Page 48 of Knot Their Arrangement

Interesting.

The way her body responds to him speaks volumes about their compatibility, even if neither of them fully recognizes it yet. Her Omega instincts clearly recognize something in him that calls to her on a primal level.

Just as they did with Ezekiel earlier tonight, though she doesn't know he's part of our unconventional pack.

Probably doesn’t know I was watching from a far since I do like to keep tabs on everyone in our pack.

Rhetts the only one I don’t have to really “monitor”.

The crazed wild card can monitor himself.

I take another sip of wine, cataloging every detail of their interaction. The way Damon's hand comes to rest possessively on the back of her chair, how her breathing subtly changes when he leans closer to see what she's reading.

The entire dynamic feels like watching the opening chapters of a story writing itself.

Now that's an interesting thought.

My fingers itch for my keyboard, mind already composing potential scenes. The reality unfolding before me holds more tension, more authentic chemistry than anything I could fabricate. A runaway Omega bride finding herself entangled with a pack of Alphas who defy every convention...

It practically writes itself.

But there's darkness lurking beneath the surface of this budding romance. I haven't missed the shadows that cross Kamari's face when she thinks no one's watching, or the way she occasionally glances toward the exits as if mapping escape routes.

The threats from Prince Rajveer weren't idle words, and whatever pack she fled from won't simply let her go.

Not when there are business deals and family honor at stake.

She's running from something far more dangerous than a simple arranged marriage.

I observe as she unconsciously shifts closer to Damon, seeking protection she doesn't even realize she's asking for. Her fingers still trace the pages of my book, but her attention has splintered now, divided between the story in her hands and the very real drama unfolding around her.

Life imitating art...or perhaps it's the other way around.

A sharp gasp breaks through the comfortable silence of our VIP booth.

I watch with rapt attention as Kamari reaches for one of the black napkins folded with military precision on our table.

Her movements carry an air of barely contained urgency as she carefully places it between the pages of my book, using it as an impromptu bookmark before setting the volume down before her.

She doesn't say anything at first.

The silence that follows is fascinating – charged with unspoken thoughts that play across her features like shadows in candlelight. I find myself leaning forward slightly, intrigued by the rapid succession of emotions flickering through those expressive brown eyes.

Damon, ever the impatient one, shifts beside her. I can read the tension in his frame – he's never been good at waiting, at letting situations unfold naturally. His fingers have found their way into Kamari's hair, absently playing with the long black strands in a gesture that seems unconscious on his part.

She doesn't notice either.

"Why did you stop?" I finally ask, breaking the charged silence before Damon's patience runs out completely.

A blush immediately colors her cheeks, the kind of genuine reaction that can't be faked. It spreads down her neck, disappearing beneath the intricate embroidery of her saree's blouse.

"It's stupid," she mutters, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the napkin-turned-bookmark.

I can't help but smirk at her obvious discomfort, tilting my head as I study her.

"Try us," I suggest mildly. "Let us be the judge of whether it's truly stupid."

The blush intensifies impossibly further.

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