Page 100 of Knot on the Market

There's something in his expression. Heat, possession, something that makes my pulse quicken despite the formal setting.

"Callum?" I ask, but he's already moving toward me with predatory grace.

"You look perfect," he says, his hands settling on my waist with careful reverence for the expensive silk. "But you don't smell like yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"You smell like products and perfume and performance," Julian adds, understanding immediately. "Beautiful, but not you."

Dean moves closer, his scent warming as he processes their suggestion. "We should fix that," he says, his voice dropping to something rougher, more intimate.

"Guys," I start, my heart rate picking up for entirely different reasons. "We don't have time?—"

"We have exactly enough time," Callum interrupts, his thumb tracing my dress's neckline. "To remind you who you really are before you have to perform being someone else."

The words cut through all the glamour and preparation to the heart of what I actually need. Not to look perfect for cameras, but to feel like myself—their omega, their love—regardless of what world we're walking into.

"The dress," I whisper, but my protest lacks conviction.

"Will be fine," Julian says, moving behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders. "We know how to be careful."

"Do we?" I ask, but I'm already leaning into their touch, my body responding despite every rational thought about timing and appearances.

"Trust us," Dean murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Let us remind you who you belong to."

Looking at them. Three alphas in perfect formal wear who've transformed themselves to support me but still look at me like I'm the center of their universe. I realize this is exactly what I need.

Not perfection, but truth. Not performance, but connection.

"Yes," I breathe, melting into their combined warmth. "Please."

Because in twenty minutes we'll walk into a world of cameras and expectations and careful image management. But right now, in this moment, we're just us.

And that's all I need to remember who I really am.

Chapter 31

Callum

The moment she says "please," something primal and possessive roars to life in my chest.

Lila stands before us in that emerald dress that probably costs more than my truck, hair swept up to reveal the elegant line of her neck, makeup applied with professional precision. She looks like a goddess, like something too perfect to touch.

But underneath all that polished glamour, I can smell her uncertainty. The way the expensive perfume and styling products have masked her natural scent, turned her into someone performing rather than someone being.

That's not my omega. My omega smells like green apples and confidence, like someone who knows exactly where she belongs.

"Turn around," I say quietly, my voice rougher than intended.

She obeys without question, presenting her back to me. The dress has a hidden zipper, probably cost extra for the seamless design. My hands are steady as I work it down just enough to bare her shoulders, careful not to disturb the fabric.

"Callum," she breathes, and there it is—the first hint of her real scent breaking through the artificial layers.

"That's better," I murmur, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. "Starting to smell like yourself again."

Julian moves to steady her from the front, his hands settling on her waist with reverent care. Dean positions himself at her side, ready to support whatever we need. We've learned to work together like this, anticipating each other's movements, focused entirely on her pleasure.

"We don't have much time," Julian says, glancing at his watch with characteristic precision. "Twenty minutes before we need to leave."

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