Page 11 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

I made my entrance with practiced confidence, apologizing for the delay while commanding the room's attention.

The various Omega leaders and Alpha allies around the table shifted as I took my seat, and I catalogued each reaction—who looked annoyed by my tardiness, who seemed relieved by my presence, and who studied me a little too closely.

"Now then," I said, pulling out my tablet with steady hands that betrayed nothing of the morning's chaos. "Where were we on the medical facility specifications?"

The meeting droned on for two hours.

Policy updates, building codes, security protocols—all the mundane details that went into changing the world one safe house at a time. I contributed when needed, my mind split between the discussion and the photograph burning a hole in my purse.

Someone was watching…knew about Malcolm's visits…but what harm would it cause? Planning his downfall? Corruption? What would they even gain?

The question was whether they knew the full truth—that I was awake sometimes when he touched me, that I'd crafted this elaborate performance of unconsciousness to get what I needed without sacrificing my pride.

Or did they think they'd uncovered some sordid secret; a violation they could use against us?

"Ms. Morclair?"

I snapped back to attention, finding twelve pairs of eyes focused on me.

"I apologize. Could you repeat the question?"

"I was asking about the medical staffing for the new facilities," Dr. Chen repeated, concern flickering across her features. "Whether we'd be drawing from the existing Doctor Alpha network or recruiting fresh."

"Both," I replied automatically, falling back on prepared talking points. "We need experienced doctors and medical professionals who understand our mission, but we also need fresh perspectives. The old guard has their uses, but they also come with...ingrained biases."

Like the bias that made Malcolm think he had to wait until I was unconscious to touch me.

Or the bias that kept Knox at arm's length despite twenty years of want.

Even the lingering bias that sent Adyani across an ocean to become worthy of me instead of claiming me as she was.

I hate being so in my head…

"Speaking of medical staff," someone interjected, "will Dr. Malcolm be overseeing the new facilities as well?"

My smile didn't falter, even as my pulse jumped.

"Dr. Malcolm has been invaluable to our mission. I'm sure he'll continue to support our expansion in whatever capacity he can."

Whatever capacity…just to appease all these people who probably don’t give a damn unless they’re paid and projecting the rightful image to the scruntizing public watching us like hawks.

"He's been quite... dedicated to the Haven's success," another voice observed, and I couldn't tell if the pause was meaningful or my paranoia reading into shadows.

"Indeed. We're fortunate to have allies who understand that supporting Omegas isn't just about politics…it's about providing comprehensive care for those who've been failed by the system."

The words came out smooth and practiced, but I wondered if they could hear the bitter irony underneath.

Comprehensive care. Is that what we called it now?

This careful dance where my Alphas circled but never claimed, where I got fucked in the darkness but woke alone, where we all pretended this was enough?

The meeting finally ended with the usual bureaucratic fanfare—action items assigned, follow-up dates scheduled that everyone knew would be postponed indefinitely, and carefully worded statements that meant absolutely nothing.

I gathered my papers with practiced efficiency, ignoring the whispers that followed my movements. The love bites on my neck throbbed beneath my high collar, a constant reminder of last night's weakness.

Or was it weakness? I couldn't tell anymore.

The conference room emptied slowly, bureaucrats lingering to gossip about my late arrival. Gossip took you nowhere in this world anyways.

Today's speculation would be forgotten by tomorrow's scandal.

"Ms. Morclair." André Whitmore's voice stopped me at the door. The Beta secretary of domestic affairs stood too close, his cologne overwhelming. "A moment?"

I turned, fixing him with the dead-eyed stare that had made grown Alphas wet themselves.

"Make it quick. I have actual work to do."

His lips thinned.

André had always hated that I didn't defer to him despite his government position. Being a Beta in a world that worshipped Alphas had made him bitter, and he took particular pleasure in reminding Omegas of their "place."

"The registry committee has concerns about your latest expansion proposals."

"The registry committee can fuck itself." I smiled sweetly as his face flushed. "The movement passed. We're operating within full legal parameters."

"Legal doesn't mean welcomed." He stepped closer, and I caught the sour scent of his ambition. "You're making enemies, Morclair. Powerful ones. This crusade of yours?—"

"Revolution," I corrected. "The word you're looking for is revolution."

"Whatever you call it, you're drawing attention. The kind that gets Omegas hurt."

Was that a threat?

I studied his face, noting the nervous tic in his left eye, the way his hands clenched and unclenched. Not his threat then—he was just the messenger. Someone higher up was getting nervous about our progress.

As they should be.

"Are we done here?" I asked, already knowing the answer. "Because unless you have something more substantial than vague warnings, I have seventeen refugees to process and three new safe houses to fund."

He opened his mouth, closed it, then stepped aside.

"Be careful, Morclair. Even rebels can fall."

I left without responding, my heels clicking against the marble floors of the government building.

The place reeked of false power and real corruption, making my skin crawl.

Every time I had to come here for these mandatory meetings, I felt like I needed three showers and a bottle of wine to wash away the stench.

My driver waited outside, the car already running.

I slid into the backseat, finally allowing my shoulders to slump.

The facade of the untouchable Rebel Queen was exhausting to maintain, especially when my body still hummed with the echo of Malcolm's touch.

