Knot The One They Want

Chapter 4: Promised

Lorali Pov

down, Lori. It’s probably nothing. You need to calm down.

My leg bounces up and down as I sit in the waiting room, listening to that irritating music that’s supposed to keep us calm. It’s doing the exact opposite. What does Headmistress Cleovera want? She doesn’t call me into her office often. Arabella gets summoned every other day, but me? Once in a blue moon. And every time, I prepare myself for the worst.

I’m lost in thought when Arabella finally comes out of her eternity‑long meeting, looking like she got hit by a bus. My panic spikes. If Arabella of all people looks distraught, then whatever Headmistress Cleovera wants is bad. Very bad.

"Lorali, Headmistress Cleovera says you can come in," she says, pretending to be calm.

"Oh, okay." I stand up so fast my knee aches, but I don’t care. "Are we in trouble? Is it bad?" My voice drips with nerves. I pace toward the office door, then turn back, unable to move forward.

Ella sighs and walks up to me, her expression gentle. She places her hand softly on my cheek. My nerves ease as I melt into her cherry blossom scent. That scent could calm anyone.

"Relax. You’re not in trouble. She just wants to talk to you about the gala." She brushes my hair from my forehead. "Now hurry. Headmistress Cleovera doesn’t like tardiness."

I have to face this, whether it’s good or bad. I nod, smoothing down the ripples in my dress to look somewhat presentable. With a brave face, I walk to the office door, slowly open it, and step inside. I close the door behind me. It’s a principle here to always close the door when you enter or leave. Not doing so is considered disrespect.

"Afternoon, Headmistress Cleovera," I say, bowing my head slightly.

The office glows with sunlight pouring through the stained glass, softening the tension.

"Sit, Lorali," she says, her tone calm.

I nod and sit opposite her desk. Her posture is as straight as ever.

"You have always been one of my strongest girls, least likely to crumble under change or pressure. That is why I think you are most suitable for a request that has been made upon me or rather, upon you." I blink, confused. "What request?"

"You could see it as an advantage. You will not have to fight as hard as the other Omegas for a pack. You already have one promised to you. Pack Spade, a very wealthy, eligible pack in this country, responsible for over half the construction development here, has been promised your hand.

Butterflies explode in my stomach. I’ve been promised to an eligible pack. A good pack. I’ve never heard of Pack Spade, which is odd because I know all the eligible packs. But they sound like the type Omegas would fight for, and I just got a one‑way ticket to them. It feels too good to be true.

"What’s the catch?"

"They already have an Omega. You would be the second." Damnit. I knew it was too good. Why would they want me if they already have an Omega?

"I don’t understand. Why would they want me if they already have one?" I ask, keeping my voice low. The last thing I need is for the Headmistress to think I’m shouting. "They have a male Omega and are ready to have a family with a female Omega."

"So they just want a womb," I say, my voice twisting into disgust. "No. They want a family. I thought the same thing, but I’ve been assured that is not why they want another Omega. Not all of them are bonded to this Omega, so there remains the possibility of bonding." Her tone is calm, too calm.

"Does their Omega know? Does he agree?" I can’t imagine an Omega willingly letting another Omega into his house. We’re territorial about our packs and our things. I’m territorial about a pack I don’t even have yet.

"He is the one pushing for this. Having another Omega in the house is all he can think about or so I’ve been told. That part I do not believe. Thus, I have not agreed to the proposal completely. I find this whole thing suspicious. I cannot decide your path for you. It is up to you to choose whether or not you will be with this pack. You can refuse and choose another. The future is in your hands. Think of this pack as a backup if anything goes wrong."

I sit there, processing her words. How is it possible for an Omega to agree to share their space? The Headmistress is right—something about this whole predicament feels off.

"So I can say no, and I won’t have to be with that pack?" I ask cautiously, needing to confirm.

"Yes." She nods. "You have a choice. This is simply a safety net to fall back on if anything goes wrong. Don’t think of this pack as your first choice. There will be many unmated, eligible packs far better and more put together than this one at the ball. Focus on them."

I nod, trying to be understanding, but the moment I leave this room I’m going to pretend I never heard of Pack Spade or Sparrow, or whatever their name is. They won’t be on my mind. If I see them at the gala, I’ll run the other way. There is no way in hell I’ve worked hard for eleven grueling years, learning how to be the perfect, sufficient and put‑together Omega only to end up in a pack that already has one. I might as well have gone to the Omega Institution instead of Alma, because only institution Omegas get such matches. Never Alma’s Omegas. May the gods forbid, I will never be the second choice. freewebnøvel.com

"Alright. If you have no questions for me, you are dismissed," Headmistress Cleovera says, waving me off.

"Yes, Headmistress Cleovera." I rise from the chair, head slightly bowed, and walk backward toward the door before turning and leaving. I make sure to close the door behind me.

I let out a long sigh as I walk toward my dorm.

Along the halls, younger Omegas greet me, another Alma rule, always show respect to your seniors.

I remember when I first arrived here, I didn’t care about rules. I never greeted the seniors, and I was punished. They made me embroider a falcon in the dark. I pricked my fingers too many times, and when I finally finished, the embroidery was ugly but I still had to present it to the senior I offended.

Even after all that, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. That same week, I got into my first fight in Alma over something I don’t even remember. What I do remember was the punishment. I had to stand on burning charcoal for six hours. When I thought it was over, they gave me pills that made me temporarily blind and left me in a graveyard I was sure was haunted. I had to stay there until I understood the gravity of what I’d done.

The lesson was clear: never fight with your fellow Omega.

In this world, there are already so many people against us and many more who want to hurt us. We are brothers and sisters born of the same flower. We should never fight amongst ourselves, never tear each other apart.

Alma’s methods were cruel, but effective.

I haven’t hit an Omega in the Academy since then. Of course, if someone trifled with me, I had my fair share of revenge, but I made sure it never counted as breaking the rules.

Our dorms are spacious. Each bed is queen‑sized, placed diagonally with its own canopy draped in sheer curtains. Arabella’s side, the upper diagonal side, is neat and gentle, pink and white themed. Her vanity glows with white LED lights, her duvets buried beneath a mountain of plushies. She collects them obsessively. Above her bed aka her nest is decorated with tiny fake stars that glow in the dark. She says they make her feel free. My side, the lower diagonal side, is red and black, my favorite colors. My nest is simple but soft, the kind of bed that swallows you whole when you lie down. A poster of my favorite rock band hangs above my black vanity, a decoration Arabella despises.

I open the dorm room door, expecting only the cherry blossom scent that always dominates our space. Instead, I’m ambushed by three other scents. The cherry blossom is still the strongest, though. Vanya is sprawled across my nest, scrolling on her phone. Susie is kneeling on the floor, drooling over a shoe. Arabella is locked in battle with Cleo, fighting over a lipstick.

I stand in the doorway, shocked by the chaos. "What is happening here?" I ask, confused.

"You good, Lori? You look stressed," Vanya says, ignoring my question. She’s always quick to point out discomfort. Headmistress Cleovera’s little talk really did a number on me.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Is Ella good? Her fingers are covered in bandages." I point to Arabella’s fingers.

"I’m good. Just as good as you say you are," she replies, trying to change the subject.

That’s when Cleo snatches the lip gloss from her hand and rolls beneath the bed in seconds.

"You little—rat! Get out of there!" Arabella shouts.

I enter the room, close the door behind me, and walk to my vanity, sitting down slowly, still surprised. "What is happening here?" I ask again.

"We’re bonding," Vanya laughs.