Page 22 of Knot Ruined

“We needed a wife, yes,” he says, his voice gravelly, firm, absolute. “but we chose you. So don’t think for a minute this isn’t going to be a real marriage. We are very much looking forward to the wedding night.”

Heat floods my face, my pulse stuttering.

Kingston chuckles, a deep and indulgent sound amused by my reaction. “That’s if you want it,” he adds smoothly. “We would never force you or make you think you have no choice. We, however, never plan to be married again, so we would like to be your husbands for real.”

I blink at him, tilting my head slightly. “Why wouldn’t I want that? This is my future, and as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.” The question leaves me before I can stop it, and the moment the words are out, I feel it. A low, vibrating rumble against my back. It takes me a second to realize what it is. I tilt my head up, eyes widening as I find Romano staring down at me, his brown eyes warm and dark, half-lidded behind his glasses.

He’s purring.

For me.

My breath catches, and without thinking, I reach up, gently pushing his glasses back into place with my fingertips. His lids lower further, his voice barely more than a murmur. “You’d like that with us?”

I let out a soft laugh, my heart hammering against my ribs. “I mean… you are my husbands. I don’t plan on having any others.”

The second the words leave me, a sound rumbles through the SUV. A growl. Multiple growls. I startle slightly, eyes darting between them, realizing that Kingston, Voss, Jace, and Romano are growling. Possessive. Raw.

Oh.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, trying to ease the tension. “And you’re all very nice to look at.” The moment I say it, Romano moves. His lips crash down onto mine, stealing my breath, taking, devouring. This kiss is nothing like the one at the wedding. That one had been sweet, teasing. This is a conquest.

His mouth moves against mine with heat and desperation, tasting champagne and something smoky, something entirely him. His hands tighten at my waist, pulling me closer, deeper, more.

By the time he pulls away, my lips are swollen and tingling, and my breath is coming in shallow gasps.

I try to chase him, already missing the heat of his mouth, but he chuckles, pulling back, his voice thick with amusement.

“You smell so good, Little Love.”

The words take a second to register. Then I freeze.

I scan the space, looking at the others—the way Kingston’s eyes darken, the way Jace shifts like he’s holding himself back, the way Voss tilts his head, assessing me with a smirk.

I’m perfuming. I inhaled sharply, pressing a hand to my mouth, mortified. “I’m sorry!” I squeak.

Voss chuckles again, deep, wicked, teasing, his teeth flashing in the low light. “Never apologize, Princess,” he murmurs, voice like a velvet threat. “It’s a sign of weakness.”

I arch a brow, laughing despite the warmth still curling low in my belly. “Is that a rule?”

His smirk widens, something feral and devastating, making him look even more dangerously handsome. “It is now.”

The SUV hums beneath us, the inside so quiet I swear I can hear my own heartbeat trying to make a run for it. Which is rude, considering the rest of me is melting into a puddle. Romano is still purring, and my traitorous, easily seduced omega instincts have decided that I now have the spine of a wet noodle.

I shift slightly, trying to sit up straighter to regain even an ounce of my dignity, but Romano tightens his hold on me, rubbing slow circles into my hip like I’m some precious, breakable thing. Which is probably why my brain short-circuits when the car slows, the sound of muffled voices coming from outside. Before I can overthink it, the SUV pulls forward again, and then—Holy shit.

I gape out the window, taking in the monstrosity of a house coming into view. Or should I say, mini-mansion because these men live in something straight out of a high-end architectural magazine, all clean lines, modern stonework, and towering glass windows that cost more than my entire existence. It should feel cold, detached, like something a Bond villain would lounge around in—but somehow, it doesn’t.

The warm golden glow of the exterior lighting, the way the front door is framed by soft sconces, the perfectly paved driveway curving toward a garage that definitely houses at least one obnoxiously expensive car—it all feels… weirdly inviting. Like it’s been waiting for me, the lawn is immaculate, of course, not a single blade of grass out of place, and for some completely unhinged reason, my brain decides to focus on one single thought: Would they let me plant a garden? A little one, maybe. Just enough to ruin the billionaire aesthetics.

Vines creeping up the perfect stone walls. Wildflowers poking out of the manicured lawn. A row of herbs by the kitchen window. You know, something that screams, ‘Hey, an omega lives here now.’

I blink, snapping myself out of it. Now is not the time to be fantasizing about gardening. Especially when I’m actively trying to remember how to use my legs because Romano is still purring, and I’m one second away from turning into a lovesick puddle in the car. Kingston must sense it because his hand presses against the small of my back, warm and grounding, a silent command to breathe.

Breathe? Cute. He assumes I remember how.

The SUV rolls to a stop, and I exhale slowly, bracing myself. I don’t know what’s waiting for me inside that house. But one thing is very, very clear. I’m in so much trouble.

We get out, and I’m instantly scooped up and thrown over a shoulder. A startled laugh escapes me as I realize Voss has picked me up. I brace my hands on his lower back and maybe steal a squeeze of his perfect ass.

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