Page 70 of Knot All that Glitters: Part 1

I come to a stop facing the ornate fireplace, big enough that I could almost stand up inside it. It’s ugly as sin. I hate it. The clock on the mantel tick, tick, ticks as he sits in silence and I stand in front of him.

He pushes to his feet and I turn my head to watch him, wanting to keep the predator in my sights, but he tsks. “Face forward.” Reluctantly, I turn back to that ugly ass fireplace.

“What did you do for your birthday, Haven?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Swallowing thickly, I resist the urge to turn and look at him. I need to prove I can follow his orders without him barking at me. “I went out with Florence. To dinner.”

He hums. “With Florence,” he sneers.

My head whips to the side at the first blow. Blood trickles from my nose as I turn back to look at him with wide eyes. Now I understand why he ordered me into the living room and onto the carpet. The carpet can be removed, replaced. The Carrera marble floor, though? It would stain the second my blood hit it.

Can’t have any evidence left behind.

“What happened to not bruising my face?” I shouldn’t ask it and I already know the answer. He never strikes me in places where someone might see. And if I’m honest, he hardly ever hits me at all. But this is different. This is my father, filled with righteous rage. If he’s hitting my face, it’s because he doesn’t intend anyone to see me for weeks.

He ignores my question, gripping my hair in his fist and tilting my head back. “Do you want to explain to me, Haven, why you were photographed at a restaurant with a pack? Being treated as though you were on a date with them.”

I meet his eyes. “They’re courting Florence.” The lie falls from my lips easily enough that I’m pretty proud of myself. His grip tightens, my head bends back painfully. But I keep talking. “They know how much I mean to her and wanted to make my birthday special… for her, not for me.”

“Do not lie to me.”

I wince when the command takes hold. It’s not one he’s ever needed to use on me, or at least one he never thought he did.

“Now tell me again why you were photographed at a restaurant with the Calloway pack.”

I clench my jaw together and refuse. It’s useless. I’ll tell him, eventually. He’ll break me with his fists or his commands.But the idea of admitting what we are to each other, what we’re becoming? No, I don’t want to betray myself like that, betray them. He’ll have to force me.

And he will. He does.

“Tell me.”

“They’re courting me.” The words fall from my lips on a gasp. Tears fill my eyes at how quickly I gave it up, how easily he can rip the truth from me. I hate him. I hate him more in this moment than I ever have before.

And that is saying something. I’ve hated him for most of my life.

“Courtingyou? You, the omega who acts more like a beta? You, the one who has said multiple times publicly that you will never be with a pack.” All true, but all things he’s forced out of me. “Why would they court you?”

The question stings, even though it shouldn’t. It doesn’t matter why, only that they are.

I shrug and glare up at him. “Maybe they can see through the bullshit you’ve forced on me.”

The second slap has my ears ringing. Strands of my hair rip from my scalp as my head whips to the side again, hang from between his fingers as he runs that same hand down his face. “See what you make me do, Haven? If you could just be good for me, if you could just listen, I wouldn’t have to hurt you.”

“You don’t have to,” I whisper, arching my brows like that will make my ears stop ringing.

Another weary sigh from him. “I do though. It’s the only way you learn. Barking at you only gets you so far. You find ways around the commands. Don’t deny it, I know you do.”

I wasn’t going to deny it. He knows how I feel about him and the shackles he’s placed on me. He’s made sure I behave in public, or when there are guests in the house, but he couldn’tgive a shit how I behave or interact with him at home. Mostly because he’s almost never here for me to interact with.

His finger strokes down my throbbing cheek and I flinch away from the gentle touch. It makes my heart thunder louder, panic and bile crawling up my throat. If he’s being gentle now, it only means it’s going to hurt worse later.

“What did you tell them?” He asks gently.

“Tell them?” I don’t understand the question. What he wants from me. I told them a lot during our time together.

“About me,” He bites out the clarification. “What did you tell them about me?”

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