Page 82 of Knot Their Arrangement

Definitely a concussion, based on how the interior of the car seems to be swaying even though we're parked.

My gaze falls on the dashboard where my head struck.

The sleek glass surface is spiderwebbed with cracks, spreading outward from the point of impact like a frozen explosion. My stomach sinks as I realize what this means.

He'll blame me for the damage.

It will become another mark in his ledger of my transgressions, another reason I deserve whatever punishment he has planned.

The world tilts alarmingly as I try to focus. Two of everything swim before my eyes – two steering wheels, two rear-view mirrors, two versions of the monster who claims to own me. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight back the wave of dizziness, but that only makes the nausea worse.

If he hits my head again with the same force...

The thought trails off as spots dance behind my closed eyelids. I can hear him walking around to the driver's side, each footstep like a thunderclap in my aching skull. The way he deliberately takes his time tells me he knows exactly what state I'm in — knows I'm too disoriented now to attempt escape.

My fingers brush against the cracked dashboard, feeling the sharp edges where the glass has fractured. A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up as I think about how this perfect veneer has shattered, revealing the damaged truth beneath.

Just like the polished facade of our community.

All those careful social niceties, the elaborate traditions, the emphasis on reputation and honor – they're just as fragile as this glass finish. One forceful impact and everything splinters, revealing the ugliness that lurks beneath.

Blood continues to trickle down my face, each drop a reminder of how quickly the situation has deteriorated. Less than an hour ago, I was experiencing perfect pleasure with two Alphas who treated me like a person rather than property.

Now I'm trapped in a car with a man who sees me as something to be broken and discarded.

The contrast is staggering.

Or maybe that's just this near-concussion making everything spin.

Either way, I know with bone-deep certainty that this night will end in one of two ways – with my complete subjugation or my death. Based on the look in Maharaja's eyes, he hasn't decided which outcome he prefers

At least not yet.

But he'll make sure I suffer either way.

The engine roars to life with violence that matches Maharaja's mood, the sound reverberating through my aching skull. He doesn't bother with his seatbelt, and doesn't even glance my way to ensure I secure mine. My trembling fingers manage to grasp the belt, pulling it across my body more from ingrained habit than any real concern for safety.

That's when I see it – movement in the rear-view mirror.

At first, I thought it's the concussion playing tricks on my vision. The parking lot stretches out behind us, a sea of expensive cars gleaming under strategic lighting.

But there, in the distance near Cardinal's entrance, someone is pointing.

Pointing at us.

My eyes strain to focus through the double vision, desperate to confirm what I'm seeing isn't just wishful thinking. The figure is too far away to make out clearly, but their gestures are unmistakably urgent, drawing attention to our car as Maharaja throws it into reverse.

The vehicle lurches backward with enough force to slam me against the dashboard again. Fresh pain explodes through my head, but I force my eyes to stay open, fixed on that mirror like it's my last lifeline to salvation.

We're only seconds away from hitting the street. Once we reach the freeway, it's over. I know exactly where he's taking me – back to those sprawling mansions set on acres of manicured land. Where high walls and paid silence ensure no one hears what happens behind closed doors.

Where screams are just background noise to the staff who value their paychecks over their conscience.

My stomach turns, not just from the concussion but from memories of other Omegas who disappeared behind those gates. How the maids would avert their eyes when bruised faces appeared at breakfast, how the butlers would turn up the music when sounds of "discipline" echoed through the halls.

If I even live long enough for such a future.

Movement catches my eye again – someone running now, cutting across the parking lot with breathtaking speed. The figure resolves into a familiar form, and my heart leaps into my throat.

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