Page 47 of Knot So Fast
The road continues to wind upward, each turn revealing glimpses of the city lights below growing more distant, more dreamlike through the curtain of rain.
When we finally crest the hill and the house comes into view, I have to blink several times to make sure I'm not hallucinating. The structure that emerges from the storm is nothing like what I expected from a Formula One champion's mountain retreat. Instead of some gaudy display of wealth or testosterone-fueled bachelor pad, I'm looking at a chic paradise of black and white that seems to glow against the dark sky.
The exterior is all clean lines and massive windows, modern architecture at its finest with sharp angles softened by strategic lighting that makes the rain look like falling diamonds against the glass. It's sophisticated without being cold, impressive without being ostentatious—exactly the kind of place I'vedreamed about but never thought actually existed outside of architectural magazines and my overactive imagination.
I park next to Lachlan's car in the covered area that's thankfully protected from the worst of the downpour, taking a moment to steady myself before stepping out. His jacket is still draped over my shoulders, carrying that scent that's so similar to Lucius yet distinctly different—cleaner somehow, with notes of something I can't quite identify but that makes my Omega purr with interest despite my best efforts to remain unaffected.
The front door opens before I reach it, and Lachlan stands there looking unfairly attractive for someone who just drove through the same storm I did. His hair is damp and slightly tousled, his shirt clinging to his torso in ways that make it very clear he takes his physical fitness as seriously as any professional athlete should. The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth suggests he knows exactly what kind of effect he's having on me.
"Coming in, or are you planning to admire the architecture all night?" he asks, stepping aside to give me room to enter.
Ugh. Cocky sexy fucker.
I huff at his arrogance but step inside, and immediately have to stop in my tracks as the interior hits me like the air is punched out of me.
The entryway opens into a vast open-concept space that somehow manages to be both chic and absolutely cozy at the same time. The black and white color scheme from the exterior continues inside, but it's warmed by strategic splashes of color and textures that transform what could have been stark into something inviting.
"Holy shit," I breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.
The living area features a massive sectional sofa in charcoal gray that looks soft enough to sink into and never emerge from, positioned perfectly to take advantage of the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase the city lights below. The wallsare white but broken up by black accent beams and carefully curated artwork that adds just the right amount of edge to the sophisticated space.
I find myself drawn to the kitchen like a magnet, my feet carrying me across polished concrete floors that have been heated—I can feel the warmth on the soles of my bare feet—to an island that's a work of art in itself. Black marble with white veining that looks like lightning frozen in stone, surrounded by bar stools that are somehow both industrial and elegant.
But it's the centerpiece that makes my breath catch.
A floral arrangement sits in the middle of the island, but not just any arrangement. Every single flower in the artfully chaotic display is one of my favorites—peonies in blush pink, white roses tinged with the faintest hint of lavender, deep purple lisianthus, and delicate sprays of baby's breath that tie it all together.
It's like someone reached into my mind and pulled out my perfect bouquet.
My eyes drift upward, and I actually gasp out loud.
The chandelier hanging above the island is exactly—exactly—like the one I've had saved on my Pinterest board for the past three years. A modern interpretation of classic crystal, with geometric shapes that catch and refract the light in ways that make the whole fixture look like it's made of frozen fireworks. I've stared at that image so many times, dreaming of the day I'd have a place worthy of such a statement piece.
"How?" The word comes out as barely a whisper as I continue to take in detail after detail that aligns perfectly with my taste.
The bar area features copper accents that warm up the monochrome palette.
The artwork on the walls includes pieces I recognize from artists I've followed on Instagram for years, thinking their work was too expensive to ever actually own. Even the throw pillowson the sofa are in the exact shade of dusty rose that I've always insisted is the perfect accent color for a black and white room.
I walk to the windows, drawn by the view that's even more spectacular from inside. The city spreads out below us like a carpet of lights, close enough to feel connected but far enough to feel like an escape. It's the perfect balance—the excitement and energy of urban life visible but not intrusive, like having the best of both worlds at your fingertips.
This is exactly what I've always wanted.
The sensation of being above it all while still being part of it, the thrill of height and perspective that's as close to the rush of racing as you can get while standing still. I press my palm against the cool glass, watching the rain streak down the outside while I'm safe and warm inside this impossible dream house.
"How did you—" I start to ask, turning back to face Lachlan, but the question dies in my throat as a sudden sneeze overtakes me.
The sound echoes in the open space, followed immediately by another one, and I realize with embarrassment that I'm shivering.
The wet dress clinging to my skin has gone from sensual to genuinely uncomfortable, and the adrenaline that's been keeping me warm is rapidly fading.
I cling to his jacket tighter, pulling it around my shoulders and inhaling that unique scent that makes my brain feel fuzzy around the edges. It's hitting me all over again—this isn't Lucius.This is his twin brother.
A twin brother I apparently have history with, who kisses like the world is ending and owns a house that looks like my dream board came to life.
Before I can spiral further into confusion, my phone rings shrilly from my purse. I fish it out with fumbling fingers, frowning at the display before answering.
"How much are you gonna pay me to lie and tell them you're at my place for the night?" Wren's voice comes through without preamble, sounding both amused and exasperated.
