Page 9 of Knot Your Romeo

“This is Romeo,” Mr. Sampson says. “He’s never one for conversation.”

So this is Romeo Silver, and he is staring at me like I’ve offended him by existing.

He sits in the back of the Range Rover like he owns not just the vehicle, but the entire world around it. He’s tall—easily six-two—with dark hair that looks like he’s been running his hands through it and gray eyes that seem to catalog every detail of my appearance in a single, dismissive glance. Everything about him screams Alpha dominance. But the way he moves along the seat to get as far away from me as possible is with a casual arrogance.

“Get in.”

I force myself to straighten my spine. “God, this is going to be a long ride.”

Something flickers across his expression—surprise, maybe, that I’m not immediately falling in line.

Mr. Sampson clears his throat.

“Sorry, I’m Romeo Silver. And I know you’re the housekeeper’s daughter.” The way he says it makes it sound like an accusation or an insult.

“Pleased to meet you, Romeo. I’m Jolie. Jolie Masters,” I reply, proud that my voice doesn’t shake and happy that I remembered my fake name. “And yes, my mother works for your family.”

And how quickly I hate him.

From the driver’s seat, Mr. Sampson clears his throat again. “Perhaps we should get moving? Romeo has an early class, and Miss Masters, you will want time to find the registrar’s office.”

Romeo’s eyes narrow as I slide into the backseat, trying to leave as much space as possible between us. Alphas like him are exactly what I was trying to avoid.

Romeo stretches his long legs, which take up more than his fair share of space. He doesn’t look at me again, instead scrollingthrough messages like I’m not here. Despite his indifference, tension radiates from him.

“Are you excited about your first day at Silvercrest College?” Mr. Sampson asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror as we pass through the estate gates.

“Yes, sir,” I manage, hyper-aware of Romeo’s presence beside me. It’s a lie. Right now, all I want is to survive the next twenty minutes without completely embarrassing myself.

“Excellent school,” Mr. Sampson continues the conversation. “Small enough that the professors actually know their students’ names. Romeo here is quite popular with the faculty, aren’t you?”

Romeo makes a noncommittal sound without looking up from his phone. But I catch the slight tightening around his eyes, as if Mr. Sampson’s praise makes him uncomfortable.

“What are you studying?” I ask, then immediately regret it when Romeo’s gaze snaps to mine. Those gray eyes are even more intense up close, framed by thick dark lashes that would be beautiful on anyone else but somehow make him look more dangerous. There’s intelligence there, and anger, and something else that seems familiar.

“Business,” he says flatly. “Family obligations….” The way he says it suggests he’d rather be studying anything else. Or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me at all.

I decide it’s best to spend the rest of the drive in uncomfortable silence. At least it would be if Mr. Sampson’s occasional comments about local landmarks did not break it.

The car turns sharply and Romeo’s leg brushes against mine. His scent seems to intensify in the enclosed space, and it’s nice, but as an omega with no prospect of ever scent matching with anyone, my body only reacts to his touch.

But by the time we reach campus, I’m still desperate to get out of the car.

“Here we are,” Mr. Sampson announces, pulling up to what looks like the main administration building. “Romeo, are you staying late again?”

Silvercrest College is smaller than I expected, more like an oversized prep school than a traditional university. Brick buildings covered in ivy clusters. From the prospectus I read, the campus was built around a central quad where students are gathering during the day.

It looks prestigious and intimidating and exactly like the kind of place where I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

“Yeah. I’ll find my way home,” Romeo says curtly, already reaching for the door handle.

He’s out of the vehicle before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt and striding across the parking lot with that same predatory grace. Several students turn to watch him pass, their gazes tracking his movement with obvious interest.

He ignores them all, disappearing into a building without a backward glance.

“Don’t take it personally,” Mr. Sampson says kindly, noting my expression. “Romeo’s...complicated. Has been ever since his parents died.”

“His parents?” I ask before I can stop myself.

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