Knot The One They Want

Lorali Pov

"This is Lorali. Be nice." Astrid flings my hand into the air, shaking it under her grip like I’m some kind of prize she’s showing off. My wrist dangles awkwardly, and I feel like a puppet on display.

"Sup," the people in the booth say in unison, their voices blending with the pounding bass. I have no idea who they are, but I force a smile anyway. "Sup," I echo, my voice shaky, cringe-worthy, the kind of sound that makes me want to crawl under the table.

Way to make an impression. No one seems to notice, though, maybe they didn’t even hear me over the blasting music and the DJ screaming into the mic like he’s announcing the apocalypse. Hard to believe it’s midday. I thought people only went clubbing at night.

Astrid finally lowers my hand, which I’d forgotten she was still holding, and slides into the booth with the confidence of someone who owns the place. The black leather sofa curves in a semi-circle, sleek and glossy, but it feels stiff and unwelcoming beneath me, pressing against my legs like it’s reminding me I don’t belong here.

"Wait—I forgot to order drinks." Astrid shoots upright beside me, letting go of my hand so suddenly I almost miss the warmth of her grip. "I’ll be back," she says, heels clicking against the floor in sharp rhythm as she rushes away.

I want to follow her, cling to her like a lifeline, but she vanishes into the crowd too quickly, swallowed by flashing lights, perfume, sweat, and bodies moving like waves. Sighing, I sit awkwardly among strangers whose faces blur in the chaos, neon streaks painting them into silhouettes.

Great.

"So your name is Lorali, right?" I turn toward a girl with blue highlights streaking through her hair like electric wires. She’s reapplying smudged lipstick with ease, because less than three seconds ago she was tongue-deep with the man beside her, and now he’s kissing the girl on his other side. My brain short-circuits. Is this normal? Is this what people do here?

"Yes, I’m Lorali!" I confirm, raising my voice slightly to be heard over the music, trying to sound casual but probably failing.

"Is this your first party? You look tense." She leans onto the low round table in front of us, which is littered with glasses—some empty, some filled with liquids glowing under the neon lights. And probably all alcohol.

"Is that obvious?" I thought I was fitting in well.

She laughs, nodding, then downs the entire blue liquid in her cup in one go. I watch in awe, shocked she isn’t choking. That was a lot for one swallow.

"Alright, I got the drinks!" Astrid shrieks, appearing out of nowhere behind me. She sets down a tray stacked with twenty-four oversized cups. One side holds pinkish-red ice frappe-looking drinks, the other side twelve clear drinks that look like water.

"Oh, don’t worry," Astrid exclaims, sliding back beside me, shaking her hands as if she’s just finished a performance. "The drinks on the right are yours it’s strawberry sunrise frappe. No liquor. I figured you don’t drink. Most omegas I know don’t. Isn’t it bad for your system?"

I blink, surprised she’s that thoughtful.

"No, it’s not bad for us," I explain, repeating what I remember from that twelve-hour lecture at Alma about alcohol. "We just have low tolerance. We do crazy things when intoxicated, and when drunk we lose control over our scent. It’s like a pheromone bomb, it attracts alphas, puts them in a trance."

I take the strawberry sunrise from the tray and sip through the straw. My face contorts instantly at the sour taste, my tongue recoiling.

"This is disgusting," I say aloud, unable to hide it, the words slipping out before I can stop myself.

"Makes sense, the bar isn’t good at normal drinks," Astrid sings, reaching for one of the clear cups. I shake my head, taking another sip of my own. "Ash, aren’t you dancing today?" the girl I was talking to earlier shouts out, laughter spilling from her lips. "Will I not get to see you work the pole?"

"I will, Win. I’m going to finish all of this first." Astrid points to her drinks with a grin. "Then, I’m going to dance and probably make some regrettable decisions, like picking up a new lover."

"Lover? What happened to that boy who was following you around during the year-end function? And is that girl your new lover?" The girl, who I now know as Win, replies in shock, pointing directly at me. I lean deeper into the sofa, sucking the straw of a drink that tastes like expired strawberries—because I’m sure they are expired—and listen to the gossip like it’s a performance.

"No, she’s just a friend," Astrid says, flicking her hand dismissively before reaching for her fifth glass. "The other guy? My dad drafted him into his junior team. I don’t entertain boys who play for my dad. All those boys are tramps. They couldn’t be loyal to save their lives."

"Facts," groans a girl I thought was sleeping. She sits up suddenly, mascara streaking down her face, looking like a literal zombie. "Those boys suck at ice and relationships." Her voice cracks, and then she begins crying. Everyone stares, shocked at the sudden outburst.

I have no idea who "those boys" are, but the gossip is good. I don’t need to know the details to enjoy this. I reach the end of my drink and grab another. It’s not so bad now, the drama makes it edible.

"Jade, is that you?" Astrid asks, narrowing her eyes.

