Page 67 of Knot Like Other Girls

Now we're getting somewhere. "What kind of dirt?"

Braxley's face flushes, and he looks away. "It's... complicated."

"Braxley," I say, tone clipped, "whatever it is, I need to know. We can't protect you if we don't have all the information."

He's silent for a moment, his internal struggle playing out across his face. Finally, he seems to come to a decision. "I'm... uh, not really into omegas," he says, the words coming out in a rush. "I mean, I can appreciate their beauty and all that, but... they don't do it for me. Not unless they're super dominant." He turns beet red. "They have to at least act like..."

"Like alphas?" I finish for him, keeping my voice flat.

Braxley nods stiffly, immediately getting defensive. "It's just bad for my brand, okay? The whole Worthington empire is built on this image of the perfect alpha-omega power couple. If it got out that I don't even want an omega..." He narrows his eyes at the incredulous look on my face. "You don't get to judge me for this."

I lean back in my chair, feeling my lip curl into a snarl before I can stop it. I school my features back into grim neutrality. He's been using Bella, parading her around for his image while not even being interested in being her mate.

"The blackmailer," I say, keeping my tone neutral despite the rage building inside me. "They have proof of this?"

"Photos," Braxley confirms, voice hardening. "From a party a few years ago. I was drunk, things got out of hand with this alpha model... I thought we were alone, but someone must have been watching. It's such bullshit. People should mind their own business."

I nod, mind racing through the implications. All I can think about is Bella—trapped in a relationship with someone who doesn't even want her, who's using her as a prop. "Did you pay them?"

Braxley shakes his head. "No, I... I was going to. But then the thing in Spain happened, and everything's been chaos since then. I haven't heard from them again." He looks up with narrowed eyes. "Seriously, you'd better not tell anyone about this. I'm trusting you because I have to, not because I want to."

"You should have told us this sooner," I say, not bothering to hide my irritation. "Do you still have the email?"

He nods, pulling out his phone and tapping through screens with an annoyed huff. "Yeah, it's here. I'll forward it to you. Just don't make a big deal about it, okay? I have enough problems without your team gossiping about my private life."

As I wait for the email, I study Braxley with fresh contempt. Every second Bella spends with this fraud is a waste of her life. At least now I understand why he so readily agreed to our presence—he's more afraid of his secrets coming out than of any assassin.

"Braxley," I say, my voice cold, "Bella deserves to know the truth."

He sighs dramatically. "God, you sound like my therapist. Fine, I know, okay? But it'scomplicated. Do you have any idea what will happen if I break things off with her? My parents will go ballistic. My followers will ask questions. It's all just..." He waves his hands vaguely. "It's a lot."

My phone pings with the incoming email. Back to business. "I need to share this information with my team," I tell him. "We'll keep it confidential, but they need to know what we're dealing with."

Braxley's head snaps up. "All of them? Even the freaky one? Can't you just tell, like, one person? The fewer people who know about this, the better. There are pictures of me with an apple in my mouth and a freaking bottle of Château Margaux shoved up my–"

"My entire team," I say firmly, cutting him off before he can permanently engrave that mental image in my head. "That's non-negotiable."

Braxley groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Fine. Whatever. Just... please don't tell Bella. Not yet. I need to be the one to tell her."

Every instinct I have rebels against keeping secrets from Bella. The idea of protecting this liar's reputation at her expense makes me want to put my fist through a wall. But strategically, forcing the issue now could push Braxley to do something stupid.

"Fine," I agree, my voice like ice. "You have three days. After that, she needs to know—one way or another."

"Three days? That's ridiculous! I can't possibly?—"

"Three. Days," I repeat, cutting him off. "This isn't a negotiation."

"Fine," Braxley snaps, crossing his arms. "I'll figure something out. But I don't appreciate being threatened in my own home. I'm still the client here."

"Then don't appreciate it," I say, standing to leave before I do something I'll regret. And if not regret, something that will get me put behind bars and unable to protect Bella.

"This better not leak to the press," Braxley blurts out. "If it does, I'll know exactly who to blame."

I turn back slowly, fixing him with a lethal stare. "Are you threatening me, Mr. Worthington?"

He pales slightly but maintains his petulant expression. "Just stating facts. Your job is to protect me—all aspects of me. That includes my reputation."

"Myjob," I say coldly, "is to keep you alive. Your reputation is your own problem."

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