Knot The One They Want

LORALI POV

The moment I unlocked the front door, the suffocatingly sweet smell of warm cinnamon buns hit me like a physical wall.

I gagged, slamming the door shut behind me. Unbelievable. Walter was in heat.

I kicked off my shoes, a wave of bitter disgust curling in my chest. What set him off? Did breaking his precious ceramic vases shock his delicate system into a hormonal meltdown? Pathetic.

I sneer to myself as I brush past the foyer. Deep down, I know I’m just jealous. He is so damn lucky, and he doesn’t even realize it. He gets to be surrounded by people who love him and he gets to actually have a heat. I’ll never know what a heat feels like.

I’ll never get to experience that part of being an Omega because they ruined my life. They stole that biological right from me, stripping it away before I even had the chance to understand it.

I know I’m a bitter person. I’m sour, resentful, spiteful, but frankly, I don’t care. I like it down here in the dark. It keeps me sane. Walter’s scent is so overwhelming it burns the back of my throat. It blankets the entire penthouse, suffocating every corner so completely that I can’t even catch a trace of my own scent, let alone Torin’s or the other members of Spade pack.

Scrunching my nose in absolute revulsion, I rush straight into the kitchen to escape the thickest of the fog. I need food, but I’m not about to touch the microwave. Microwave meals are utterly disgusting. Instead, I grab a small saucepan from the cabinet, fill it with water, and set it on the stove. I take my sweet time, carefully unwrapping a brick of instant ramen and dropping it into the boiling water once the steam begins to rise.

I try desperately not to think about Walter upstairs, probably having the absolute time of his life, a time Cleo has gone into excruciating, vivid detail about during one of her endless calls telling us about her love life. God, that girl truly can’t keep anything to herself.

To keep my mind from spiraling into a pit of rage over Walter’s luxurious misery, I force myself to think about the offer I’ve received from Sash, or rather, Scarlet.

The thought of becoming a household name Omega makes a sudden, unexpected warmth bloom low in my gut. It’s the ultimate knock‑out plan. If I pull this off, it isn’t just a win for me, it’s a double victory. I win on the ice, I win in my career, and Walter loses. I’ll never have to fight with him again or grit my teeth when he speaks, because I’ll have already won.

Once the noodles are tender, I pour them into a wide bowl and begin the walk back to my room. The guest room, but it’s as good as mine now. As I approach the door, something cuts through the oppressive fog of Walter’s cinnamon‑bun scent. Beneath it all, faint but unmistakable, is a crisp, sharp aroma.

Erin.

I freeze in the middle of the hallway, my heart skipping a sudden, violent beat. His scent is so familiar, so distinct it claws at my chest.

You’re losing your mind, I tell myself, shaking my head hard enough to make the world blur. What on earth would Erin be doing here? You’re just imagining things because you’re stressed.

Shrugging off the ghost of his memory, I slip into my bedroom and shut the door tight, releasing a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I place the steaming bowl of noodles on my desk, the scent curling upward like a fragile comfort, and just as I do, my phone buzzes against the mattress.

I pick it up. A new notification flashes across the screen, from Scarlet, saved in my contacts under a grand title.

Skate Goddess:

Be at the ice rink tomorrow.

Me:

👍

Me:

How early am I supposed to be there?

Skate Goddess:

As early as possible. So around 9:00 you should be there.

I stared at the screen and groaned aloud, slumping my shoulders. Ugh. I hated waking up early. Waking up early was a special kind of torture I genuinely despised. I grumble under my breath, my thumb hovering over the keypad wanting to say no. But then, the image of Walter’s smirking face flashed in my mind. The burning hatred I carried for him flared up, hot and bright, fueling my resolve.

Me:

Okay, will be there.

Hatred really was a fantastic motivator.

