Page 9 of Knot Ruined

The voice is cool, even, deliberate—the kind of calm that isn’t actually calm at all. The sound makes my skin prickle in anticipation.

The blue-haired woman in the blue sweater straightens. Something shifts in her tone, her posture settling into something authoritative, practiced, absolute.

“My name is Fallon. I have an appointment to find a dress.”

I can’t tell you how excited I am that this is going to be our mate. Looking at her is making my dick get hard. I try to adjust myself, but the zipper on my jeans digs into my skin harder.

Marline pauses. The audio catches a soft scoff, then a quiet exhale through her nose. “You’re getting married?” There’s disbelief in the woman’s tone—thick, unapologetic disbelief.

The two women with her react immediately, shifting back like they’re about to watch a car crash in slow motion. Fallon, however, does not move. Her voice doesn’t waver. She doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. I am getting married. My soon-to-be husbands will be covering all costs. They should have their card on file.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Marline snorts. She actually snorts. “Like whoever you’re marrying could afford us.” The rolling scoff, the unfiltered amusement, and every syllable are an open mockery. “You might want to try the thrift store around the corner.”

Jace growls low in his throat. Romano cuts him off, though. “Just watch you, giant!”

A shift in the frame—movement from Henry’s side of the screen. Marco steps in, voice low, as he speaks to the bodyguard, who tilts his head but doesn’t take his eyes off Fallon.

But Fallon isn’t looking at Henry. She tilts her head slightly, the warmth draining from her expression, her lips pressing into a slight, unreadable smirk.

“Now, Ms. Whatever-The-Fuck-Your-Name-Is, I genuinely don’t care.”

The air shifts. Marline’s smirk falters.

“But what I do care about is the fact that I will not tolerate this judgmental bullshit.” The audio catches the silence, the moment of hesitation as the Marline registers the shift in tone.

“My soon-to-be husbands, whom you might have heard of—the Rosetti pack?”

A sharp inhale—a stutter in her movement. I'm unsure if anyone else can see the fury in her eyes, although her expression doesn't change. She visibly stiffens—no snark, no more amusement.

And Fallon chuckles. It’s not funny. It’s a low, humorless sound, an edge of warning woven beneath it.

My cock aches. I see Voss adjust his stance, and Jace groans. “Well fuck. I want to make her laugh at me like that.”

I laugh at that because I feel the same. I finally give up trying for decorum and shove my hand in my pants to adjust myself.

She steps forward—not aggressively, not threatening—just enough.

“Is this how she treats all her customers?” Fallon asks, her voice suddenly lighter, almost sweet.

The camera shifts slightly, catching the employee hovering behind the blonde, shoulders tense, hands wringing at her sides.

She glances around like she’s waiting for permission to speak. When none comes, she forces it out anyway. “O-Only the ones she thinks a-are poor.”

A pin could drop.

Marline visibly falters, panic creeping into her eyes.

Fallon, however, sighs. “Well.” A pause. “I suppose I will need your name after all.”

A beat. Marline latches onto it and tries to recover. “Why?” she demands, her voice faltering but stubborn, like she thinks there’s still a way to claw back control.

“Why?” Fallon repeats, slow, mocking her own amusement. Then she counts off on her fingers, like listing groceries. “One: You’re a bitch, and you shouldn’t be helping people on one of the happiest occasions of their lives.”

“Two: I will be telling my husbands about this interaction.”

A sharp inhale.

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