Page 17 of Knot Their Arrangement

My heart pounds against my ribs, not just from exertion but from the thrill of being out alone at this hour. In my old life, such a thing would have been unthinkable.

I turn the corner at full speed, my mind focused solely on calculating the fastest route to the venue – and crash directly into what feels like a wall of solid muscle emerging from the nearest alleyway.

A mouse-like squeak escapes my lips as I lose my balance, my body pitching forward into what would surely be an ungraceful faceplant. But before I can meet the concrete, strong hands catch me, one arm wrapping around my waist while the other steadies my shoulder.

The sudden movement has me looking up swiftly, just as he peers down to check on me – and our lips brush in the lightest, most accidental of touches.

Oh...

Everything stops.

The world narrows down to this single moment, this fraction of a second where his lips ghost against mine.

It's barely a touch, nothing more than a whisper of contact, but it sends electricity coursing through every nerve in my body.

My Omega instincts, usually so carefully controlled, surge to life with an intensity that leaves me breathless. My skin tingles where he touches me, heat blooming beneath his fingers even through the fabric of my saree.

But it's his eyes that truly capture me.

They're the most magnificent shade of blue I've ever seen – deep and mesmerizing, with hints of lavender and silver that remind me of ocean waters beneath a star-strewn sky.

They remind me of the stories my grandmother used to tell about the cosmic ocean of creation, where stars were born in the depths of divine waters.

His scent wraps around me next, a complex mixture that makes my mouth water.

Rich, dark coffee – the expensive kind that comes from high-mountain beans – mingles with smooth bourbon and something deeper, more primal.

There's a hint of high-end cologne with notes of sandalwood and cedar, but underneath it all, is pure Alpha musk that makes my inner Omega want to purr.

He smells like late nights and dangerous secrets.

My eyes drift to the slight stubble along his jaw, perfectly maintained to look effortlessly rugged.

His black hair is cut short and styled professionally, but there's a hint of rebellion in the way a few strands fall across his forehead. The black suit he wears screams authority, tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders. The overcoat trench coat he wears over it only adds to his imposing presence, making his already impressive frame seem even larger.

He has to be at least 6'2", forcing him to bend significantly to hold me steady. My 5'2" frame feels absolutely tiny in comparison, but not in a way that frightens me.

Despite his size and strength that I can feel in his grip, there's something innately gentle about how he holds me.

As though I’m so precious in his arms…

Our eyes lock again, and I swear I see something flash in those oceanic depths –recognition? Interest?

Whatever it is makes my heart skip a beat.

11:57 PM.

The time hits me like a bucket of cold water.

I'm going to be late!

"I'm so sorry!" I manage to squeak out, carefully extracting myself from his hold. My face feels like it's on fire, and I know I must be blushing furiously. The skin where his hands touched me seems to burn with phantom heat, but there’s no time for all of this.

I have to go!

My hands automatically smooth down my saree, checking that nothing is out of place. Years of ingrained etiquette have me dropping into an elegant bow, muscle memory ensuring I maintain the perfect angle while keeping my outfit intact.

"Please forgive my clumsiness," I add formally, hating how breathless I sound. "I must go…I'm terribly late!"

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