Page 52 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

And it’s not only the size of it. The colors arebeautiful. Shades of pink, with touches of fuchsia that make my heart beat a little harder. Everything looks incredibly soft, incredibly inviting. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to sink into that softness. Looking at Finn’s nest feels like standing parched before an oasis, every cell in my body crying out for what I’ve been denied for so long.

I can almost hear the blush in Finn’s voice as he shifts beside me. “I…uh…pink is my favorite color.”

It’s mine, too. But it’s a thought I don’t voice. Can’t. Because before I realize what I’m doing, I’ve crossed the room. My hand reaches out, brushing against a velvet pillow. The texture sends a shiver through me, and I catch a hint of sage—Finn’s scent—woven through the fabric.

“Oh!” I snatch my hand back, horror flooding through me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I shouldn’t have?—”

But Finn just stands there, head tilted slightly as he watches me. “Weird,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Any other omega and I’d probably be at their throat for even looking at my nest.” He shakes his head, running a hand through those honey-gold strands. Some kind of complex emotion flickers across his face. “Can’t believe I just let you walk right in here. Things must be more fucked up than I thought…” He trails off, frowning thoughtfully.

I back away from the nest, hoping distance will help ease any offense I’ve caused. “I’m sorry,” I say again.

He waves off my apology. “Don’t be. It’s…nice, actually. Having someone who appreciates it.” A small smile touches his lips. “Come on, let’s get you that bath.”

He leads me through another door into what has to be the most luxurious bathroom I’ve ever seen. The tub is enormous—a freestanding piece that looks more like a small pool than a bathtub. Windows line one wall, but Finn shows me how to operate the frosted privacy glass.

“The controls are here,” he says, demonstrating the various knobs. “This one’s for temperature. These adjust the jets. And…” He pulls open a cabinet, revealing rows of colorful spheres. “Bath bombs. I may have a slight addiction.”

His enthusiasm is infectious, and I find myself smiling despite everything. He selects one that’s swirled with purple and blue. “This one’s lavender and vanilla. Very relaxing. Kind of like you…” But he murmurs that last line.

Is he talking about being relaxing or the vanilla? Do I smell like that? Like lavender and vanilla? Do I even have a scent? After years of the Academy’s chemical washes and suppressants, I can’t even tell if I have a distinct scent anymore.

He starts the water, testing the temperature with his hand. “Towels are here,” he says, opening another cabinet. He points to a fluffy pink towel that makes my chest warm immediately. “And I’ll bring you some clean clothes. Take as long as you want—the water stays hot automatically.”

The sound of running water fills the space, and steam begins rising. It looks so inviting that my eyes start to water.

“Thank you,” I whisper. The words feel inadequate. Not enough to express the gratitude swelling in my chest.

He pauses at the door, that thoughtful frown returning. “You know, I meant what I said earlier. About being safe here.” His gaze connects directly with mine. “Whatever’s happening with Stone and why he’s kept you secret…with all of this…you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Then he’s gone, closing the door softly behind him. I standthere for a moment, listening to the water fill the tub, breathing in the growing steam. Everything feels surreal—the beautiful house, Finn’s kindness, the promise of safety.

The mirror catches my attention, and I startle, thinking for a second that I’m not alone. The girl staring back at me is a stranger. My hand flies to my face, and the reflection mimics me, but the movement feels disconnected, wrong. Like watching someone else’s hand move.

I step closer, trembling. The reflection shows shadows beneath wary eyes that seem too large for her face. I touch them and the face in the mirror does the same. Is that really…me? I can’t remember the last time I…saw myself. And then I realize that must have been way back when I was fifteen. Before the Academy took me. I’ve never been allowed a mirror since then and now…

I step closer, my hand reaching out before I catch myself. Six years. Six years of only knowing my body through Widow’s cruel words and the beta handlers’ disgust-filled remarks. “Pig,” they’d call me when I couldn’t button the uniform they’d given me. “No alpha will want such a fat omega.”

But the reflection shows me something different. The girl—no, woman—staring back at me has high cheekbones I don’t remember having at fifteen, a soft jaw, fuller lips. My face has lost all its baby fat, grown into something almost…pretty. And my body, while curvy, looks nothing like the grotesque thing they made me believe it was.

If I stared hard enough and wished it…I might even be beautiful.

Tears blur my vision, and I watch them fall down the stranger’s cheeks.

I stand there long enough for the entire tub to fill. The first slosh of water over the rim grabs my attention and pulls it away from the mirror. With trembling hands, I shut the water off before turning slowly back to my reflection.

I look small in Stone’s borrowed clothes, my hair tangled andknotted. But there’s something else, too—something in my eyes that looks different from the Hailey I remember. Less haunted, maybe. Or just less alone. A tiny spark that wasn’t there before.

I touch the bandages on my wrists, remembering the alpha’s gentle hands as he’d rewrapped them. I’d been scared even then, waiting for him to do something in line with what I’ve been taught. He didn’t.

Then I think of Finn’s nest, of how desperately I wanted to curl up in all that softness. Of how he didn’t get angry when I touched it, even though I’m a stranger in his home.

Something’s happening here. Something I don’t understand. But as I strip off the clothes and slip into the hot water, watching the bath bomb create swirls of color, I try not to let myself get too comfortable. This is temporary—just until I figure out my next move. I can’t stay here, no matter how safe Finn makes me feel or how much some deep part of me wants to.

Still, as I watch the colors dance across the water’s surface, I let myself enjoy this moment of peace. Even if it can’t last.

The hot water has worked magic on my muscles, turning me boneless and relaxed. Even my mind feels clearer, the constant edge of panic dulled by steam and the lingering scent of lavender and vanilla. As I step out of the tub, wrapping myself in the pink towel Finn left, I feel almost like a different person.

The mirror is fogged now, hiding my reflection in gentle mist. Maybe that’s better. I’m not sure I’m ready to look at myself again, to reconcile the person I see with the one I was taught to believe I am.

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