Page 1 of Worthy or Knot (Serendipity Omegaverse #3)

One

COLE

T he tie chafes at my neck, but I resist the urge to fidget with it.

Instead, I run my hands through my hair, breaking up the bit of gel cast still on the ends.

It’ll make it fluffier than Mom— Sienna’s— stylist always says is the vogue fashion for guys my age.

But honestly? Fuck her. And fuck my mom, too.

Just thinking of her with that title has my skin crawling.

It has for years, but the last month has made it exponentially worse.

The lights of Manhattan flash by as the car makes its way from Dad’s condo in the financial district up toward Central Park.

The Council’s galas are held in one of the highbrow event spaces that line the park, wedged between the billion-dollar condos that are owned by the wealthy elites of the world.

It was selected for maximum impact for the Omegas nearly twenty years ago when the galas were just starting to transform into the thousand-person events they are now.

A cramp rolls through my stomach, and it takes everything to breathe through it without grimacing.

My phone’s vibrating reminder is a welcome distraction from the pain.

I slip the small pill from my wallet and take it dry, so used to the practice now that it doesn’t even bother me.

As I silence the reminder, a text from Dad flashes on the screen.

Be safe tonight.

Of course.

Your medications still okay?

So far, so good.

Alright. I’ll see you Monday. Love you.

Before I can silence my phone and figure out how I’m going to survive the next few hours, a new text flashes.

My stomach cramps for an entirely different reason as I see the name.

My sisters and I aren’t overly close. Not because they’re awful or anything.

It’s just one more thing to lay at our mother’s feet, really.

She spent years grooming Scarlett to be her perfect little Omega, and the entire time, Violet was intentionally doing the opposite, railing against Sienna’s cruelty.

And me? I’d managed to avoid the worst of it, only really getting attention when she was reminded that her only son was a “lowly” Beta.

Until I wasn’t.

I shove the thought away, though I can’t help but run my hand over the faded bite mark on my collarbone.

The mark I’ve spent three years making sure doesn’t see the light of day—or the unwanted lens of a paparazzi camera.

My father may not be a celebrity, but he’s famous in enough powerful circles that cameras have followed me since I was sixteen.

None of them need to know that I’ve been secretly bonded to an Alpha, and absolutely not that it’s a man whose name I don’t even know.

I open the text from my sister as I sigh.

Since my fathers filed the dissolution paperwork with the Council and Sienna moved out, she’s been around more often.

Part of it, I think, is because our dads have been fussing over her nearly as bad as they fuss over me after our bitch of a mother drugged her and forced her into a horrific heat cycle while at a fundraising event last month. Dad especially took it super hard.

Either way, I secretly love it. It’s just how Omegas are. We love security and family and surrounding ourselves with people and scents and objects that make us feel safe and content. It’s still weird as hell, though, to have her texting more than once every couple months.

Good luck tonight. If you need help, Dom can have me there ASAP.

Thanks, sis. I should be ok. Doc gave me an extra set ahead of time.

The dots hover for an entire minute before she responds.

Alright. Just don’t have to be extracted from the bathroom by your best friend. I need a single novel experience in my life.

I can’t help but chuckle.

No promises. I am the baby, after all.

And then I laugh in earnest when she sends only an emoji flipping me off.

The car slows, and the driver murmurs, “There’s four cars in front of us, sir.”

I shove my phone in my pocket and readjust my vest and tie, making sure it all lays smooth. And then I triple check I have the emergency medication tucked away in my wallet. The small packet is so innocuous for the level of resentment it breeds in me.

But, fuck, do I hate that a flare is something I even have to prepare myself to handle.

Other Omegas about to walk into this gala aren’t worried about whether they’ll get sick partway through.

They aren’t planning various exit strategies in case the pain becomes too much.

They certainly aren’t practicing how to handle all the damn cameras because if the wrong one gets even a whiff that something about me is “off,” it’ll be a goddamn nightmare.

