Page 105 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "I think we both stopped caring what our families thought a long time ago."

Something shifted in his expression—recognition, perhaps, of the common ground they shared despite their families' rivalry.

"Almost done," she murmured, securing a small butterfly bandage over the deepest part of the cut. Her fingers lingered at his temple, and for a moment, neither moved. The air between them grew thick with unspoken words.

"There," she finally said, stepping back and breaking the spell. "You'll live."

"Thanks to your expert care," he replied, reaching out to catch her wrist before she could move away. His thumb traced slow circles over her pulse point. "Your hands are steady. Even when your eyes tell me you're still processing everything you saw tonight."

"I've had practice at appearing calm," she said quietly. "A necessary skill when you're an Omega in a boardroom full of Alphas who think they know better."

Ronan's grip tightened slightly. "And what are you thinking behind that calm façade, Serenity?"

She considered deflecting, but something about the night—the rawness of witnessing him fight, the intimacy of tending his wounds—demanded honesty.

"That I've spent my entire life running from what I am," she admitted. "Building credentials, proving my worth through my mind... only to discover that I'm heir to an empire built on everything I tried to rise above." She pulled her hand away gently. "And tonight I watched you fight for dominance like we're still living in some primitive age—and the worst part is, I understood it."

His eyes darkened. "Civilization is just a thin veneer. We pretend it's not, but it is."

"Maybe," she conceded, packing away the first aid supplies. "Or maybe that's just what people tell themselves to justify the ugliness they're capable of."

"You think what I did tonight was ugly?" he challenged.

"I think..." she paused, organizing her thoughts. "I think what I saw was honest. Brutal, but honest. And that's what terrifies me. Not you, or the fighting, but how... familiar it felt. Like recognizing a part of myself I've always denied."

Ronan stood, closing the distance between them. His presence overwhelmed her senses—his height, his scent, the heat radiating from his body.

"Stop denying it then," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Stop pretending you're not exactly where you're meant to be."

Serenity looked up at him, acutely aware of how easily he could overpower her, yet feeling strangely unafraid. "And where is that?"

"Here," he said simply. "At the intersection of two worlds. Just like me."

The truth of his words resonated through her. For all her education and carefully constructed identity, she was her father's daughter—drawn to power, to danger, to the very edge of control.

And standing before her was a man who understood that duality better than anyone.

Serenity reached up, her fingers brushing against the bruise forming on Ronan's jaw. He flinched slightly, but didn't pull away.

"Don't," he warned, but there was no real command in his voice.

"Don't what?" she challenged, stepping closer until her body nearly touched his. "Don't make my own decisions? Don't take what I want?"

His pupils dilated, the Alpha in him responding instinctively to her scent, which had shifted subtly. No longer just anxiety and concern, but something richer, headier.

"You don't know what you're playing with," Ronan growled, but he remained frozen in place, as if afraid his own movement would shatter his control.

"I've spent my entire life calculating risks," Serenity said, rising to her tiptoes. "It's what I do. And right now, this feels like a risk worth taking."

She pressed her lips against his, softly at first, then with growing confidence. For a moment, he remained rigid, fighting his instincts. Then something broke. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against him with enough force to steal her breath, but not enough to hurt.

"Fuck," he muttered against her mouth. "You're going to be the death of me."

Serenity smiled against his lips. "Death by a thousand cuts? Or one fatal blow?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, his hands moving to her waist, fingers digging into her hips with barely restrained need.

She guided his hands away, stepping back just enough to create space between them. The confusion in his eyes almost made her laugh—an Alpha unused to being denied.

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