover work taught me how to wear masks, how to become whoever I need to be in the moment.

Right now, I need to be professional enough not to throttle this vapid excuse for an alpha.

I knock sharply, not waiting for a response before entering. Braxley perches in front of a ring light, face inches from a camera as he prattles on about some overpriced moisturizer. He barely spares me a glance, holding up one perfectly manicured finger in a "wait" gesture.

I ignore it, stepping into frame. "Mr. Worthington, we need to talk. Now."

Braxley's eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in annoyance. "Excuse me? I'm in the middle of something here! Can't you see I'm filming?"

"I can see that," I say, my voice deceptively level while rage bubbles beneath the surface. "But this is a matter of your safety. I'm sure your followers will understand if you need to cut this short."

Braxley huffs, his lower lip jutting out in a pout that would look childish on a five-year-old. "Fine," he snaps, turning back to the camera with a blindingly fake smile and a sing-song voice. "Sorry, my loves, but duty calls! As you can see, my security team takes my safetyveryseriously. Don't forget to like and subscribe, and I'll be back soon with more tips for achieving that perfect glow!"

He ends the recording with a flourish, then rounds on me. "This better be important. Do you have any idea how much revenue I lose when I have to cut a video short? My engagement metrics will tank today."

I don't bother hiding my eye roll this time. "I assure you, Mr. Worthington, your life is worth more than that. Though the margin seems thinner by the day."

"Is it, though?" he mutters, then immediately switches to a defensive tone. "Whatever. What's so urgent that you had to ruin my entire day?"

I file away his momentary lapse. Not because I give a shit about Braxley's inner demons, but because every piece ofinformation could be useful. And honestly, I'm here for one reason only—Bella.

If Braxley stays safe, Bella stays safe.

"We've uncovered some concerning activity on your social media," I say, cutting straight to the chase. There's no point sugar-coating things with Braxley. Subtlety tends to go right over his expertly coiffed head. "One of your followers has been leaving comments that could be interpreted as threatening."

Braxley scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh my god,that? Is that what this is about? It's probably just Heather. She gets a little... intense sometimes, but she's harmless. You guys are so dramatic."

I raise an eyebrow, heat rising in my chest at his cavalier attitude. "Heather? You know this person?"

---