As I swipe out of the chat with Scarlet, my eyes accidentally catch the group chat beneath it, the one with all my sisters from Alma. I flinch. I’ve been actively avoiding it for days. The unread message counter sits at over a hundred, piled up in just the past three days alone.

A heavy, familiar dread settles in my chest. I hate being in that chat. I feel like a dark cloud hovering over them. If I pop in with my trainwreck of a life, I’ll only drag my own depressing mood into their brightness. Their lives seem to spin forward perfectly, smoothly, while I’m trapped in this insane, private drama. I don’t want to involve them in my life further than I already have. I want them to live happily, peacefully, without wasting a single second worrying about broken, complicated Lorali.

...And then there’s the petty, selfish part of me I hate to admit exists. It rubs me completely the wrong way. We all went to the exact same school. We had the exact same lessons, the exact same teachers, the exact same opportunities. Everything was identical. Yet somehow, their lives turned out normal and bright, while mine derailed into a living nightmare.

I stab the power button, turning the screen black before the spiral can take over.

Depression creeps in fast, heavy and suffocating.

Stop it, I think fiercely. I raise both hands and slam my palms against my cheeks, slapping myself hard enough to sting.

"Snap out of it," I whisper into the quiet room, brushing away the dull, heavy mood. I need to stay happy. I should be happy. Scarlet—a literal legend—sees real talent in me. If all goes well tomorrow, I’ll finally be able to hold my head up high, just like everyone else I graduated with. I won’t be the left‑behind tragedy anymore.

Sitting down at my desk, I slurp up my noodles while a random movie plays on my laptop, the flickering screen pulling me away from the rest of the world. Once the bowl is empty, I carry it back to the kitchen, wash it quickly, and head straight to bed. Tomorrow is a long day, and I can’t afford to fail.

The next morning, I wake well before the sun begins to peek over the horizon.

Waking at the crack of dawn isn’t difficult for me. Alma strictly enforced early schedules, and after that, Yurena kept me on a brutal leash. My internal clock is practically hardwired to pull me out of sleep before the rest of the world stirs.

I get ready slowly, moving quietly through the dark room after a quick shower. I pull on a simple black jersey, thick black tights, and a pair of sturdy sneakers, all bought and in courtesy of Torin’s black card.

The moment I turn the handle and open my bedroom door, I’m instantly assaulted yet again by the sickeningly sweet wave of Walter’s heat scent.

My jaw clenches. It’s infuriating. Seriously? Every single second I have to breathe this guy’s pheromones in?

I rushed down the hallway to escape the concentrated air, stepping into the massive sitting room that connected to the main kitchen. I stopped dead in my tracks.

Augi was leaning half-inside one of the lower kitchen cupboards, throwing boxes and cans aside like a wild, ravenous man.

I snorted, laughing silently in my head. He’s probably looking for food because Walter wants it.

There’s no food in there, idiot, I thought, a cold flicker of memory washing over me. I remembered how hard I used to work back when I was the one catering to everyone. Even after I’d just been whipped, bleeding and bruised, I’d had to drag myself to the grocery store twice in a single day because that spoiled Prince Walter eats like a absolute pig when he’s in heat. Somehow, despite burning up with fever, the guy found the energy to eat an entire pantry’s worth of food.

Ignoring Augi’s frantic rummaging, I slipped silently past the kitchen, slipped out the front door, and took the elevator down to the lobby.

The morning air outside was crisp and biting, instantly clearing the synthetic cinnamon smell from my lungs. I walked down the quiet pavement toward the bus stop. The streets were mostly empty, devoid of the usual weekday rush hour madness because it was a Saturday.

I didn’t have to wait long. The large yellow bus pulled up to the curb right on time, schedules were surprisingly reliable on weekends.

I stepped up the narrow stairs, tapped my card, and walked straight to the back. Taking a seat in the very last row, I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, watching the city buildings blur past as the bus pulled away from the curb.

I took a deep breath, staring out into the early dawn, ready for whatever today was going to throw at me.

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