As if the process of being matched with a pack by the Unified Council isn’t stressful enough on its own, I have to think about all of this , too.

A man in a white polo and black slacks approaches the car as we ease into the primary unloading zone.

“Thank you,” I offer the driver.

He turns, a small smile on his lips, and waves as my door is opened.

“Hope you have the night you’re hoping for,” he offers in return as I step onto the curb.

People are everywhere . I stand in stunned overwhelm for an entire minute, trying to remember how to breathe, how to function around all the noise. Already my skin itches with the need to hide in my nest.

And I’m fucking suppressed . How in the hell did Violet navigate this without any kind of suppressor on board?

“Sir?”

A woman’s voice pulls me out of the stupor. She wears the same white shirt and black slacks as the man who guided me out of the car, a purple pin placed inconspicuously on her collar with her first name. When I focus on her, she offers a quick smile.

“Are you wanting to skip the carpet?” she asks. “There are a few photographers to the left where it’s not quite as busy if you’re wanting something more low-key.”

Hell yes , I do.

“Thank you,” I say, meaning every single syllable.

She guides me over to the quieter line away from the bright photography lights.

There’s still media personnel over here, but the entire vibe is softer than the high glam to my right.

As I’m nearing the group of them, the doors to the venue visible over their shoulders, one of the men notices me.

He has an impressive camera looped around his neck and held casually in one hand.

An eyebrow raises, and then his expression morphs to excitement.

He taps a woman on the shoulder and nods toward me.

She smiles as they approach.

“Are you Cole Fallon?” she asks. “We’d love to ask a few questions.”

When I give the journalist a casual nod and half smile, she lights up like she’s been waiting the whole night for this. The entire sidewalk is full of Omegas working on getting into the event. I’m not the last Omega to arrive, but it’s certainly been going on for a bit.

Shit, I must be one of the well-known Omegas in attendance. I internally groan. Why couldn’t some senator’s son or actor’s daughter attend this one? That’s what happened to Violet. No one really gave her a hard time in April because one of the darlings of Hollywood attended, too.

If I didn’t love my dad so much, I’d hate just how fucking famous he is.

Even as I silently curse my parents’ wealth, she guides me toward the small cluster of press where more than one camera trains on me.

The man captures candids the entire time, a second photographer joining after a minute.

The sounds of the shutters closing repeatedly makes my fucking skin crawl.

It takes everything in me to not scratch at my neck and loosen the tie.

As it is, I breathe carefully through my nose and count to twenty.

Who the hell thought putting a hundred Omegas on a red carpet all at once was a good idea?

“How are you feeling about attending the gala tonight?” the journalist asks, holding the microphone closer to me.

Pulling on the years of media training Sienna required I have, I tuck a hand in my pocket and brighten my smile. Hopefully the panic isn’t apparent in my gaze. I can fake it with my body—I’ve had three years to learn how, after all. But my eyes? They often betray my thoughts.

“Definitely excited,” I say.

Which, technically, isn’t a lie. The possibility of not being in pain anymore certainly is exciting. Getting through all the hoops to potentially reach that mystical pain-free place? Now that is daunting and potentially only a pipe dream.

But hope springs eternal and all that.

“And who are you wearing tonight?”

I give the name of the designer, and then she thanks me for my time.

The photographer takes a few more posed photos, and then they’re releasing me for the next unsuspecting, overwhelmed Omega.

As soon as I’m through the front doors, I head straight for the bathroom, needing a few minutes without all the lights and sounds.

I drop my head into my hands as I lean against the empty counter.

“You can do this, Fallon,” I mutter to myself after several minutes.

The door opens just as I’m running my hands through my hair, the horrific overstimulation finally easing away.

The first things I see are his crystalline blue eyes and high cheekbones. But that lurch in my chest? It’s from the damn bond that I’ve had medically suppressed for nearly three years. It’s shock, and it’s not mine.

Holy fucking hell .