Page 54 of Knot Their Safe Haven
Like she’s finally getting a chance to start over again.
"This is insane,” she quietly whispers.”
"Yes."
"You know… you can't just... claim someone. Like property” I’m sure she’s trying to logically think this through.
"I didn't claim property. I claimed responsibility. For your medical care, recovery, and safety. What happens after that is up to you."
"But legally?—"
"Legally, you're protected. Medically, you're covered. Personally? That's for you to decide when the drugs wear off and you can think clearly."
I wanted to emphasize that she’s in full control of this next chapter of her life. Not to feel as if I’m forcing her into this simply because I saved her. She closed her eyes, exhaustion pulling at her features. The conversation had taken what little energy she'd recovered, and I could see her fighting to stay conscious.
"Rest," I said softly. "I'll be here when you wake up."
"Why?" The question was barely a whisper.
"Because seventeen years ago, a beautiful woman teaching French to a lying teenager said something that stuck." I tucked a strand of silver-purple hair behind her ear. "She said I'd be dangerous when I was older. She was right. Dangerous enough to take what I want, to fight for what matters, to claim what those cowards couldn't."
“Hmm.” I bet she’s trying to think of how to answer. Her breathing had evened out, sleep pulling her under again. But just before she went completely under, she whispered:
"Emerald eyes...in the water..."
I froze.
She'd seen me. Somehow, drowning and drugged, she'd seen me in those final moments.
I'd pulled her from the water myself, diving in while the world burned above us, following the beacon of her purple hair through the murky depths.
She'd seen me save her.
I sat back in my chair, picking up the romance novel again. Chapter thirteen now, apparently featuring something called a "healing heat" that sounded medically improbable but emotionally resonant.
My phone buzzed. The pack chat, probably. Or business that couldn't wait.
I ignored it all.
Velvet slept, occasionally murmuring words I couldn't catch.
The monitors beeped steadily, confirming what the surgery had accomplished.
She'd heal, walk, and live another glorious day.
And when she woke—really woke, not drugged and confused but fully herself—we'd have a different conversation.
One about choices and futures and what it meant to be claimed by someone who'd waited seventeen years to make his move.
The fallout would be spectacular.
Knox would rage. Malcolm would cite ethics violations. Adyani would speak of stolen choices.
The media would have a field day if they found out.
The Rebel Queen claimed by a billionaire seventeen years her junior, part of a pack that included female Alphas and twins who shared everything.
A jubilee of theatrics.
