Page 20 of Knotting else Matters

I tried not to think about the way Adrian had looked at me, that strange mix of curiosity and something else. Tried not to think about the way his voice softened when we weren’t snapping at each other.

But the whiskey didn’t make me forget. It just made the thoughts blur together, warm and hazy.

“Here’s to another night of surviving,” I whispered, raising the glass to the dim reflection of myself in the bar mirror. “Cheers.”

CHAPTER 6

Adrian

Midnight. The city outside was quiet, the soft hum of distant traffic a faint murmur against the glass walls of my penthouse office. The warm glow of my desk lamp cast long shadows over the scattered papers, and the screen before me pulsed with the faint blue light of unread messages.

Security reports. Territory updates. Correspondence from neighboring packs. Real work. Important work. The kind of work that kept everything running smoothly, kept the pack safe.

And yet, I couldn’t focus. Not entirely. My thoughts drifted, slipping away from negotiations and patrol schedules, veering toward a certain sarcastic, sharp-tongued woman who seemed to drag chaos behind her like a storm cloud.

Olivia.

I leaned back, rubbing a hand over my face. That dinner—watching her sit there, the tension in her shoulders, the fire in her eyes battling against the cold, dismissive words of her mother—it had been like watching a collision in slow motion. And yet, she’d survived it. Somehow, through sheer stubbornness and biting wit, she’d survived. But barely.

I picked up my phone, staring at the dark screen for a long moment before sighing and pressing a button. The call connected with a soft chime, and the front desk concierge answered almost immediately.

“Good evening, Mr. Laurent. How can I assist you?”

“I need to know if a guest is still in the bar. Olivia Carter.”

There was a brief pause, the faint sound of fingers tapping against a keyboard. “Miss Carter left the bar about an hour ago. She returned to her suite shortly after. Room service has since delivered ice cream… quite a bit of it… and a bottle of champagne.”

I closed my eyes, a mixture of exasperation and something else twisting in my chest. Of course. Of course, she would drown her misery in sugar and alcohol. Chaos even in solitude.

“Thank you,” I muttered, ending the call.

I leaned back, the cool leather of my chair pressing against my shoulders. She was fine. Probably sprawled out on her bed, drowning her sorrows in overpriced ice cream and bubbly. A mess, but not a dangerous one. I could leave it at that.

But I didn’t.

Ten minutes later, I was stepping out of the elevator, the quiet hallway stretching before me, soft, muted lights casting a warm glow over the plush carpet. Her room was at the far end, and with every step, I told myself this was unnecessary.

But then I thought of Karl and Sophie—both of them glowing with joy, desperate for a perfect ceremony, a perfect family moment. If Olivia did something reckless—something embarrassing—they would never forgive me.

I told myself that was the only reason I was here.

But as I approached her door, a faint sound reached my ears—music, soft but unmistakable. The slow, heavy strum of a guitar, a voice low and raw, spilling out lyrics that echoed down the hallway.

Metallica?

I stopped, staring at the door, the muted melody threading through the silence. Was she still awake? Still… okay? Or was she passed out, glass in hand, letting the music drown her?

I should leave. Walk away. She was an adult. Her choices were her own.

And yet, my hand hovered just an inch from the door, hesitation gnawing at me.

I could just knock.Make sure she hadn’t drowned in her own champagne. I could tell myself this was about responsibility—about keeping her from causing a scene, about protecting the pack from another of her reckless outbursts.

Yes. That was it. I was doing this for the safety of everyone in the pack.

I took a slow, steadying breath, clenched my jaw, and knocked.

When the door swung open, I braced myself for chaos—maybe Olivia sprawled on the floor, surrounded by melting ice cream and empty champagne glasses, a reckless mess in the aftermath of another bad decision. But that wasn’t what I found.

---