Knot the One They Want (Claimverse Book 1)

Numbers and projections blur before my eyes, the droning voice of my company’s CFO fading to a distant buzz. I stare at the presentation on the screen, but my mind is a million miles away. No matter how hard I try to focus, my thoughts keep circling back to the same damn thing.

Evie fucking Beaumont.

My omega problem.

Well, one of my omega problems. The other is currently serving lattes in some shithole coffee shop, playing house with a nobody alpha who doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

But Evie… Evie is here, in my house, in my face, under my skin. A constant thorn in my side, a persistent itch I can’t scratch.

And it’s driving me insane.

The phone in my pocket vibrates, jolting me out of my brooding thoughts. I glance at the screen, my brow furrowing at the unfamiliar number. The bank. What the fuck do they want?

I excuse myself from the meeting, ignoring the disapproving looks from my father and the older board members gathered around the table. They can shove their disapproval up their asses for all I care.

I step out into the hallway, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The silence is a blessed relief, a momentary respite from the suffocating weight of responsibility and expectation. I lean against the wall, closing my eyes and dragging a hand down my face.

Even here, away from the watchful eyes of my father and his cronies, I can’t escape the thoughts of Evie. She’s like a virus, infecting every corner of my mind. I see her everywhere—in the flash of blonde hair on the street, in the scent of honey and vanilla wafting from a passing bakery.

It’s maddening. Infuriating. And the worst part is, I know I’m not the only one affected. I see it in the way Asher’s gaze lingers on her, the way Cole’s fingers twitch whenever she enters the room. Even Lake, with his gentle heart and easy smiles, isn’t immune to her pull. She’s unleashed a protective side of him I’ve never seen before.

The incomplete mating bond, it calls to us. Demands we finish what we started. But I won’t give in. I can’t. To complete the bond would be to admit defeat, to surrender to the weakness that nearly destroyed us once before.

I won’t let that happen again. I won’t let her be my downfall.

The phone vibrates again, insistent. With a muttered curse, I answer the call, barking out a gruff, ‘What?’

‘Mr. Blackwood?’ a polite, feminine voice inquires. ‘This is Melissa from First National Bank. We’ve noticed some unusual activity on your account and wanted to verify the charges with you.’

I roll my eyes, annoyance spiking through me. Of course. Evie. I gave her one of my cards, a necessary evil to keep her placated and out of my hair. No doubt she’s been on a little shopping spree, indulging in the frivolous whims of a spoiled omega.

‘Yes, the charges are authorized,’ I say impatiently, already moving to end the call.

‘Sir, if you could just bear with me for a moment,’ Melissa presses, her tone apologetic but firm. ‘The amounts are quite significant, and we’re required to review them with you for security purposes.’

I grit my teeth, a muscle ticking in my jaw. ‘Fine. Make it quick.’

‘Of course, sir.’ The sound of rapid typing fills the line, followed by a slight intake of breath. ‘First, there’s a charge from Brookfield Furnishings for $328,976.54. Can you confirm this purchase?’

I blink, certain I must have misheard. ‘I’m sorry, did you say three hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars?’

‘Yes sir, that’s correct.’ More typing, then, ‘There’s also a charge from Le Maison Home Goods for $40,952.87, and a pharmacy purchase for $20.63. Do these align with your records?’

A bark of incredulous laughter escapes me, disbelief warring with a strange sense of admiration.

Evie, you sneaky little minx.

She’s not just indulging in a bit of retail therapy. She’s actively trying to punish me. To get a rise out of me.

As if a few hundred grand could even make a dent in the Blackwood fortune. The interest alone on my trust fund could cover her little shopping spree a hundred times over. If she thinks she can bankrupt me as punishment for not paying enough attention to her, she’s in for a rude awakening.

‘Yes, those charges are all authorized,’ I confirm, a plan already forming in my mind. ‘Is that all?’

‘Y-yes sir,’ Melissa stammers, clearly taken aback by my nonchalance. ‘Thank you for your time. Have a nice day.’

The call ends with a click, and I slip the phone back into my pocket, a slow smile spreading across my face.

Oh, Evie. You want to play games?

Game on, little omega.

Game fucking on.

The sight that greets me as I pull into the driveway of the mansion is enough to make my blood pressure spike. Three massive moving trucks are parked haphazardly on the gravel, their doors flung wide open to reveal an obscene amount of furniture and decor.

