Page 66 of Break Me Knot

A frown tightens my brow at a question I’ve never asked before… what happens to omegas who can’t pay Haven’s fees? It’s something our society has never asked. Then again, not a lot of information is released about Haven.

Senator Hardwick ensures that no news gets out to the press while strictly controlling the laws on omega medications we’re allowed to produce. On top of that, she suppresses news about advancements in understanding the Mortalis Strain. But we continue to self-fund Project Genesis, legislation be damned.

We don’t care about self-funding anything. We have enough money and are more than willing to finance the research. Better to have a cure than the low rateof omega births. I make a mental note to bring these thoughts up with Adrian and Cole.

I kneel at her feet, pulling out the snow boots I'd chosen to match her emerald coat. "Can't have those pretty feet getting cold," I murmur, my hands gentle as I guide each foot into its boot.

She watches me with those wide, wondering eyes that never fail to make my heart clench - like she's still amazed that someone would care enough to tend to her this way. I take my time with the zippers, ensuring they're secure but not constraining. Everything needs to be perfect for her first venture into the garden - warm, protected, cherished. I stand, offering my hand to her with a soft smile. "Ready to see something beautiful?"

Tonight is about making her smile. About building the trust she so desperately needs. The healing that needs to happen. And through that, hopefully she can see how good we are for each other, and she’ll choose to stay. Hopefully, she’llwantto stay.

“Okay,” she says softly, and my heart soars at this small acceptance. My eyes flick to the pile of unopened bags in her room. Designer clothes, soft sweaters, everything she deserves. I thought she’d like to open them herself when I put them here, but I know she doesn’t think she can. Things like that will take time. One day, I hope she'll let me shower her with gifts. I want her to expect them each and every day. For now, I'll celebrate this victory… her wearing the coat I chose, trusting me enough to follow.

I take her small hand in mine, savoring how she lets my fingers thread with hers. Leading her through the penthouse, I keep up a stream of light chatter, telling her about the time Cole accidentally dyed all our laundry pink. Her quiet laugh is like music, and I find myself saying increasingly ridiculous things just to hear that sound again.

We reach our private stairwell, and I slow my pace to match hers. She's still too weak, too thin, and the stairs will wind her. “No rush, Baby Girl,” I assure her when she tries to speed up. “We have all the time in the world.”

At the top of the stairs, I pause. “This is our private rooftop garden,” I explain, watching her face carefully. “No one else has access. You're completely safe here.” I want her to understand that… this is a sanctuary, not a trap.

I open the door, but I'm not watching the garden; I'm watching her face as she steps through. The way her eyes widen, lips parting. The small gasp that escapes as she takes in what I've created.

This is just the beginning of what we want to give you.

“Oh my God, Zane. This is beautiful.” The wonder in her voice makes my chest tight. The fairy lights reflect in her emerald eyes, turning them to liquid gold. Snowflakes catch in her hair where it peeks from beneath the hood, and her cheeks are flushed pink from the cold and excitement. She's luminous in the soft glow.

“Yes. It is.” I’m not talking about the view. It’s nothing compared to her.

I've transformed our rooftop garden into something I hope is magical. The outdoor setting beneath the gazebo is laid for dinner, fine china gleaming, wine glasses catching the light, candles flickering in crystal holders. Fairy lights twine through the gazebo's frame, creating a ceiling of stars above us. Each detail has been carefully chosen to create this perfect moment, from the vintage champagne chilling in its bucket to the arrangement of winter flowers as a centerpiece.

Fresh snow blankets the garden, unsullied and untouched, reflecting the golden lights like diamonds. More snow caps the gazebo's roof, creating a winter wonderland effect. The evergreen shrubs wear their white coats proudly, branches bowing under the weight. Inside the gazebo, I've created a cocoon of warmth... plush cushions in deep jewel tones, cashmere blankets in cream and burgundy, and discrete heaters ensuring comfort despite the winter chill.

Far below us, the city sprawls out in a tapestry of lights, thousands of buildings twinkling against the black sky. We're separate from it all. Up here, we're in our own world where nothing can touch us. Just the stars and the gentle fall of snow.

“Are you warm enough?” I ask, watching how the lights play across her face. She looks otherworldly, like something from a fairytale. I’m so glad I could create this for her, to provide this momentof pure joy.

I want to freeze this moment forever. Her expression of wonder, the way her scent has softened with pleasure, how she's subconsciously moved closer to me. She's letting her guard down just slightly, allowing herself to be present in this moment rather than constantly scanning for threats.

This is how she should always look. This is what we want to give her, if she'll let us. These moments of pure joy, of wonder, of peace. I want to replace every bad memory with ones like this, want to show her that life can be beautiful, and that she deserves beautiful things.

She drifts to the wall, her fingers trailing along the stone as she gazes out over the cityscape. “It looks so big from up here,” she says softly. “I've only ever seen it from the streets.” The admission makes my heart ache. How many nights did she spend down there, alone and afraid, while we lived up here in oblivious comfort?

“I want to show you everything.” There is so much more I want to show her than just this view. I want to show her the world. Take her to Paris, to Rome, or anywhere she wants. I want that look of wonder on her face every day for the rest of our lives. I want to replace every memory of dark streets and fear with new ones filled with light and joy.

The yearning is so strong it's almost painful. My alpha howls with the need to provide these experiences, to watch her bloom under our care and protection. To see her truly smile without that edge of fear, to hear her laugh without restraint.

She turns to look up at me, snowflakes caught in her lashes, and I can't help myself. My hand moves of its own accord, cupping her cheek. Her skin is cool from the winter air but so soft under my palm. Her pupils dilate, her sweet scent spiking with something that might be desire.

“Can I kiss you, Baby Girl?” The city lights reflect in her eyes, making them sparkle like precious gems, and I've never wanted anything more in my life than this moment.

Please let me show you how precious you are. Let me prove that touch can be gentle, that love doesn't have tohurt.

My thumb traces her cheekbone as I hold perfectly still, letting her process, letting her choose. This isn't like her heat when biology drove her responses. This is her, fully present, fully aware. This choice means everything.

She blinks slowly, and when her eyes open again, they're heavy-lidded, fixed on my mouth. The look sends heat racing through my veins, but I wait. Patient. Her scent slides around us both like silk, sweet with want.

“Yes. Please. Kiss me, Zane,” she whispers, and that phrase changes everything.

I lean down, drawn to her like gravity, and capture her lips with mine. She's soft, so soft. My free hand finds her waist, steadying her as she sways toward me. Her small hands come up to grip my coat, not pushing away but pulling closer. The heat of her body seeps through our layers, making my skin tingle where we touch.

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