Knotted By The Devilish Alpha Brothers

Chapter 29: Chapter 29: dinner disaster

Rue stayed in the hug for a few heartbeats longer than expected, her body relaxing against Skye’s in a way that felt almost vulnerable. Then she pushed Skye away with a firm hand against her shoulder, her expression hardening once more.

"No one should be aware of our relationship."

"I obviously won’t tell anyone." Skye held her hands up, palms open. "I know how you can be."

Rue’s expression hardened again. "I’ll figure out another way to ruin the rat. Make her mess herself up. Get her to do something so stupid that the brothers have no choice but to dispose of her themselves."

The word virgin rose to Skye’s tongue. She almost said it—almost told Rue everything Amelia had confided. Then she stopped herself. I promised Amelia I wouldn’t tell anyone. If Rue learns the truth, she will use it in the most destructive way possible, far worse than anything I’m willing to allow. I’ll deal with Amelia myself.

Rue’s eyes narrowed slightly, reading the pause. "Did you want to say something?"

Skye shook her head. "It’s nothing. I’ll gladly help you with whatever I can."

Suspicion flickered across Rue’s face, but she dismissed it almost as quickly as it appeared. Skye loves me. She would never lie to her or hide something that could benefit us both.

Skye stepped back, creating distance. "I need to prepare Amelia for the evening dinner. Maybe then you’ll have a chance to make a mark." She leaned in, pressed a quick peck to Rue’s lips, and murmured a soft goodbye before turning toward Amelia’s room.

The strange feeling in her chest refused to leave. Something about Rue had changed. Skye just couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

***

Amelia stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of the very short gown Skye had left for her. The deep-red fabric clung to every curve, stopping high on her thighs and leaving little to the imagination. She kept pulling it down, but it refused to cover more.

This is what Skye demanded I should wear. I look like I’m offering myself up on a platter.

She left the room and walked the long corridors toward the dining hall downstairs, each step making the short skirt sway. Her bare legs felt exposed, vulnerable. The silence of the hallways pressed in around her.

When she stepped through the open double doors, the air seemed to leave her lungs.

The three brothers were already seated at the long table. Their eyes lifted at the same moment and locked onto her. Enzo’s grey gaze was cool and assessing, taking in every inch of her. Reid’s carried that familiar half-smile that never quite reached his eyes. Dean’s expression was unreadable, but his stare was heavy, pinning her in place.

Don’t panic. Don’t show them you’re scared. Just keep walking.

Madame sat at the head of the table, her silver-threaded hair catching the candlelight. She looked Amelia up and down, then gave a small nod of approval.

"You’re looking better than the last time I saw you."

Amelia dipped her head respectfully. "Madame."

She moved toward a seat at the far end of the table, hoping for distance. Before she could reach it, Enzo lifted one hand and gestured to the empty chair directly beside him.

There is no choice.

Amelia changed direction and walked toward him, every step feeling heavier under their combined attention. The fabric of her gown whispered against her thighs.

She sat carefully, keeping her posture straight, eyes fixed on the polished surface of the table rather than the three men around her. 1

Dean sat directly opposite. He did not glance at her once, his attention fixed on his food before him.

A maid stepped forward and set a plate in front of Amelia. The food looked rich and carefully prepared—roasted meat, glazed vegetables, a delicate sauce drizzled artfully across the presentation. But her appetite had vanished, replaced by a cold knot in her stomach.

Madame’s voice cut through the quiet. "How are you feeling?"

Amelia’s fingers tightened on her fork. "I’m getting better."

"Are you sexually active?"

The question landed like a physical blow. Amelia’s mind went blank. Words refused to form. Her mouth opened, then closed.

Did she just—in front of everyone—

Before the silence could stretch too long, Enzo’s shoe connected sharply with her ankle under the table. The sudden pain jolted her, a sharp reminder that she needed to answer.

"Yes," she said quickly, nodding so hard a dull ache bloomed at the base of her skull. "I am."

Madame studied her for a moment longer, her eyes narrowing slightly. "How much? How many hours can you go? What styles are you good at? Will you be able to handle all three of them?"

Amelia forced her voice to stay even, even as heat crawled up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.

"I... I’m familiar with missionary," Amelia began, her voice a little too steady and far too formal. "That’s the classic one where the woman lies on her back like she’s waiting for a medical examination, and the man is... above her. Then there’s cowboy—where the woman sits on top facing him, like she’s riding a very confused horse and trying to stay in control of the reins. Doggy is... when the woman is on her hands and knees, and the man is behind her, which is honestly just an unfortunate name for a position. And reverse cowgirl is basically the same as cowboy except she’s facing away, so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with the consequences of her life choices."

She stopped.

They already know what each of them means. That was the worst explanation anyone has ever given.

She swallowed and continued before anyone could interrupt.

"I’ve built stamina over the years. So handling my husbands... won’t be a problem."

Across from her, Reid’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Something in his eyes cooled.

Wasn’t she just with that Dylan? Did she cheat on him?

The thought settled unpleasantly in his mind. I should have expected it. She’s just like the others.

Madame gave a small, unimpressed tilt of her head. "Those styles are adequate at best. Anyways, i would like to see a visualization of your intimacy with each other."

Amelia’s fork stilled halfway to her plate. Her hand trembled slightly. "Ma’am—"

Madame’s tone sharpened. "Am I going to repeat myself?"

Reid spoke before Amelia could. "Of course not."

"Good." Madame’s attention returned fully to Amelia. "Get on the table."

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