"Where to, Ms. Morclair?" My driver's voice pulled me from my thoughts.

"The Haven. Take the long route."

I needed time to think, to process the weight of everything.

The meeting had been a waste of three hours, but the real information had come from André's warning.

Someone was mobilizing against us, threatened by our success.

After twenty years of careful growth, we were finally becoming too big to ignore.

My phone buzzed.

Knox's name flashed on the screen, and I let it go to voicemail. Then Malcolm called. Then a text from Adyani.

All of them checking in, circling, maintaining their careful distance while pretending they weren't desperate for more.

The photo from this morning haunted me—Malcolm at my door, caught by whoever was trying to threaten me.

They thought exposure would ruin me, that the shame of being an Omega who needed Alpha touch would destroy everything I'd built.

They didn't understand that shame required giving a fuck about their opinions, and I'd run out of fucks to give somewhere around thirty-five.

It was simply getting annoying because the world enjoyed constantly mocking my pathetic situationship of misery.

I could only wonder what would it be like to have an Alpha who walked into my life and was ready to be in charge. To silence the noise. To truly prove to the world that I was worthy of their possessiveness like any other Omega in their prime youthfulness.

Wishful thinking…

The city blurred past my window, a watercolor of glass and steel and broken dreams.

My reflection in the window looked haggard despite the expensive makeup. The purple dye was fading faster these days, silver roots showing through like cracks in armor. Nearly forty and fighting a war on multiple fronts, my body a battlefield between what nature demanded and what society expected.

The car pulled up to the Haven, our little fortress in the eyes of these millionaires who sought to rid of any hooded space of safety for those they could take advantage of.

From the outside, it looked like any other building in the arts district—weathered brick and tall windows, blending seamlessly with the galleries, studios, and apartment complexes surrounding it.

Only those who needed to know understood what lay behind the unremarkable facade.

I entered through the private entrance, immediately assaulted by the familiar chaos of too many people in too small a space.

We needed those new facilities desperately.

Seventeen new refugees meant seventeen more beds to find, more mouths to feed, more stories of Alpha abuse and systemic oppression.

"Velvet!" Amelia, one of the Omega volunteers appeared from the art room, paint splattered across her dark skin like war paint. "Thank goodness you're here. We have a situation."

Another warm welcome in the heart of chaos.

I followed her to the medical wing, where Malcolm was bent over a young Omega— couldn't be more than sixteen —with bruises covering every visible inch of skin. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, but I caught the tension in his shoulders, the way he carefully didn't look at me.

"What happened?"

"Parents tried to sell her to a pack." Amelia's voice was flat, professional, but I heard the rage underneath. "When she refused, they decided to make her more 'compliant.'"

The bruises made more sense now.

Systematic abuse designed to break spirit, to create the docile Omega society preferred. I'd seen it too many times, had lived it myself in foster homes that viewed unclaimed Omegas as paychecks waiting to happen.

"Documentation?"

"Already filed. Police report, medical records, the works. The parents are in custody, but..." She trailed off, and I understood. The system didn't really care about one more abused Omega and the legal process would drag on for years.

Justice was a luxury we couldn't afford to wait for.

"Put her in the lilac room. Full security protocol." I made a mental note to have Knox increase patrols around the building. "And start processing adoption papers under the Haven's guardianship."

Malcolm finally looked up, those midnight eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before skating away.

In that brief moment, I saw everything—guilt, desire, the same desperate need that gnawed at my bones. He'd remember every detail of last night, would torture himself with the ethics of it while still wanting more.

Just like I did.

"I'll need to do a full examination," he said, voice carefully professional. "There might be internal injuries."

"Whatever she needs." I touched the girl's hand gently, feeling her flinch before relaxing. "You're safe now, sweetheart. No one's going to hurt you again."

She looked at me with eyes too old for her face, and I saw myself at sixteen, promising the same thing to my reflection.

The world had proved me a liar then, but I'd be damned if I let it happen to her.

I left Malcolm to his work, making my rounds through the Haven.

Each room held another story of survival, another Omega who'd refused to accept their designated fate.

This was my real legacy.

Not the wealth or the connections or the reputation.

This—these lives saved, these futures reclaimed.

My office was as I'd left it this morning, chaos barely contained. I sank into my chair, finally allowing the exhaustion to show. The stack of threats had grown in my absence, three more envelopes slipped under the door. I didn't bother opening them. They all said the same thing anyway.

Stop fighting or we'll destroy you.

Expose your secrets.

Remember your place.

I poured a glass of wine—V yes, at 3 PM, judge me —and stared at the photo of Malcolm at my door.

His face was partially obscured, but I could see the tension in his posture, the way his hand hesitated on the handle. Even in a grainy security photo, his desire was obvious.

Would exposure really be so bad?

Why can’t I wash this out of my mind like all the other threats?

Because I knew better. That secrets were meant to be left hidden in the darkness than exposed in a world so cruel and judgemental as ours.

The world wasn't ready for nuance.

They'd use it to tear down everything I'd built, paint me as a hypocrite who preached independence while spreading my legs for any Alpha who showed up.

At the end of the day, the truth wouldn't matter.