Page 55 of Knot Their Arrangement

They wanted me to watch them practice their "techniques" on other women. To understand that my role would be to use my mouth for their pleasure, not for expressing my own desires or needs.

All those nights I spent hiding in my room, trying to drown out the sounds with my pillows...

I've never told anyone these things. Not even my best friend, Astraea, knows the full truth of my upbringing. She knows I ran from an arranged marriage, but not the dark details that led to my escape.

Why burden her with such horror stories? She's worked so hard to build her success, to maintain her secret identity as Blair Vesper. Her life might not be perfect – I know she struggles with her own mother's high maintenance demands – but at least her father and his pack showed compassion when they could.

Unlike mine, who saw compassion as weakness.

So I've walked this path alone, finding solace in the only place that felt safe – between the pages of books, in the glow of my Kindle's screen. Literature became my escape, my window into a world where Omegas could break free from their chains.

Romance novels, especially the darker ones, showed me that even in the most frightening environments, love could flourish. That there were Alphas who could be both powerful and gentle, dominant but respectful.

I devoured these stories, letting them feed the hope that grew like a fragile flower in the cracks of my damaged soul. For a few precious hours, I could lose myself in worlds where happy endings weren't just fairy tales.

Where Omegas like me could find packs that cherished rather than owned them.

Fiction became my refuge, my survival guide. Every story about an Omega finding her strength, escaping her cage, building a new life – they were breadcrumbs leading me toward my own liberation.

Even if that liberation meant running away in my wedding saree.

The irony doesn't escape me that I'm sitting here now, wearing another saree, sharing secrets I've never spoken aloud with two Alphas who should terrify me. Everything about them screams power and danger – from Damon's obvious criminal connections to Kieran's quiet intensity.

Yet instead of feeling threatened, I feel...safe.

It's an alien sensation, this comfort in the presence of Alphas. My body usually tenses at their proximity, my instincts screaming for flight. But here, in this secluded booth with its ambient lighting and expensive wine, something feels different.

They feel different.

The way they listen without judgment, how they respect my space while still maintaining a protective presence. Even their scents, which should be overwhelming in such close quarters, blend together in a way that soothes rather than alarms.

I think about all the dark romance novels I've read, especially Xavier Knight's works. How his Alphas always seem to walk that perfect line between dangerous and protective, dominant but never cruel. I used to think characters like that were pure fantasy – too perfect to exist in our harsh reality.

Yet here I sit, experiencing something that feels remarkably similar to those fictional encounters.

The realization makes me want to laugh and cry simultaneously. All those hours spent escaping into stories, dreaming of a different life, and now...

Now I'm living something that feels like it could have been pulled from those very pages. Two powerful Alphas, a chance encounter, a night of unexpected revelations.

If this were one of my books, this would be the moment where everything spirals down a direction that can’t be tamed.

But this isn't fiction.

This is my life, with all its complicated layers and unspoken truths. These men aren't characters crafted to fulfill romantic fantasies – they're real, with their own agendas and secrets.

And yet...

There's something about them that makes me want to believe in possibility again. That all those stories weren't just escapist fantasies.

Maybe they were preparing me for this moment, teaching me to recognize something genuine when I finally encountered it.

Even if I'm not entirely sure what "it" is yet.

"I've talked far too much," I blurt out suddenly, horrified at how much I've revealed. "I'm so sorry, I don't usually?—"

My eyes land on the ice cream bowls, where three perfect scoops have transformed into elegant pools of vanilla cream.

A gasp escapes me at the sight.

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