Page 62

When we arrive, the venue takes my breath away.

The building itself is draped in soft white lights that shimmer like stars against the dusk, every window aglow with warmth and possibility.

The entrance is flanked by towering floral arrangements in shades of blush and cream, the scent of roses and peonies swirling in the air, intoxicating and sweet.

Knox steps out first and helps me from the car. For a heartbeat, we simply stand there, alone amidst the glamour and the hush before the event. His hand presses gently to the small of my back, and together we ascend the steps.

Inside, the space opens up into a world of elegance and wonder.

Crystal chandeliers cast a constellation of light over the gathered guests, their laughter and conversation weaving a tapestry of anticipation.

Tables glimmer with silverware and candlelight, pale linens catching the glow and reflecting it back in soft waves.

I pause, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of it. Knox leans close, his lips brushing my ear. “Stunning,” he murmurs, and I realize he means not just the scene before us, but me, and this moment, and all the possibilities spinning out from tonight.

Hand in hand, we step forward into that dazzling world, ready for whatever magic the evening might hold.

I don’t know how long we’ve been here, but I’ve met more people than I can to remember. Each one is more vicious than the last. Yet, I stand my ground with them. I don’t let them tear me down or try to talk me in circles. I may not be from Knox’s world, but that doesn’t mean I can’t belong.

A particularly viperous woman is talking to me now. She’s going on and on about this new up-and-coming designer that everyone is raving about—a Miss. Win Dee.

I smirk at the information this woman clearly doesn’t know.

Win Dee is a pseudonym for Windy, my friend.

When I was putting on my dress tonight, I checked the label to see that it was one of her creations.

It made this dress even more special than it already was.

Wearing something my friend designed is more than I could ever hope for.

She primarily caters to the plus-size population, but also designs dresses and gowns for every shape and size.

I turn to give Knox a look, and he winks down at me, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“So, your gown,” the woman says, gesturing to my golden dream, “who designed it?”

“Win Dee,” I retort, smiling. “Isn’t she the best?”

“Oh, darling. Usually, her dresses are magnificent, but that dress doesn’t flatter you a bit.”

Smirking, I catch Knox stiffening at my side. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, I lean forward, as if whispering a secret, “So delighted you think so. Now we are a match. What is the color of that dress you’re wearing, putrid green?” I finish cocking my head to the side innocently.

She gasps, shocked by my words. “It’s olive.”

“Could’ve fooled me. It is so, so lovely, though.” My smirk stays glued to my face, but I make it look innocent, not maniacal like how I want my face to look.

Knox chokes on a laugh behind his whiskey, giving me a prideful look. I’ll stand tall next to him, even though these women try to tear me down by any means necessary.

As the tension dissipates with my last retort, I’m acutely aware of the eyes lingering around us, sharp as needles and twice as unforgiving.

Across the room, a small knot of women pauses their conversation, their gazes drifting in our direction.

I catch the flicker of admiration in their eyes as they sweep over Knox—broad-shouldered, magnetic, a presence impossible to ignore.

Their laughter grows lighter, the cadence a little more musical, the glances a little bolder.

But when their eyes move to me, the warmth evaporates.

Their lips purse and their brows arch—one even leans into her friend, whispering behind a manicured hand, as if I’m some sort of puzzle that simply doesn’t fit.

The air grows heavy with the kind of disapproval reserved for outsiders who dare to stand confidently beside someone so obviously craved.

Knox is blissfully, or perhaps deliberately, unaware of the envy swirling around us. He’s focused on me, a subtle hand pressed to the small of my back, anchoring me against the tide of judgment. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, letting their scorn wash over me, refusing to let it settle.

For a moment, all their eyes—admiring and resentful alike—meet mine. I offer a small, knowing smile, the kind that says, I see you, but you don’t define me. Knox’s hand drifts down to my ass, giving it a little pat, and together we carve out our own space amid the admiration and the scorn.

