Page 99 of Knot on the Market

They're exactly themselves. Unimpressed by superficial luxury, focused on what actually matters. They transformed themselves into tuxedo wearing perfection for me tonight, but they're still Dean who brings coffee, Julian who leaves books, Callum who repairs porches without being asked.

They're mine. And I'm completely, utterly, irrevocably in love with all of them.

The realization should terrify me. Falling this hard, this fast, this completely. Instead, standing in this opulent suite that represents everything I used to think I wanted, all I feel is certainty. This is what home feels like. Not marble and crystal, but three men who chose to step into my chaos because they love me back.

"Lila?" Dean's voice carries gentle concern. "You okay?"

I blink, realizing I've been standing frozen in the middle of the suite, probably staring at them with whatever expression accompanies life-changing emotional revelations.

"I'm perfect," I say, and for the first time in my life, I mean it completely. "Just... taking it all in."

"The suite is pretty overwhelming," Julian agrees, though his analytical gaze suggests he knows there's more to my contemplation than interior design.

"Not the suite," I say softly, looking at each of them in turn. "This. All of you. Being here together."

The words carry more weight than they should, and I watch understanding dawn in their expressions. Not the full truth—I'm not ready to voice those three words yet, not here, not now—but enough that they know something fundamental has shifted.

"We should start getting ready," I say, my voice steadier now, grounded by the knowledge of what I'm fighting for tonight. "Hair and makeup team will be here in an hour."

What follows is controlled chaos that somehow works. The stylists Rebecca sent transform our suite into a professional preparation station, but instead of the tense efficiency I remember from my old life, everything feels warm and collaborative.

Dean submits to having his hair styled with good humor, joking with the makeup artist about whether firefighters are supposed to look this fancy. "Aunt Maeve's going to have a field day when she sees the photos," he says, examining himself in the mirror. "I clean up better than I thought."

He's not wrong. The perfectly fitted tuxedo transforms his already impressive frame into something that belongs on red carpets, but the warm brown eyes and easy smile are pure Dean.

Callum endures the grooming process with stoic patience, though I catch him testing the durability of his bow tie like he's evaluating construction materials. When the stylist finishes,the result is breathtaking. Sharp lines and contained power, understated elegance that speaks to quiet confidence.

Julian approaches the preparation with characteristic thoroughness, asking detailed questions about fabric care and formal wear protocol until the stylist looks charmed rather than annoyed. The final result makes my mouth go dry. Sophisticated, intelligent, devastatingly handsome in ways that transcend conventional prettiness.

"Your turn," the lead stylist says with professional enthusiasm.

The next hour passes in familiar ritual. Hair twisted into an elegant updo that required three people to achieve, makeup applied with camera-ready precision, the emerald gown Rebecca selected fitted with attention that makes movement feel like choreography.

I wait until the door closes behind the styling team, leaving us alone in the suite. The sudden quiet feels intimate after hours of professional chatter and bustling activity.

When I finally emerge from the bedroom in full red-carpet regalia, the silence in the suite is profound.

"Fuck," Callum breathes, then immediately looks apologetic. "Sorry. I mean?—"

"No, that's exactly right," Dean says, his voice rough with something that makes heat pool low in my belly. "Lila, you look..."

"Incredible," Julian finishes, his dark eyes traveling over me with obvious appreciation. "Absolutely incredible."

The emerald silk clings in all the right places, the neckline elegant but suggestive, bringing out my eyes exactly as Rebecca predicted. I look like the movie star I used to be. Polished and perfect and ready for cameras.

But standing here, surrounded by three men in perfectly fitted tuxedos who look at me like I'm the most beautiful thing they've ever seen, I don't feel like a movie star.

I feel like myself. Their omega, their pack member, their love.

"You all look incredible too," I manage, my voice slightly breathless. "Like you were born for this."

"We weren't," Julian says quietly, adjusting his cufflinks with nervous precision. "But we're here for you."

The reminder of why we're here. What we're walking into, what tonight represents should make me nervous. Instead, looking at them, seeing how they've transformed themselves while remaining fundamentally unchanged, makes me feel invincible.

"Ready?" I ask, reaching for the small clutch holding my phone, lipstick, and the emergency chocolate Dean insisted I pack.

"Almost," Callum says, his voice carrying an edge that makes me look up sharply.

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