Page 122 of Knot Their Arrangement

The memory of what happened to him because of my choices makes my chest tight.

I know he's listening, even as he maintains his focus on cooking. The muscles in his back seem to tense slightly at my words, though his movements remain smooth and controlled.

"But other Omegas didn't get it as lucky as I did." The words come faster now, years of witnessed trauma pushing to be acknowledged. "My family members…the males anyway…feared my father enough not to touch me in any way, especially sexually." The word tastes like ash in my mouth. "But most Omegas don't have that luxury at all."

My hands clench around the water glass as I force myself to speak truths usually left in shadows."

Their first touch is by their uncles, cousins, or..." my voice catches before steadying, "...or dare I say their own fathers."

The sizzle of bacon provides the only sound as I continue, each word carrying the weight of countless whispered confessions heard in dark corners.

"It's disgusting and should be looked down upon if not punished, but who's going to lay justice on you when the world thrives on male domination?"

Silence falls over the kitchen, heavy with the implications of my words.

The only sounds are the quiet pop of cooking bacon and the subtle whoosh of the expensive ventilation system. Even Damon's cigar seems to have paused mid-burn as if the smoke itself is holding its breath.

My words hang in the air like a challenge – not to these men specifically, but to the system that allows such abuse to continue.

To the traditions that mask violation as education, that transform family into something to be feared rather than cherished.

"Nothing is really going to change a tradition of men being raised that way," I shrug, the gesture carrying years of resigned observation. "Sure, these laws will be a start. A forced start that they'll have to follow in order to continue benefiting in this world that has always made it easy for them to thrive and prosper."

My fingers trace abstract patterns in the condensation on my water glass as I continue.

"But there will be plenty who do things behind closed doors. It'll take a long time to reinforce consequences." A small, bitter smile tugs at my lips. "Though this is a good start. It'll force people to learn and realize there doesn't need to be some sort of goal or fetish in making Omegas suffer simply because they were born to be one and not a normal female that doesn't react to an Alpha's closeness."

"You're right," Damon interjects, his golden eyes carrying centuries of understanding. "But we can start small and lead by example."

A frown creases my brow as I process his words.

"You wouldn't possibly announce you have an Omega." The idea seems so absurd that a quiet laugh escapes me as I shake my head. Men like them – powerful, wealthy, established – they don't publicly claim Omegas. They keep them hidden away, protected or imprisoned depending on your perspective.

But Damon's head tilts slightly, genuine intrigue crossing his features. "Why not?" The question hangs in the air for a moment before he continues, his voice carrying that smooth authority that seems as natural as breathing to him. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Damon Castellano, CEO of Castellano Industries and majority shareholder in over thirty international corporations."

His casual recitation of credentials makes my eyes widen, but he's not finished.

"My business interests span technology, pharmaceuticals, real estate, and several other sectors that prefer discretion. The media likes to paint me as a criminal mastermind." A slight smirk plays on his lips. "They're not entirely wrong."

My mouth goes dry as I process the implications. I knew he was powerful, but this level of influence –both legitimate and underground– is staggering.

Damon's gaze shifts to Kieran, who takes his cue with elegant precision.

"Kieran Blackthorn," he introduces himself formally, those mismatched eyes gleaming. "Founder of Blackthorn Financial Group, which manages approximately $850 billion in assets globally. I also run several private investment funds and hold controlling interest in various media outlets." His smile carries a knowing edge. "That ten billion contribution? Barely touched my quarterly earnings."

The casual way he mentions amounts of money that could fund small nations makes my head spin. But before I can fully process it, Ezekiel steps forward.

"Detective Ezekiel Cross," he states, his bearing somehow both professional and predatory. "Youngest detective to reach Special Crimes Division. Currently head of Alpha-Omega Relations Task Force and liaison to federal agencies for pack-related investigations." His dark eyes hold mine as he adds, "With the highest solve rate in department history."

The implications of his position sink in slowly.

He's not just any detective – he's THE detective, the one whose name carries weight in both legal and criminal circles. The fact that he handles pack relations specifically adds another layer of significance to his interest in me.

Movement draws my attention as Rhett approaches, setting down a perfectly arranged plate of eggs, bacon, and pancakes before me.

The domestic gesture seems at odds with the power plays happening around us, but his next words prove he's every bit as established as the others.

"Rhett 'Blaze' Holloway," he introduces himself, though his emerald eyes carry warmth when they meet mine. "Five-time International Racing Champion, current record holder in both Formula One and street circuit championships." His hand rests possessively on the back of my chair as he continues. "And I have absolutely no problem telling the world you're our Omega if it keeps you alive and safe."

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