Oh, so they know each other.

The girl—Jade—cries louder, sniffling uncomfortably. "Men suck!" she shouts, tugging at what I assume is a wedding band on her finger. She flings it across the room, the diamond catching the neon lights as it arcs through the air. It looked expensive, painfully expensive.

"What’s happening?" I ask, leaning toward Astrid.

"She’s Jade. Gabrielle’s wife. They married a week ago. Their wedding was insane, massive and nearly one hundred and twenty million."

One hundred and twenty million. For a wedding. My jaw nearly drops.

"Who’s Gabrielle?" I ask, trying to piece the dots together.

"Falcon’s goalie," Astrid replies, leaning closer.

Falcon’s. Where have I heard that before? I wreck my brain, searching for the connection. Seeing me struggle, Astrid shakes her head and adds, "Augi. Your packmate’s team."

My mouth falls open wide. That’s who "the boys" are.

"What happened, Jade? Why are you throwing that ring? Wasn’t it really expensive?" Win spews out a string of questions, leaning forward, as interested as the rest of us.

"It doesn’t matter!" Jade shouts, her voice cracking with fury. "He’s cheating on me with fucking Brittany!"

The words hit like a bomb. Gasps ripple through the booth, even from the man who was kissing one girl and the other who looked half-dead moments ago.

"Brittany is the ex," Astrid fills me in quickly, her tone sharp, "the one who used to date Gabrielle but is now with Rex, another member of the team."

I join the collective gasp late, my hand flying to cover my mouth.

"And now she’s pregnant with his baby," Jade continues, her voice breaking, "and he wants to be with her because I’m infertile. He loves her. He told me—he told me right to my face after the doctor said I couldn’t have children: ’Now I see everything clearly. Brit is the love of my life, the woman who will bear my children. Your purpose for being on this earth, the whole reason the goddess created you, was to show me that I love Brit. That is the only reason the goddess put you here. Thank you, Jade, for leading me to her. I love Brit.’ Then he twirled me around, kissed my forehead, and confessed he’s been fucking her. And she’s pregnant."

Another wave of gasps crashes through the booth, sharper this time, and I’m on point, covering my mouth in shock.

Now I see everything clearly. Brit is the love of my life, the woman who will bear my children. Your purpose for being on this earth, the whole reason the goddess created you, was to show me I love Brit. That is the only reason the goddess put you here. Thank you, Jade, for leading me to her. I love Brit.

1

If anyone in Spade ever told me that kind of bullshit, someone’s dying and it’s not me. The audacity of this man. But I suppose the moon goddess is capable of such cruelty; she does seem to favor the male race.

The gossip flows like wildfire, voices rising and falling, and before I realize it, I’m on my tenth drink. The glass is cold in my hand, the liquid sharp on my tongue, and everything around me begins to spin.

Torin Pov

"Torin, how could you hide something like this!" Augi hisses, his voice sharp but hushed, as if he’s terrified anyone else in the house might hear of my despicable sins.

I know Oril is back. I don’t know when he came back or what day it is, but his scent lingers in the air, heavy and undeniable. I can’t face him. In fact, I can’t face any of them after what happened. I was so sure I had everything under control. I was so sure I was fixing everything. But in reality, I made it worse. I am the reason Spade Pack is in the position it’s in now. I am an incompetent Main Alpha.

"Torin, answer my question," Augi demands, shaking me. He’s been on my back constantly, and rightfully so, after I dumped the truth on him about Kei and Walter being fated to Lorali. I was selfish. Again. I couldn’t handle the weight of the secret, not when everything around me is collapsing.

"I’m sorry," I mumble, my voice crisp, biting the inside of my lip until I taste iron.

But all that rings in my ears are Lorali’s words from that day. Half of them I don’t even understand, yet I feel the pain I’ve caused her, the pain I’ve caused everyone, because of the twisted game I was playing or because of what my father has done. In truth, my parents did this. They did all of this. And I’ve been trying to blame my pack for it.

It was my father who decided to RSVP us for the gala. It was him who struck a deal with Alma’s headmistress, all in hopes of securing an heir for Spade Industries. It was my mother who sowed hatred into my pack members, who let them do her bidding so she could chase her long-awaited revenge against Cleovera.

"Torin, how long did you know this!" Augi shouts again, shaking me harder. My silence, my bowed head, only fuels his rage. His eyes widen, his voice rising with agitation as he repeats himself louder this time. "HOW LONG DID YOU KNOW KEION AND WALTER WERE FATED TO LORALI!"

CLANK.

The sound of something hitting the floor echoes through the room. Both of us snap our heads toward it. My phone lies face‑down on the floor, the screen cracked, and then our eyes flick to Walter.

He stands frozen, his expression shocked, as if he’s just seen a dragon come to life.

"What?" he breathes, the single word trembling in the air.

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