Page 4 of Knot Their Safe Haven (The Omega Rebellion Movement #3)

THE WEIGHT OF WHAT WE MADE

~VELVET~

T he scent hits me before I see him—leather and rain with that unmistakable hint of bergamot. The scent only belongs to one being that has some power in my existence.

My son is in the building…

In the Omega section where he absolutely should not be…and judging by the lingering sweetness in the air, he's already encountered Astraea.

Just great.

"And what are you doing here?"

I point at him accusingly, watching that infuriating smirk spread across his face. He looks so much like Knox when he does that—all calculated charm and dangerous intelligence. But those eyes, those sharp features, the way he holds himself like the world owes him favors... that's all me.

The power of genetics.

He lifts his hands in mock surrender, eyes softening in that way that used to make me cave when he was small. Not anymore. Twenty-three years old with more power and money than most see in a lifetime, and he still thinks he can play his mother.

"To be fair, this is a public space. I'm allowed to be here."

The audacity makes my blood boil. I want to stomp over there and slap him upside his pretty head, remind him that all the success in the world doesn't mean he gets to disrespect boundaries. Especially not here.

Not around vulnerable Omegas who don't know he's my son.

The world can never know. It’s not because I’m not proud of what we somehow created, despite our situationship, but not with the enemies we've made.

Running a safe haven for Omegas, women vulnerable to a world that seeks to rip the carpet of power beneath their feet, means you start towering a lot of hate for preventing what should be claimed in their possessive minds.

As for Knox, running a gym that has strict policies to protect Omegas also makes you an accomplice and enemy in their eyes.

"Icarus," Knox groans beside me, and I can hear twenty years of exhaustion in that single word. "You know this area is off-limits."

Our son— God, our son —gestures around the empty space with that casual arrogance he's perfected. I watch his nostrils flare slightly, and I know he's cataloging Astraea's scent. The way his pupils dilate, the slight tension in his shoulders...

No. Absolutely not. Not her.

"Is there any Omega here? No." He looks directly at me, and the wink he adds makes me want to throttle him. "You technically don't count."

This brat I’ve birthed.

I think that’s what rattles me deep down inside. To think I was blessed in creating such a powerful individual who has the confidence needed to fend of this chaotic world that wouldn’t hesitate to crush anyone who can’t take the heat.

Doesn’t mean I don’t discipline his ass when he’s being too cocky like his father.

"Let me beat him!"

The words are out before I can stop them, maternal fury mixing with protective rage.

Knox's arms wrap around my waist, lifting me clean off the ground as I struggle against his hold. I'm ready to show this cocky little shit exactly what happens when you disrespect the woman who brought you into this world, secret or not.

"Put me down, Knox!"

"Not until you calm down."

"I'll show him calm when my fist meets his?—"

Knox simply adjusts his grip and carries me out of the gym entirely, my threats echoing behind us.

"I'll slap the cockiness out of your existence, you little?—"

He doesn't set me down until we're in the hallway, well away from Icarus's amused chuckles.

The moment my feet touch the ground, I'm spinning to face Knox, ready to unleash my fury on him instead.

"See? We didn't do a good job raising that cocky fucker." I cross my arms, glaring up at him even as my heart races from the contact. Twenty years and he still affects me like this— his hands on my waist, his scent surrounding me, the heat of him so close.

What I don't expect is for his hands to cradle my face, or for his lips to crash into mine with a desperation that steals my breath.

The kiss is nothing like our usual careful dance—it's heated, possessive, years of want condensed into this single moment.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth and I can't help the moan that escapes, my hands fisting in his tank top.

This is dangerous. Anyone could see. Anyone could ? —

I force myself to break away, both of us panting.

My lips feel swollen, tingling, and I can taste him—coffee and mint and that particular flavor that's purely Knox.

I arch an eyebrow at him, trying to regain my composure despite the heat pooling low in my belly.

"That's not like you. Risking us getting caught like this."

His thumb traces my lower lip, and I have to fight not to take it into my mouth.

"I second-guessed myself earlier. With the taunting. Wanted to make sure we're okay."

The vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest tight. This man— this powerful, dangerous, incredible man —still worries about us after all these years. After everything we've been through, everything we've hidden and sacrificed.

I sigh, letting my usual armor fall away for just a moment.

Rising on my tiptoes, I press a soft, tender kiss to his lips. Nothing like the passion of moments before—this is comfort, reassurance, a promise that we're still here, still us, still whatever we are after two decades of this dance.

"We're fine," I whisper against his mouth, feeling the tension drain from his muscles. "You'd think after twenty years of our bickering, you wouldn't still get insecure."

He nods but doesn't let go, pulling me into a proper hug that makes me feel small and protected despite everything I am.

His chin rests on top of my head, and for a moment, we're not the Safe Haven Omega and the Gym Alpha Owner.

We're just Knox and Velvet, parents to a son the world doesn't know about, lovers who can't quite commit, two people who found each other in violence and learned to love in shadows.

Crazy to admit I still love this man to death…

"I'll bother you later?"

I pull back with a smirk.

