Page 5 of Knot Ruined

She moves to sit carefully on the edge of my bed, tucking her caramel-brown hair behind one ear as she reaches for my hand. Her fingers are soft and warm, grounding despite my annoyance. “Fallon, I didn’t pick them randomly. These men…they’re strong. They’re powerful. They’ll protect you, keep you safe.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?” I mutter, glancing back down at Kingston’s intense stare from the dossier, heat climbing my mind drifts back to what else the four of them might do. I clear my throat, shaking off the traitorous thoughts. “This is all just…a lot.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Mom’s voice is gentle as she squeezes my hand. “But I wouldn’t put you in harm’s way. Trust me, please. These men might be fierce, but they’re honorable—at least when it comes to those they care about.”

She brushes my tangled blue hair off my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Give them a chance. You might find more than safety, Fallon. You might find happiness.”

She rises gracefully, heading to the door. “Think about it, sweetheart. Give them a chance before deciding to hate them.”

Fallon

February 9th

2:45 P.M

“You’re getting married… to the Rosetti pack?” Odette is staring at me. Mouth slightly open, brows furrowed, pure disbelief.

We’ve been best friends since we were kids—her family lives just two houses down from mine, so I understand why she’s struggling to process this. But still, the way she’s looking at me, you’d think I just told her I was sacrificing myself to a pack of rabid wolves.

Her fingers twitch like she’s fighting the urge to shake me. Or strangle me. Hard to tell.

Odette is gorgeous, a textbook ethereal omega with her long, fiery orange-blonde ombré hair twisted into her signature space buns. Her warm brown eyes are narrowed at me, scanning my face like I might be joking. At 5’6”, she’s taller than most omegas, her willowy frame making her look like she floated down from the heavens to judge me better.

Of course, anyone outside our circle sees her as the refined, always polished, always perfect one of our group. But I know better.

This woman could out-sass a room full of politicians and cut a man down verbally before he even realized he was bleeding. And even though we’re going to try on dresses, she’s still in her usual power outfit—pencil skirt, high heels, looking like a damn CEO. I don’t even have to ask why. She always says she likes the way her ass looks in them.

Before I can respond, my second-best friend Violet chimes in, voice flat but full of judgment.

“What the fuck is that about?”

She’s not even looking at me, just peering into a compact mirror, fluffing her short, vibrant purple hair like my potential demise is just another minor inconvenience in her day. Her blue eyes flick to me as she checks her black lipstick, unimpressed.

Violet is pure chaos in gothic form. Today, she’s wearing a dark purple blouse with black lace sleeves that stop just before her wrists and a flowy teal skirt that barely brushes her knees. Long black socks. Calf-high platform boots.

She looks like a gothic fairy, only 5’1”, but with the balls of a 7ft Alpha.

“Exactly what I said,” I sigh, fiddling with a hole in the knee of my jeans. “Mom really needs me to do this. She won’t tell me why, but she’s exhausted, and I’d do anything to help her.”

Odette crosses her arms. “Fallon.”

Violet smacks her lips together. “Fallon.”

They say my name in the same tone at the same time. I pointedly avoid looking at them.

Instead, I focus on my boyfriend’s jeans, loose, comfy, and cuffed at my ankles because I’m not tripping over fabric today. At 5’4”, I refuse to become a victim of my pants. My chunky blue sweater, covered in little yellow hearts, is my go-to for days when I want to feel cute but not like I’m trying.

Also, not washing my hair for two days was a choice. It’s past my ass, okay? That’s a lot of hair to deal with. I tied it up in a messy bun and called it a day. Nobody needs to know. The car rolls to a stop, and Henry, my driver-slash-bodyguard, steps out first.

As usual, he does his security check—which consists of glaring at everything that moves until the air feels uncomfortable—before finally opening the door.

Odette and Violet gracefully step out like royalty. I barely make it before Henry practically yanks me out of the car.

I stumble, my slip-on shoes barely keeping up with the force of a man built like a linebacker.

“Damn it, Henry!” I huff, catching my balance. “What did I tell you about your strength?”

The man dares to chuckle and then ignore me entirely. “Get inside, kid.”

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