Page 46 of Knot Their Arrangement

Fifteen minutes ago, I was running through rain-slicked streets, terrified of being late and dealing with government interrogation. Now I'm walking into Sacred Divine's VIP section with two Alphas I’ve barely met, while a prince plots revenge for a pack I rejected.

If this were one of my romance novels, this would be the moment where everything changes.

Damon's thumb strokes across my knuckles as if sensing my thoughts, drawing my attention back to him. The way he looks at me from over his shoulder for just a few seconds makes me feel as if I'm something precious.

Someone wildly perfect in his eyes and whom he’d want to protect but never tame.

I must be dreaming to think such a simple check-in with those beautiful eyes could mean something so meaningful and raw, but it doesn’t stop from making my heart skip.

Maybe everything already has changed.

8

THROUGH THE AUTHOR'S EYES

~KIERAN~

There's something inherently captivating about watching someone lose themselves in a story.

The way their eyes dance across pages, how their expressions shift with each new revelation, the subtle changes in their breathing as tension builds and releases. It's like watching a private performance where the reader becomes both audience and actor in their own intimate theater.

Particularly when that reader is currently devouring the words I wrote just months ago.

The Omega –Kamari– sits across from me in our private VIP booth, completely absorbed in the leather-bound advance copy of my latest novel.

The book I'd "happened" to have with me, the one I'd so casually offered when she mentioned enjoying dark romance.

She hasn't looked up in twenty-three minutes.

Not that I'm counting.

The crystal wine glass beside her catches the ambient lighting of Cardinal's elite section, the deep red liquid within barely touched. She lifts it occasionally, taking small sips that seem more automatic than conscious, her eyes never leaving the page.

Even in the dim lighting, I can see how her pupils dilate at certain passages, how her breath catches at particularly intense moments. The way her free hand sometimes rises to touch her neck unconsciously when reading the more...heated scenes.

Fascinating.

She's young – definitely not the legal drinking age of twenty-one, though in establishments like Cardinal's, such technicalities are overlooked for the right clientele. Her features hold that softness of youth, but there's a maturity in her eyes that speaks of experiences beyond her years.

The traditional saree she wears captures my attention once again.

The fabric, while clearly aged, has been maintained with extraordinary care. The combination of royal blue, crimson red, and pristine white isn't random – these colors carry specific meaning in Indian culture, typically associated with pre-marriage ceremonies and blessings.

My mind drifts to last summer, when I accompanied Ezekiel to India. He'd been visiting family, reconnecting with roots he sometimes struggled to balance with his Korean heritage. I'd gone along under the pretense of research for my writing, but the truth was more complex.

I needed to understand.

To truly write authentic characters, you have to immerse yourself in their world. You can't just Google cultural details and expect to capture the soul of a people. You have to breathe their air, walk their streets, listen to their stories told in voices that carry generations of history.

The women in his family had been particularly helpful, especially once they realized I wasn't just another foreigner looking to exoticize their culture for profit. They shared traditions, explained symbolism, and demonstrated the intricate art of draping sarees just as Kamari wears hers now.

"Each fold has meaning,"Ezekiel's grandmother had explained, her weathered hands demonstrating the precise movements."Each pleat carries stories. When we dress this way, we wrap ourselves in our history."

Looking at Kamari now, I can appreciate the expertise in her draping.

Despite her earlier run through the rain, despite all that's happened tonight, her saree maintains perfect pleats. The pallu –the decorative end piece draped over her shoulder– falls with elegant precision that speaks of years of practice.

The fabric itself tells its own story. The intricate zari work –real gold thread embroidery, not the machine-made imitation– has the particular patina that only comes with age and careful preservation.

---