Page 35 of Knot on the Market

I'm going to show up, be myself, and let her decide what she wants. Even if what she wants isn't me.

Starting with Saturday. And if Callum wants to help her with house projects while I help her pick out furniture, well... maybe that's okay. Maybe there's room for both of us in her life, in whatever way she needs us. Hell, with Julian showing interest too, maybe there's room for all of us. It's not like multiple alphas being drawn to the same omega is unusual, that's how most packs form. This is just the natural way of things.

Maybe the best thing I can do is just be Dean. The Dean who brings food and offers truck rides and gets genuinely excited about helping people move furniture. The Dean who doesn't ask for anything in return except the chance to see her smile and maybe make her day a little easier.

Even if it kills me a little every time she turns to someone else first.

Chapter 11

Lila

The delivery truck's engine rumbles to life just as I sign for the packages, leaving me standing on my front porch at eight in the morning with three large boxes.

I stare at the shipping labels, my name, this address, sent express from my assistant in LA. Right after I'd arrived here and had my first night alone in this house, when my resolve about being completely independent temporarily cracked.

The largest box has "FRAGILE - HANDLE WITH CARE" stamped across it in red letters that feel like an accusation.

I know exactly what's in these boxes because I ordered them myself in a moment of panic right after the breakup, when I was still reeling and not thinking clearly. I'd had them shipped to my assistant Sarah's house because I couldn't bear the thought of having them delivered to the mansion I was about to be evicted from.

When I realized I was about to live completely alone for the first time, that I'd have to handle everything by myself. Including the possibility of going through heat alone.

The thought had terrified me enough to place an emergency order for supplies I swore I'd never need.

Comfort items. Nesting materials. The kind of things that omega lifestyle magazines insist are "essential for emotional regulation during transitional periods." Things I told myself were just practical purchases for someone starting over.

I should have canceled the order when I decided to prove I could handle everything myself. Should have redirected it back to LA or just eaten the cost. Instead, I'd forgotten about it entirely until this morning when a cheerful delivery driver handed me evidence of my own contradictions.

I carry the boxes inside and set them on the kitchen table, staring at them like they might explode. The note from my assistant is taped to the top box in her neat handwriting:

Lila—These arrived at my place a few days after you left. Figured you might want them forwarded to your new address. Hope you're settling in okay! The press has moved on to other scandals, so you can come back whenever you're ready. Miss you! —Sarah

The casual assumption that I'll be back stings more than it should. Sarah means well, but she doesn't understand that "whenever you're ready" might be never. That I don't want that life anymore, the cameras, the red carpets, the constant performance of being someone else.

She also doesn't understand that these boxes represent the panicked, dependent version of myself I'm trying to leave behind.

I open the smallest box first, telling myself I'm just being practical. Might as well see what I'm dealing with before I decide what to do with everything.

Scent-neutral sheets in the softest cotton I could find. A diffuser with three bottles of calming essential oils. Lavender, chamomile, and something called "comfort blend" that the website promised would help with anxiety. A weighted throw blanket in cream-colored fleece that looked innocent enoughonline but feels suspiciously like the kind of thing you'd want to wrap around yourself when you're feeling vulnerable.

I lift the blanket and immediately catch the faint scent of the warehouse it came from, clean and neutral, waiting to absorb whatever environment it lands in. My fingers tighten in the soft fabric without my permission.

It's just a blanket. People buy blankets all the time without it meaning anything significant about their designation or their need for comfort. Regular people have cozy things in their homes because cozy things are nice, not because they're biologically driven to surround themselves with soft textures and familiar scents.

The second box contains pillows. Six of them, in different sizes and textures. Down-filled and perfectly plump, covered in cases that match the sheets. The kind of pillows that are clearly meant to be arranged and rearranged, stacked and scattered, built into configurations that serve no practical purpose except making a space feel safe and contained.

My throat goes tight as I look at them. Even packed in plastic, they look like an invitation to something I've been trying very hard not to want.

The third box contains fairy lights and a bottle of linen spray that promises to "refresh and soften fabrics." More blankets, lighter weight, in coordinating colors. Everything you'd need to turn a space into exactly the kind of nest I swore I didn't need.

I should put it all back in the boxes and donate it to charity. Someone else could use these things, someone who isn't trying to prove they can handle being alone. Someone who hasn't spent the last month insisting that independence means not needing comfort items designed specifically for their designation.

Instead, I find myself gathering everything in my arms and walking upstairs.

I told myself the small front bedroom would be for storage. Maybe a home office eventually, when I figure out what kind of work I want to do that doesn't involve cameras or people analyzing my every expression.

But standing in the doorway with my arms full of comfort items, I can see exactly what this room wants to be.

It's the perfect size, not too big, not too small. The windows face the street but are positioned high enough that no one can easily see in. The morning light is soft instead of harsh, and the blue walls feel calm and peaceful in a way that makes my shoulders relax without conscious thought.

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