Page 52 of Knotting on Heaven's Door

And then—

Ada:You’re such an arrogant bastard.

Me:Yeah, but you like it. You like when I take control. When I tell you exactly what I’m going to do to you before I do it. And gods, Ada, I can still taste you on my tongue.

That one landed. I could feel it through the screen.

Ada:Go to sleep, Laurente.

Me:Make me. Better yet… come over and try.

No reply. But I knew I had her.

Her scent was on my couch. My bed. My fucking skin. And I wasn’t done with her. Not by a long shot.

CHAPTER 12

Ada

Sleep came late, and when it finally did, it was restless at best.

My sheets felt too warm, too twisted around my legs. My skin tingled with leftover heat from the way Sebastian’s voice still echoed in my head—arrogant, teasing, impossibly confident.

That bastard had a way of getting under my skin like no one else. And the worst part? I let him. I texted him.Ihad opened the door.

Helping him had seemed harmless at first. Natural. A reflex.

Because I knew what it meant to need help. I was raised in a neighborhood where no one locked their doors and dinner was shared between families even when money was tight. You didn’t call itcharity. It was pack culture, the kind that ran deeper than blood. Everyone lifted each other up, not because they had to—because it was the only way to survive.

And sure, Sebastian was an entitled golden boy with a jawline that could start wars and eyes that didn’t belong on anyone that smug. But when Mia told me he was sleeping on a floor, something twisted in my chest. Something old and familiar.

Still, Sebastian Laurente wasn’t part of my pack. He didn’t understand what it meant to struggle. Notreally.

So what the hell was I doing?

The question still clung to me like humidity when my phonerang. I blinked at the screen, squinting against the sunlight spilling through my blinds.

Charlene Whitmore.

With a groan, I hit accept. “Mrs. Whitmore, good morning.”

“Oh, Ada, darling,” she purred like we’d been brunching together for years. “I won’t keep you long. I’m sure someone like you enjoys a slow morning… coffee, silk robes, something exotic on the radio?”

I blinked. Did she think I was some kind of omega soap opera?

“I just wanted to let you know,” she continued, “I’ve made my decision about the gala.”

I sat up, alert. “Yes?”

“I’ll be hiring De la Vega Events. You’ve impressed me, dear. Truly. But of course, there is…onecondition.”

Of course there was.

“I want that lovely young man—Sebastian, was it? Tall, blonde, spoke with that soft French growl… charming beyond belief. I want him as the head chef. In charge of all the food.”

I stared at the ceiling, letting the silence stretch as I counted to five.

“Sebastian is still new to the company,” I said carefully. “While he’s talented, there’s a team of—”

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