“Knox,” I say, leaning toward him. “I’m going to the restroom. I’ll be back momentarily.”

He nods, giving me a slight grin. He bends down and kisses me in front of the masses, taking it a little too deep for public decency.

I, however, do not care. This show of affection means he’s marking his territory.

I couldn’t be bothered to be upset about that.

In fact, him doing that makes my heart beat a little faster.

Slipping free from Knox’s touch, I glide through the tangle of bodies and laughter, the weight of their scrutiny trailing after me like perfume.

My heels click against polished floors, each step a silent reclamation of space—of self.

I feel every gaze that clings, some laced with envy, others with skepticism, but I refuse to falter.

My chin stays high, posture fluid, as if I’m immune to the social quicksand in which so many seem content to sink.

I skirt a group at the bar, catching a flash of recognition and a curl of a smirk in my periphery, but I let their verdicts slide off my shoulders.

The air in the corridor is cooler, quieter, the thrum of the gathering fading behind me.

For a moment, I am alone—unburdened, untouchable—my pulse still fluttering with the aftershock of Knox’s public claim.

Reaching the restroom, I pause just inside the door, draw a slow breath, and let my composure settle into something sharper and steadier. Here, away from prying eyes and whispered judgments, I am wholly my own.

After using the restroom, I emerge from the stall and come face-to-face with Charlene. A startled gasp escapes my mouth, but happiness blooms inside me. I grab her into a chokehold of a hug, squealing.

“Finally, someone I know here.” I release her and step back.

It’s then that I notice the sharp stance and squared shoulders. Her face is a mask of stone, unbothered and uniquely blank. My brows furrow in confusion as I stand there, watching and waiting.

“You just had to ask questions, didn’t you?” she asks, taking a threatening step forward.

I take a quick step back. “What?”

“You just couldn’t go along with it, could you?” Her words end on a snarl, her face twisting with aggression.

“I don’t know what you mean, Charlene,” I say, then take another step back, hitting the wall, when I watch her pull a tiny knife from her clutch.

She takes a step toward me and draws back her arm. “He should’ve ended you that day in the office! You’re the reason she’s gone!”

Time suspends—a flicker of silver, the hungry gleam in her eyes—and instinct screams faster than thought.

As her arm snaps forward, blade slicing the air, I duck, the cold edge whispering just above my head.

The world shrinks to the thunder of my pulse and the lurch of adrenaline.

I twist sideways, the tile biting beneath my palms as I scramble, heart pounding, every sense sharpened to a razor point.

For a breathless instant, all that exists is survival—the bite of fear and the sudden, desperate need to escape.

She swivels on her heels from the momentum, and it gives me a chance to scramble out of the bathroom. My chest locks tight from the feeling of fight or flight. I choose to fly. I’m not the type to go against a knife.

“What are you doing?!” I scream, running for the door.

She gets there before me, stopping my exit.

A wild glint burns in her gaze—sharp, frenzied, and utterly unhinged.

Her eyes, wide and glittering, pin me with a feverish intensity that strips the air of reason.

There’s something feral in the way her pupils constrict, a reckless hunger that crackles along the edges of her irises.

The electric certainty of her intent punctuates each step she takes, her stare never wavering, fixed on me as if I’m the only thing left in her world.

Madness flickers there, bright and volatile, a storm that promises no mercy—only a singular, violent purpose.

My breath hitches beneath the weight of that gaze, the manic fire in her eyes burning straight through me.

“I’ve had to listen to your mouth for years now. I hate you with every fiber of my being. Now, since I got the go-ahead, I’m going to make you suffer just like you did her!”

She raises her arm once more, but I quickly duck under hers and scramble for the door. This time, I get the door open and run out into the hallway. I expect her to stay back and look less like the crazy lady she is, but she follows quickly behind me.

Thankfully, at that moment, Knox comes around the corner.

However, right before my eyes, I see a trio that I hoped to never see again.

Al and his bunch of misfits. They enter the hallway right behind Knox, taking Knox off guard.

