Page 1 of Knot Their Starlet

CHAPTER 1

Andromeda

Ididn’t think this night could get any worse.

Boy, was I wrong.

Not only am I cinched into a corset so tight I swear my organs are going to be permanently re-arranged—even after I’m freed from its confines—but my boyfriend is majorly pissed.

“Fuck this bullshit,” Ezra snarls, his black coffee scent growing even more bitter than it’s been all night.

I may be an omega, but I don’t have an unending well of empathy. My boyfriend doesn’t seem to understand that right now. Maybe it’s because his mother is an empty shell with no life outside of catering to his father, but he’s told me in both hushed whispers and passionate declarations that we are going to be different from our parents.

Sure, it’s been an emotional night. We’re at the fucking Grammys, and Ezra, against all odds, was nominated for rap song of the year with his latest single. It went viral on TikTok and he rode that fame and his daddy’s coattails straight here.

Unfortunately for him, the song just wasn’t good enough to win. I’d never tell him that to his face—I’m not that much of a bitch—but the real truth is the song is only good in fifteen-second clips.

Ezra doesn’t even bother politely clapping for the winner. He even ignores the champagne being passed around, settling for slamming back way more vodka than he should at an event like this.

I take a fresh flute of champagne with a polite smile, needing another sip for courage.

Time to enter the lion’s den.

“Hey, babe, it’s okay,” I murmur softly, reaching out and placing a tentative hand on his back.

He shoots me a glare that has me stiffening in my seat. My own normally calm chamomile scent turns a little bitter.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snarls, shoving back from the table.

The announcers have moved on to the next category, which thankfully means the cameras aren’t on us anymore.

Ezra seems to think that means he’s free to roam and do whatever he wants.

Teetering on my too-high heels and tugging my too-tight dress into place, I shoot an apologetic look at his father’s publicist, who he seemed to have on loan for the night. The beta man looks tired. Too tired to deal with Ezra’s bullshit.

“I’ll take care of him,” I say, offering a tight smile. I don’t think the man even bothers to look up from his phone to respond.

Ezra is almost to the back of the room before I catch up to him.

“Ezra!” I call. “Wait for me! Where are you going?”

He shoots me another glare over his shoulder, but slows his pace.

“The bathroom.” His jaw works with the words, and I instantly know he’s not going to the bathroom to piss.

“Here?” I hiss, lowering my voice as I reach for his arm.

He shakes me off and narrows his eyes.

“Stop with the goody-two-shoes act, Andi,” he snarls. “If you think coke is the worst thing people’re doing here, you’ve got another thing coming.”

He wrenches his arm from my grasp and turns.

God dammit. The people around us are starting to notice we’re having a little lover’s spat.

Mother dearest won’t be happy with me if the media catches wind of that.

Well, to be fair, she’s never happy with me.