Page 63 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

For the first time in years, I hesitated.

One night.

Just one night without them. What would happen? Would the world end? Would I?

The cap clicked open, but I didn’t move. Instead, I stared at the pills nestled in their orange plastic prison, remembering what it was likebefore. The way my skin used to feel too tight with need. The way the air around me could suddenly feelalivewith scent, with energy, with hunger I couldn’t suppress. The way I used to cling to that bond with Adam like it was the only thing tethering me to earth.

And when it snapped, so did I.

These pills had dulled the ache. Quieted the part of me that howled in the silence. They weren’t just medicine—they were armor. A boundary. A rule.

I popped two in my palm, took a long breath, and swallowed them dry.

No mistakes. No cracks. Not tonight.

I grabbed my jacket and locked the door behind me.

The drive to Adrian’s hotel was fifteen minutes, made longer by the slow churn of my thoughts. I tried calling Sebastian. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.

Typical.

I pulled into the circular driveway, rolled down my window for the valet. “I’m just picking someone up. I won’t be long.”

The young wolf offered a small smile and a bow of his head. “Actually, Mrs. de la Vega, we’ve been expecting you.”

Before I could ask another question, he opened my door with courteous precision and gestured toward the gleaming lobby.

The moment I stepped into the hotel lobby, something felt… off.

Not wrong, exactly. Just unexpected.

The lighting was softer than usual, the atmosphere quieter. Calmer. I was halfway to texting Sebastianagainwhen a well-dressed young man appeared at my side, bowing slightly.

“Mrs. de la Vega, if you’ll follow me.”

I blinked. “Is this about Sebastian?”

He only smiled and gestured toward a hallway that led away from the elevators. I followed, my heels clicking lightly against the polished floors, my heartbeat a little louder than I wanted to admit.

We stopped in front of one of the smaller conference rooms—usually reserved for business brunches or training seminars—and the valet opened the door.

And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.

The room had been completely transformed. Warm fairy lights hung in soft loops from the ceiling, casting a golden glowthat turned the white walls intimate, even magical. There was lo-fi music playing quietly in the background, the kind that felt like a heartbeat set to a rhythm you didn’t know you needed.

White linen draped the small round table in the center of the room, just big enough for two. Green ivy trailed around the edges, climbing the legs like something from a fairytale. The centerpiece was a wild bouquet—sunflowers, garden roses, eucalyptus, and something else I couldn’t name but wanted to touch. It looked like it had been plucked from a field right before sunset.

A waiter stood beside the table, waiting with practiced elegance. He took my jacket with a kind smile and handed me a glass of chilled wine without a single question.

Then, from the side of the room, Sebastian stepped forward.

His ash-blond hair was tied back in a loose bun, the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up to his forearms.

Sebastian walked over, not too close, but close enough to fill the air around me with his scent—cedar and citrus and something that made my mouth go dry. He tilted his head and gave a small, theatrical bow.

“Tonight’s menu,” he said, voice rich and warm, “is my take on high-end Mexican cuisine. A little modern, a little nostalgic. First course—blue corn sope with huitlacoche and crema fresca. Then... well, I’ll keep the rest a surprise.”

He held out his hand, palm open.

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