Page 78 of Knot Their Arrangement

One final look in the mirror.

One final adjustment of my saree.

One deep breath in and out, steadying myself for whatever comes next.

As I reach for the doorknob, an acrid scent hits my nose, making it wrinkle in distaste. Burnt rubber, harsh and chemical, completely at odds with the elegant atmosphere of Cardinal's VIP section.

"Must be something burning in the kitchen," I mutter, trying to dismiss the growing unease in my stomach. The scent is familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl, but I push the thought aside as I pull the door open.

My heart stops.

No.

No, no, no.

Time seems to freeze as I look up into eyes I haven't seen since I fled my own wedding. Eyes that have haunted my nightmares, that represent everything I've been running from.

My breath catches in my throat, trapped there like a butterfly in a jar as I take in the man before me.

His tanned skin is more weathered than I remember, riddled with imperfections that the thick growth of his beard can't quite hide. The facial hair has grown wild and unkempt since the wedding day, matching the disheveled state of his too-long hair.

But it's the scar that captures my attention – a jagged line that runs from his left temple to his jaw, slightly puckered and darker than the surrounding skin. His first wife's final gift to him; carved into his flesh with her dying breath.

Lakshmi.

I never met her, but I know her story.

Every Omega in our community does. How she fought back when he tried to share her with his pack without her consent. How she managed to grab a broken bottle in the struggle, determined to leave her mark on him even as the life drained from her body.

The ends of so many Omega over the same burning desire to have a choice….

The official story was that she died in a tragic accident.

But whispers spread through the Omega community like wildfire – warnings about Maharaja Adhiraj Vikram Singh and his pack's true nature.

Warnings I should have heeded sooner.

Our eyes lock, and suddenly I'm back there — standing at the altar in my wedding finery, thousands of dollars worth of jewelry weighing me down as I realized I couldn't go through with it.

Couldn't bind myself to a man who saw Omegas as property to be used and discarded.

The memory crashes over me in vivid detail:

The hushed murmurs of the gathered crowd as I hesitated to complete the ceremony. The growing tension in the air as minutes ticked by without me speaking the required words. The way his pack started to move closer, sensing something was wrong.

The moment I knew I had to run.

The chaos that erupted as I turned and fled, guests gasping and shouting as I pushed past them. The sound of my father's enraged voice calling my name, ordering me to stop. The heavy thud of footsteps behind me as Adhiraj's pack gave chase.

But I had planned for this possibility. Had memorized every exit, every shortcut through the temple grounds. Had arranged for a change of clothes to be hidden in a precise location, allowing me to blend into the crowd once I made it to the street.

Standing here now, face to face with the man I left at the altar, I can smell the fury rolling off him in waves. That burnt rubber scent I noticed earlier –it's his. Somehow it's grown even more acrid with age, like tires left to smolder in the sun.

He looks different from the polished businessman who came to arrange our marriage. The perfectly tailored suits and carefully maintained appearance have given way to something wilder, more dangerous.

His eyes hold a manic edge that makes my instincts scream for flight.

He's been hunting me.

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