Evie stands in the midst of the chaos, a vision in a sleek cream pantsuit that hugs her curves like a second skin. She’s directing the movers with the confidence of a seasoned general, her voice carrying across the lawn as she points and gestures.

Ellen hovers nearby, her dour face twisted in a mixture of disapproval and distress. The rest of the staff scurry about like ants whose hill has been kicked over, their arms laden with boxes and bags.

I park the car and stride across the lawn, my hands shoved deep in my pockets to hide the way they clench into fists. Evie spots me approaching and breaks into a dazzling smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

‘Damien!’ she calls out, her voice dripping with false cheer. ‘You’re home early. I wasn’t expecting you until later.’

‘Clearly,’ I drawl, my gaze sweeping over the pandemonium unfolding on my front lawn. ‘What’s all this?’

She blinks up at me, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. ‘Oh, just a little redecorating. I thought the house could use a refresh.’

‘A refresh,’ I repeat flatly. ‘Is there going to be a single piece of furniture I recognize left by the time you’re done?’

Her lips twitch, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners. ‘I guess you’ll have to wait and see.’ She tilts her head, studying me with a calculating glint in her eye. ‘You didn’t specify a spending limit when you gave me your card. But if it’s too much, if you can’t afford it…’

I clench my jaw so hard my molars grind together. She’s challenging me, baiting me in front of my staff. Waiting for me to lose my cool, to give her the reaction she so desperately craves.

But I refuse to play into her hands. I won’t give her the satisfaction.

In reality, the far greater temptation is to grab her and pin her up against that sofa the movers are carrying in.

‘It’s fine,’ I say through gritted teeth, the words like broken glass in my mouth. ‘Spend away. But here,’ I say, reaching into my pocket to pull out my wallet. I pluck another card from the fold and hand it to her, savoring the confusion on her face. ‘If you’re going to go on shopping sprees, you might as well use this. It collects frequent flyer miles.’

She’ll need them for all those trips she takes to my last fucking nerve.

Her incredulity lasts only a moment before she plucks the card from my hand and tucks it into her bra. Hardly a ladylike gesture, but clearly calculated to get a reaction out of me.

And it does.

‘Wonderful,’ she says, her triumphant self once again. ‘I think you’re really going to like what I’ve done with the place.’

I give her a curt nod, already turning to stalk into the house. But her voice stops me in my tracks, honeyed and sweet as poison.

‘Oh, there’s one more thing! I had them do your study first, just in case you arrived home early again. But you might want to open a window to let the new furniture scent air out a bit.’

I freeze, a sense of foreboding washing over me. My study. My sanctuary. The one place in this godforsaken house that was wholly, unequivocally mine.

What the fuck has she done?

I take the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding against my ribs. The door to my study looms before me, and I hesitate for a brief moment before grasping the handle and wrenching it open.

The sight that greets me is enough to make my blood run cold.

Everything, absolutely everything, has been replaced. My sleek black desk with a glass top is gone. In its place sits a huge mahogany desk with ornately carved legs and sides.

The bookshelves that once housed my carefully curated collection of first editions and rare tomes now hold a jumble of knick-knacks and tchotchkes interspersed with glossy coffee table books about art and fashion.

And the books themselves… I step closer, a sense of mounting horror washing over me as I realize they’ve been rearranged.

Alphabetized.

The chaos of my shelves, the organized mess that only I could navigate, has been replaced by a serial killer’s wet dream of perfect order.

But the worst part, the absolute fucking cherry on top of this shit sundae, is the vase of flowers perched on the corner of my new desk. Bright, cheerful daisies, their sunny faces mocking me from their crystal prison.

I sink into the heavy leather armchair that has replaced my ergonomic desk chair, my head spinning.

This isn’t just redecorating.

This is a declaration of war.

Evie has taken my attempt to make her life a living hell and thrown down the gauntlet. She’s not content to play the passive victim, to wilt and wither under my cruelty. No, she’s coming for me with everything she’s got, targeting me where she knows it will hurt the most.

My space.

My control.

My fucking sanity.

A laugh bubbles up my throat, edged with hysteria. It’s ridiculous. Insane. I should be furious, should be storming downstairs to put that infuriating omega in her place.

But as I stare at the unrecognizable disaster that was once my office, I can’t help the grudging flicker of respect that kindles in my chest. Evie is a force to be reckoned with, I can admit that.

And fuck me sideways, but if I didn’t hate her so goddamn much, I might actually be impressed.