"If it's when I'm sipping my wine, then hell no. Try again another day."

"How about when you're in the shower?" His hands slide down to squeeze my ass, and I squeak indignantly. "I could help you wash those hard-to-reach places."

"Go tame your photocopy!" I shoo him away, but I'm fighting a smile. "Before he corrupts every Omega in the building with his presence."

"Our photocopy," he corrects with a smirk. "But yeah, he did get your eyes. That same 'I'll burn the world down if you test me' look."

He heads back toward the gym, leaving me alone in the hallway with my racing thoughts and tingling lips.

Twenty years.

I showed up at his gym, bruised and broken and ready to fight the world.He taught me to channel my rage into something useful. Twenty years since one particularly brutal sparring session turned into something else entirely, sweat and anger transforming into passion against the gym mats.

Nine months later, Icarus was born.

We kept it secret from everyone—even Malcolm and Adyani don't know, but I’m sure they’ve already pieced it all together, but are waiting for us to finally bring it up.

The world thinks Icarus is just another talented Alpha who worked his way up from nothing.

They don't know about the late-night feedings where Knox would hold him while I tried not to cry from exhaustion.

They don't know about the first words; "mama" at eight months, "fuck" at ten months — Knox's contribution, obviously, the first steps, chasing after one of my high heels, the first time he presented as an Alpha and nearly tore the safe house apart.

They don't know that every success he has makes my chest swell with pride even as I maintain distance in public.

Would things have been different if we'd committed?

If I'd let Knox claim me properly, made us a real family instead of this careful charade?

I think about Sunday dinners that never were, about school plays attended separately, about explaining to a five-year-old Icarus why Mommy and Daddy couldn't live together even though they loved each other.

"Because sometimes, baby, loving someone doesn't mean you're meant to be together all the time."

"That's stupid, Mama."

"Yeah, baby. It really is."

I don't regret having him. God, I could never regret Icarus. But I wonder sometimes if we did him a disservice, raising him in shadows and secrets. He learned to lie before he learned to read, learned to compartmentalize his life before he understood what family meant.

Maybe that's why he's so good at the game now. We taught him from birth that love comes with conditions, that family requires distance, that power matters more than connection.

A wave of dizziness hits me, and I have to lean against the wall for support.

What the…

The wine from earlier, probably, combined with the emotional whiplash of seeing my son and kissing Knox and pretending everything is normal when nothing about our lives has ever been normal.

"Dehydration," I mutter to myself, already hearing Malcolm's voice in my head. "Or low blood sugar. Or stress. Or any of the twelve other things you're always lecturing me about."

"You need to take better care of yourself, Velvet."

"I take fine care of myself."

"Three bottles of wine and forgotten meals isn't self-care."

"It is when you're running a revolution."

The hallway feels too long as I make my way back to my office, each step reminding me that I'm not twenty-five anymore.

The harsh fluorescent lights catch my reflection in a window—smudged lipstick from Knox's kiss, eyes a little too bright from wine and want, that single gray hair at my temple mocking me despite the obvious purple which makes me smirk in wonder whether I should dye my hair. '

Man…I’m getting old, too, huh…

My office is still a disaster zone when I return.

Papers everywhere, empty bottles standing guard, the remnants of my life's work spread across every surface. The movement passed, but there's still so much to do. Safe houses to fund, Omegas to protect, a government to keep in check.

And a son to keep from doing something stupid with Astraea.

I saw the way he looked when he caught her scent, that sudden sharpening of focus that means an Alpha has found something worth hunting. She's strong enough to handle him—maybe—but she doesn't need the complication. Not with everything else she's dealing with.

And God knows Icarus doesn't do anything halfway. When he wants something, he takes it, consequences be damned.

Wonder where he got that from.

I settle behind my desk, pulling the nearest stack of papers toward me.

Financial reports that need reviewing, legal documents requiring signatures, correspondence from Omegas seeking shelter.

This is my life—paperwork and protection, revolution and regulation.

But my mind keeps drifting to Knox's lips on mine, to the heat in his eyes, to the way he held me like I was something precious even after all these years.

"We're fine."

Are we, though?

Are any of us fine with this half-life we've built?

Knox and I circle each other endlessly, never quite landing. Malcolm tends to my wounds and my heart in equal measure, never pushing for more than I'm willing to give. Adyani loves me from across oceans, waiting for me to be ready for something I might never be ready for.

The computer screen blurs as exhaustion finally catches up with me.

Forty years old in eight months, running on wine and spite, trying to save the world while my own heart remains carefully locked away.

Maybe Icarus inherited more than just my eyes. Maybe he got my talent for self-destruction too.

I reach for another document, forcing myself to focus.

The Haven needs me functional, not maudlin.

The Omegas under my protection need me strong, not wondering about what-ifs and might-have-beens.

But as I work, I can still taste Knox on my lips, still feel the ghost of his hands on my skin, still hear Icarus's laughter echoing from the gym.

Twenty years of secrets and shadows.

How much longer can we maintain this distance before something breaks?

The answer, I suspect, is not much longer at all.