Al slashed forward, punching Knox in the back of the head.

Knox lurches forward. A look I’ve never seen before enters his eyes.

It’s a look of pain and the need for retribution.

“We meet again,” Knox says, turning toward him.

“You took everything from us!” Al yells, spittle flying out of his mouth.

Knox steps up to him. “No, I just took my mate. There’s a difference. She’s mine .”

“She was mine first!” Al yells in return, trying to hit Knox again. Knox sidesteps, throwing a punch at Al. It lands, causing the alpha to stumble backward.

Due to the commotion, security is quickly closing in on us. It’s then that I feel the knife at my back. My entire being freezes on the spot, even as Charlene leans forward and seethes into my ear.

“You will die. You’re the reason she’s dead!”

Standing stock still, I watch as Knox orders the security to detain Al and his pack.

Due to his involvement in the race to become Mayor and the fact that Al and his pack are insignificant, the security follows Knox’s directives.

Al and his pack try to break free from the security hold, but it’s no use.

The knife digs sharply into my back. I can feel the fabric give way under the sharp edge. My eyes widen when I feel the blade against my skin. Knox doesn’t realize how close I am to being hurt. However, the moment he turns around, he gets an eyeful of Charlene holding me hostage against her blade.

“Charlene, what are you doing?” he asks, his voice deep and dark.

“I’m making her pay for what she did!” Charlene screams, pushing the knife in a little, causing it to cut into my skin.

I cry out, tears dancing in my eyes from the pain. Knox takes a quick step forward, as do three security men. But Charlene doesn’t seem to care. All she cares about is exacting some revenge against me for something I supposedly did.

Knox glances over my shoulder. His face loses all sense of alarm, and a smirk falls over his lips. I want to scream at him. Tell him it’s not funny. However, in the next moment, I feel Charlene leave my back, and a grunt of pain escapes her. The moment I’m free, I race toward Knox.

Fear like never before swirls inside my veins—unrestrained and fierce. I’ve never been so scared in my entire life, and that includes when I was sent to a group home after my parents died. Even there, I had some semblance of security. Here, now, I had nothing.

Not until I am safely in Knox’s arms do I allow my emotions to get the best of me. Tears flood my cheeks as I cry into his chest.

My breath shudders, ragged and uneven, as tears finally spill free, hot and relentless, streaking down my cheeks.

My shoulders quake with every sob, pain, and relief crashing together in waves I can no longer hold back.

The world blurs behind the veil of my tears—fear, exhaustion, and a strange sense of safety all tangled in the knot at the center of my chest. Each gasp feels like a plea, each tear an echo of everything I survived.

All I can do is let it out, body trembling, until the storm inside me softens and I can breathe again.

“You’re okay.” Knox holds me tighter. “I have you. No need to worry, baby.”

“She,” I release a cry, gasping, “cut me.”

Knox’s hand trails down my back until he gets to the slit in my dress. He pulls his hand away, peering down at the blood that is gracing his fingers. He curses, his tone dark, guttural, and unhinged. He goes to take a step toward Charlene, but I hold him back. I don’t want him to leave me.

“Take them to the police station. I want them charged with attempted murder, breaking and entering, and assault.” Knox does not play around. He gets straight to the point, and he does so with gusto.

“I—I’d like to press charges,” I say. Most would consider it a coward's way out, but this is self-preservation at its finest. I don’t want anyone who will cause me harm near my pack.

“My pack,” I whisper against Knox’s chest.

“What did you say, baby?” Knox asks.

I look up at him. He cleans the tears off my cheek before pressing a small kiss to my nose. My nose twitches, causing a smile to bloom on his face.

“I just …”

“You just what?”

“I thought of you all as my pack just now,” I say, watching as a plethora of emotions flit across his face, all of them ending on happiness.

His eyes are so bright that I can’t help but give him a small smile in return.

“Let’s go, little omega. We have a police report to file.”