Page 47 of Knot Their Arrangement

This isn't just any saree; it's an heirloom piece, probably worth more than that receptionist's annual salary.

Not that Victoria would have recognized its value.

My lip curls slightly at the memory of her ignorance. Her attempt to shame someone for their cultural dress while working in an establishment that trades on exclusivity and sophistication... The irony would be amusing if it weren't so pathetic.

A small gasp draws my attention back to Kamari.

She's reached what I assume is a particularly intense scene – judging by how she's inadvertently leaned forward, her whole body tensed with anticipation. The wine glass dangles forgotten between her fingers, and I find myself reaching out to steady it before it can slip.

The movement catches her attention, making her jump slightly.

"Sorry," she whispers, a blush coloring her cheeks as she carefully sets the glass down. "I got carried away."

"Don't apologize," I tell her, keeping my voice soft to match hers. "There's nothing more gratifying than seeing someone fully immersed in a story."

Her eyes light up at that, and for a moment, I see past the fear and uncertainty that's been shadowing her features all evening. This is her true self – passionate, engaged, hungry for experiences even if they're only on paper.

"The writing is incredible," she says, her fingers trailing reverently over the page. "The way the author captures the internal struggle of the Omega protagonist...it's like they've lived it themselves."

If she only knew.

I hide my smile behind my own wine glass, savoring both the aged Bordeaux and the unintentional compliment.

Writing from an Omega's perspective had been challenging, requiring months of research and countless interviews. The fact that she –an actual Omega– finds it authentic is more validating than any critical review.

"The cultural details especially," she continues, enthusiasm making her forget her earlier shyness. "Most authors just use culture as window dressing, you know? Pretty clothes and exotic foods, but no real understanding. But this..." She taps the page emphatically. "The way they write about family expectations, about the weight of tradition...it feels real."

"Perhaps the author spent time in India," I suggest, watching her reaction carefully. "Research for the book."

She nods thoughtfully, still more focused on the page than our conversation.

"They must have. The details about the pre-wedding rituals are too specific to be googled. And the way they describe the mother's conflicted feelings about arranged marriages..." She trails off, something darker passing through her eyes.

Personal experience then.

I make a mental note of her reaction.

Every detail matters when you're trying to understand someone, and Kamari Prava Ahvi is proving to be one of the most intriguing puzzles I've encountered in quite some time.

The book she holds is special – not just because I wrote it, but because it's the first novel I've chosen to self-publish.

After years of working with major publishing houses, I decided to take a risk. To maintain complete creative control over a story that felt too personal, too important to be shaped by market demands and focus groups.

The irony isn't lost on me that now, barely a week after announcing my plans to self-publish, my phone won't stop buzzing with offers from the top five publishing houses in the country. Each one trying to outbid the others, throwing around advance numbers that would make most authors weep.

My agent thinks I'm crazy for not jumping at their offers.

"You're Kieran Blackthorn,"she'd argued during our last call."You don't need to prove anything by going indie."

Laughable conversation if you asked me.

But it was never about proving anything.

It was about telling this story properly, about giving voice to the countless Omegas whose experiences get sanitized and romanticized by traditional publishers. About creating something raw and real and uncompromising.

Something that might help readers like Kamari feel less alone.

A subtle shift in the room's atmosphere pulls me from my thoughts. Damon has returned from whatever "business" required his attention, his presence immediately commanding even in our secluded VIP section. He slides into the booth beside Kamari with practiced grace, his movement causing her to lean slightly toward him without seeming to realize it.

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