Page 92 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

The words were deceptively simple, yet they carried a weight that made Serenity's breath catch in her throat. He was comfortable here, staking his claim without a second thought. And what about her? Her place among them was much less certain. Was she here as an equal or as a liability? The thought nagged at her, unwelcome and persistent, threatening to unravel her guarded composure.

She shifted in her seat, trying to dismiss the notion. "Give it a week," she shot back, infusing her voice with a derisive playfulness she didn't quite feel. "I'm sure you'll be bored and breaking things just for fun."

But he watched her with those perceptive eyes, as if he knew every layer of her bravado, every vulnerability she tried to hide.Serenity tightened her arms across her chest again, a futile attempt to shield herself from how exposed she felt under his gaze. She couldn't afford this kind of distraction, not when she was still grappling with the unforeseen emotional complications of their arrangement.

Ronan chuckled, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the spacious kitchen. "We'll see about that," he said. "Maybe you'll end up liking it here too."

There it was again—that infuriating confidence. He spoke as if it were all settled, as if she'd already admitted defeat to their collective charms. Serenity recoiled instinctively, resisting the pull of his words. She needed to be clear-headed, pragmatic. Her life depended on it. She was here out of necessity, not desire.

Except that didn't quite ring true, did it? Her mind flashed back to the night before, to the unsettling tangle of relief and irritation and yes, even lust that she'd struggled to shake off. Her own body was betraying her with its Omega biology, responding in ways she'd long trained it not to. She wasn't just fighting external threats. She was fighting herself.

"Don't count on it," she retorted, injecting one last desperate note of skepticism into the conversation. But even as she said it, she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince—Ronan or herself.

She tore her gaze away from his, feeling way too seen and way too vulnerable under the weight of his attention. She needed a distraction, something to focus on besides the whirlwind of emotions that Ronan provoked with such infuriating ease. Her eyes drifted to Darius, a safer target, she hoped, for her unsettled thoughts.

And there he was, moving with his usual precision, as if orchestrating a delicate operation instead of making breakfast. It was surreal, seeing him in such a domestic role. She watched,half-expecting him to switch gears and issue orders about taking out the competition, not flipping omelets.

"Impressive," she said, trying to sound blasé but unable to mask the thread of surprise in her voice. "Didn't take you for a domestic type."

Was she trying to compliment him? Maybe. But it was also a way to deflect from the tumult of feelings sweeping through her, to latch onto something less disconcerting than Ronan's knowing presence.

"Cooking is about control and creativity," Darius replied, unruffled. "Both useful skills in any setting."

The response was so characteristically him, an assertion of authority that masked layers beneath. Serenity found herself momentarily transfixed, caught between admiration and disbelief. How could these men be so many things at once? She thought she had them figured out, but every moment she spent with them complicated things further. They were not just her reluctant protectors. They were rivals, allies, and—most alarmingly—becoming something dangerously closer to partners.

She struggled to fit this into the framework she'd constructed for herself, a framework that was starting to feel more and more fragile under the pressure of unexpected alliances and unwanted affections. She was supposed to be above these entanglements, in control and independent. So why did their presence feel so plausible, like they'd already insinuated themselves into her life in ways she couldn't unwind?

"Never figured you for such a Renaissance man," she quipped, aiming for sarcasm but landing somewhere nearer to sincerity. "I'm not going to find poison in my coffee as part of some hostile takeover, am I?"

Ronan's laughter broke the moment, drawing her attention back to him and his easy disregard for anything resemblingseriousness. "We don't need poison," he said, echoing his earlier jab but with more amusement. "Darius's cooking will knock you out all on its own."

She tried not to smile, she really did. But Ronan's irreverence was annoyingly infectious, and she could feel the corners of her mouth pulling upward despite her best efforts. His humor was a weapon, one she was defenseless against when it pierced through her armor and left her momentarily disarmed.

"You should be dressed like that more often," Ronan added, his eyes sweeping over her in a way that was both appreciative and possessive. "Almost makes you look like you belong here."

Serenity stiffened, the words hitting her more deeply than she wanted to admit. Was he just teasing her again, or did he actually mean it? The uncertainty was like an itch she couldn't scratch, a discomfort that lingered long after the remark itself. Did she belong here? Could she? The possibility was both terrifying and intriguing, a dangerous notion that threatened to undermine the defenses she had so painstakingly erected.

She set her jaw, forcing a mask of indifference back onto her face. She couldn't let herself be swept up in their orbit, couldn't allow herself to believe she had a place among them that was anything more than temporary and tactical. It was self-preservation, she told herself. It had to be.

"Whatever," she said, doing everything she could to pretend she didn't care, as if Ronan's hardly serious remark hadn't hit her square in the chest. It was a weak comeback, a flimsy shield she deployed to guard against the chaos of emotions she didn’t want to face. Her life was supposed to be a series of strategic maneuvers, not wild throws of the dice. She tried to reassure herself that she'd maintain her edge, even as everything around her seemed to edge closer to something terrifyingly genuine.

And that was when Lucian walked in, yawning like he had no cares in the world. She marveled at the sight, surprisedto see him looking less than perfectly composed. His hair had that tousled, just-out-of-bed look that was annoyingly attractive, and he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, an ensemble that was downright casual for someone who usually seemed over-dressed for his own skin.

"Looks like you slept in," Darius observed, casting a sidelong glance as Lucian made a beeline for the coffee. His tone was unreadable, the exact measure of friendly and competitive that marked most of their interactions.

Lucian shrugged, pouring a mug with more enthusiasm than accuracy. "Finally got hold of a good sleeping medicine," he replied, the words tinged with a dry humor that didn't quite hide the exhaustion beneath. "Chases all the nightmares away."

There was a vulnerability to his statement that Serenity couldn't ignore, a crack in his otherwise confident persona. It dawned on her that she wasn’t the only one who hadn't slept well, that maybe his suggestion to spend the night together had been about more than just comforting her. Maybe he had been looking for a way to deal with his own demons, to find a moment of peace in the same place she was trying to guard hers.

The realization hit her with an unexpected force, knocking loose the tight grip she thought she had on the situation. She wasn't used to seeing any of these men as anything other than unyielding forces of nature, certainly not as individuals who might be struggling with their own shit. Yet here was Lucian, effortlessly charming and apparently untroubled, and beneath that, just like her, dealing with a storm he couldn't quite control.

She wondered what haunted his nights, what specters he was running from. His past? His ambitions? Was it something she could help chase away or something that would eventually chase him away from her? The uncertainty was unsettling, another layer of complication she had no idea how to peel back.

And was she willing to offer him what he needed, even if it meant letting him get closer than she was ready for? The question lingered in her mind, refusing to settle into a neat answer. She didn't know how to be this version of herself, but she also didn't know how long she could pretend that the old version was still who she wanted to be.

Lucian rubbed a hand through his already disheveled hair, looking almost boyishly unguarded for someone who usually wielded charm as both sword and shield. He cast a glance at her, and she swore she saw something raw and pleading behind that usual confidence, as though he'd never get enough of looking at her.

"Sleep well, little buttercup?" Lucian asked, closing the distance between them with a few easy strides and gifting her a quick kiss on the lips. The move was almost too smooth, too natural for her to process, leaving Serenity at a rare loss for words. She didn't even have the time to muster a reaction before he pulled back, flashing her an infuriatingly confident grin. "Nevermind. I know how you slept," he added, tossing in a playful wink for good measure.

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