Page 127 of Knot Their Arrangement

He's right.

There's no calculation in how Kamari interacts with us, no careful manipulation or planned responses. She reacts instinctively, and authentically, whether she's moaning over breakfast or arguing about literature.

Even her moments of uncertainty feel real rather than performed.

"The last one," I muse, taking another drag from my cigar, "the socialite who claimed she could 'rehabilitate' my public image. Said she had connections with all the right people to make my 'unfortunate criminal associations' disappear."

Ezekiel snorts, the sound carrying genuine derision.

"As if your carefully cultivated reputation was something that needed fixing." His eyes narrow slightly as he watches Kamari gesture animatedly about something in one of her books, drawing both Rhett and Kieran into what appears to be an intense discussion. "Kamari doesn't try to fix any of us. She just...accepts."

Another plus in my books.

The observation strikes home with particular force.

Where previous candidates tried to change us –to make the criminal legitimate, to tame the racer, to soften the financial shark, to corrupt the detective– Kamari seems to appreciate each of us exactly as we are.

She doesn't see our unusual combination of professions and personalities as something to be corrected or hidden.

Instead, she appears genuinely fascinated by how we work together, and how our different skills and backgrounds create something unique. I’m positive any more questions about our work would come from real interest rather than social maneuvering.

Her reactions to our touch stem from genuine attraction rather than calculated seduction.

The buzz of my phone interrupts our observations.

Taking a final drag from my cigar, I offer the remainder to Ezekiel, who accepts it with practiced ease.

The caller ID displays one of my most reliable contacts in government relations – someone who rarely calls unless something requires immediate attention.

"Castellano," I answer, keeping my tone neutral despite the tension already building in my chest.

"Mr. Castellano, I apologize for the delay in processing," my contact begins, his voice carrying that particular note of stress I've learned to recognize as preceding bad news. "We've run into a... dilemma while filing the final portions of the contract confirming Kamari Prava Ahvi as your pack's claimed Omega."

Something cold settles in my stomach at his careful phrasing.

"Elaborate."

"Someone else has already submitted a claim stating she is their Omega," he explains, papers rustling in the background. "They've provided documentation showing an arrangement was previously in place, though it appears the actual marriage ceremony wasn't completed. However," more papers shuffle, "they've submitted evidence suggesting the Omega is simply on a 'break' from the pack and intends to return."

My frown deepens as I process this information.

"Return for what, exactly?"

"There's apparently some ceremony scheduled in three days," he continues. "They're presenting it as the formal completion of their original arrangement. All the paperwork appears to be in order, including signatures from community leaders and religious authorities."

"What ceremony?" The words come out sharper than intended, making Ezekiel's attention focus fully on me.

"From what we can gather, it's a sacred binding ritual specific to their cultural traditions," my contact explains. "The documentation is extensive, with historical precedents cited and multiple witnesses prepared to testify about its significance. But what's particularly interesting," his voice takes on a careful edge, "is that their primary financial sponsor appears to be the Omega's father."

I remain silent, processing the implications.

Her father –the same man who tried to sell her like property, who allowed her to be traumatized and abused– is now using tradition and religion to force her to return.

The calculation of it, the careful manipulation of cultural customs to serve his purposes, makes my blood boil.

Ezekiel's hand brushes my cheek, drawing my attention momentarily from the phone.

Our eyes meet in silent communication, his touch carrying reassurance and support. Whatever we're facing, we'll handle it together as a pack. The gesture helps center me and reminds me that we have resources and power of our own to wield.

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