Page 98 of Knot Their Arrangement

I have to fight hard not to allow the tempting smile to creep up my lips.

Still, as she approaches, I see something in her eyes that transcends fear. It's the same look she gave me that first night when defiance overwhelmed common sense and she chose to trust a stranger in a dangerous place.

The rain pours around us, plastering her saree to her body like a second skin. Even soaked and muddied, she moves with an innate grace that makes my heart ache. Some things haven't changed – she still carries herself like royalty, even when running for her life.

And now I’m facing this stunning Queen that I’ve dared admit has been missed in the depths of my cold heart.

Her hand reaches for my mask, trembling but determined.

I remain perfectly still, letting her make this choice. The raindrops roll off the mask's surface, creating patterns in the glow that reflect in her wide eyes.

Just like tears reflected streetlights that first night.

With agonizing slowness, she lifts the mask just enough to see my eyes. Her breath catches, and I watch recognition flood her features. Those emerald contacts I dreamed of as a teenager – now permanently implanted as I'd promised – seem to captivate her just as they did back then.

The memory of our first conversation about them floods back. Me, perched on my modified street racer, explaining my dreams to this girl who actually listened. Who didn't laugh when I talked about changing my eyes, about using appearance to reshape destiny.

"It's no different from blue eyes and blonde hair," I'd told her, full of teenage conviction. "They get opportunities because they're seen as perfect. If I change my boring brownish-black eyes, if I make myself stand out... I could be someone."

I'd meant every word.

Even then, I understood how the world worked – how appearance could open doors that talent alone couldn't breach. My mixed heritage had created barriers, but I'd been determined to turn those barriers into stepping stones.

Her hand cups my cheek, and something in me softens despite years of cultivated hardness. Her touch feels the same – gentle, accepting, without judgment. But the contrast between then and now only highlights how much we've both lost.

I'm not that optimistic street racer anymore, just as she's no longer the rebellious daughter seeking her first taste of freedom. We've both been forged in crucibles of our own making, shaped by choices and circumstances into something harder and darker.

But her scent remains the same.

Sweet and spicy, unique to her alone.

Even now, it calls to something primal in me, something that recognizes her as mine despite years and circumstances.

"Emerald green," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the rain. Her thumb traces beneath my eye, and I resist the urge to lean into her touch.

Tears mix with rain on her cheeks as she attempts a smile that breaks my heart.

"Riot," she breathes our old nickname, and for a moment I'm nineteen again, full of dreams and defiance instead of blood and vengeance.

Where my hopes felt real and my desire to make her mine forever was at its peak season.

The sound of approaching footsteps breaks through our moment of recognition. My gaze shifts past her, hardening as I register the new threat.

Even through the rain, I can sense them drawing closer.

Annoying threats that deserve to be eliminated.

Looking back at her, I see the same questions in her eyes that plague me. In our youth, this would be our cue to run – to disappear into the night laughing at another narrow escape. But we're not those kids anymore, and this forest offers no easy getaway.

Not like I wouldn’t try.

All she’d have to do is say the word, and I’d use every tactic to get us out of this doom space because that’s how far I would have gone for her.

Back then…and now.

Nothing has changed in that department.

I watch fatigue overtake her, her eyes beginning to droop. Even exhausted and injured, she's still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

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