Page 1 of Knot Broken

Chapter One

Violet

May 17th

10:25 A.M

I found my mates a month ago. A whole, aching month.

The universe dangled a promise right in front of me—offered a glimpse of something real, somethingmine—then ripped it away like it was a joke I was too stupid to understand. I had maybe an hour with them. Just long enough for my heart to clutch onto hope with trembling fingers… before they disappeared. Gone. Vanished like smoke in a gust of wind.

And I haven’t heard a single word since.

I met my mates in the worst possible place—trapped in the stink and shadow of a grimy building, surrounded by terrified omegas barely holding on to scraps of hope. Chaos pressed in from every angle, fear so thick it clung to your skin. My best friend Fallon had been practically inhaling one of her mates’ faces, becauseherrescuers had shown up. Of course, she got to feel safe. Chosen.

Me?

My rescuers were three devastatingly beautiful men. Alphas. They stormed in like a vengeance I hadn’t earned—commanding, lethal,mine.For a single, shining moment, I felt it. That pull. That impossible spark. Like something inside me had clicked into place for the first time in my life. Their scentswrapped around me like a promise I didn’t dare breathe too deeply.

And then... they left.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just turned around and walked away—out of the building, out of reach, and apparently, out of my life.

Now every day feels like a punishment I don’t remember earning. Every breath is a question I don’t want answered. Was it something I did? Something I said? Something Iwasn’t?

Rejection claws at me—sharp, insidious. I try to be angry, to feel anything other than this hollow ache, but it always circles back to the same quiet doubt:

Was I never enough to begin with?

My phone blares loudly, dragging me out of my carefully scheduled Spiral of Despair like a cat yanked from a sunbeam. I flail dramatically, flinging off the nearest blanket with the flair of a tortured artist mid-breakdown. My phone is under the sixth layer of fleece, blaring like it has a death wish.

I emerge breathless and tangled from my mountain of fabric, only to see Fallon’s name glowing across the screen in a video call.

I swipe to answer, pulling my face into something that’s supposed to resemble a smile but probably looks more like a constipated emoji. “Yo, bitch,” I croak, trying to inject some of my usual sass into the words. I sound like I haven’t used my vocal cords in a week. (Because... fair.)

Fallon’s face appears, mostly in profile, as she paces like a woman possessed. Her screen bobs with every step—blurry glimpses of whatmightbe her bridal store but... it’s off. The layout’s wrong, and the lighting is harsher. She’s in an oversizedyellow sweater and black leggings, her midnight blue hair piled in a chaotic bun that’s screamingI’ve had three coffees and a crisis.

“FUCK!” she screeches.

I shriek in surprise and drop the phone straight onto my face. It bounces off my nose, slaps my pride, and tumbles somewhere into the blankets like it, too, is trying to escape this day.

“Jesus tapdancingfuck, Fallon,” I grunt, groping around in the fleece pit. My nest is not ergonomically designed for phone trauma. “I’m dying over here!”

I finally dug out the phone and propped it up on a balled up a blanket. Cross-legged and blinking, I glare at her through the screen. She doesn’t even flinch.

“I figured out why my Boston location was majorly fucked,” she growls, voice thick with fury. And honestly? It’s impressive how scary she sounds for someone who once got stuck in a revolving door and tried to blame the door.

“Oh no. What now?” I sigh, running a hand through my tangled purple curls. I’m already bracing for the worst. After everything that went down with Marline—the traitorous omega manager who dabbled inkidnapping—Fallon’s store barely had a pulse. If it’s another disaster, I may need to lock her up so she doesn’t go on a murder spree. Although her alpha Voss might go anyway.

She starts pacing again. “Turns out the manager was STEALING MONEY.”

I blink. “Define ‘stealing’ before I drive to Boston with a bat.”

“She was logging employee hours at base wage and pocketing their commissions.Allof them.”

My mouth drops open, and not in a sexy way. “You mean to tell me... she gave them crap pay and kept the rest?! What the actual cinnamon-scentedfuck?”

Fallon spins, then dramatically collapses onto the storeroom floor like a Greek tragedy in Lululemon. “I called all the employees for a private meeting—without alerting Marcy the Money-Leech—and guess what? Every single one of them showed. Half of them are working two or three jobs, Vi!Three!”

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