Page 14 of Knot So Social

A little voice in my head asks what happens if he tells anyone what he saw. It’s risky. Been a long time since I trusted an alpha, except for the men who handle my house security. The only way to manage life is with contracts.

Ah. That’s the solution. Send him a work contract that includes a confidentiality clause. Technically our first meeting was a consultation about what was possible and would be covered by the clause.

I huff out a big sigh, the tension draining from my chest. Happy with my solution, I spring up from the table and clear my dishes. The doorbell rings just as I finish and I limp over to answer it and collect my package. I check the label for instructions and pop two pills that should stifle any thought of a heat.

Most likely I’m just overreacting. I haven’t had a heat for years, so why would I suddenly get symptoms now?

I brush my teeth and check my outfit before returning to my desk and hitting the record button.

“Hello, Omegalings. Newsflash! Did you know that you don’t have to be at the mercy of your pheromones?” I hold up the pack of tablets and rattle it. “We have so many miracles of modern medicine which mean we don’t have to act like animals anymore. Like these heat blockers? I take them all the time. If you haven’t tried them, you need to. The freedom, the decision making that you claim back with every skipped heat, is what your life should be like.”

I straighten and shake my head.

“And do not, for the love of all things omega, let your alphas tell you that you need to go through your heats every time.”

My blithe smile covers the rising bitter memories, of prolonged heats, of passing out for want of a knot. And of what happened to my nest. I blink hard. Ancient history should stay in the past. Best to keep my focus on recording my current manicured life.

“Most of the time, alphas just want the action, not to mention the omega leave from work. It’s your body. You do not have to be a victim trapped inside it. If you enjoy your heats and want to revel in them?” I spread my hands for the camera. “Then by all means, go right ahead and enjoy them. Lap up that attention and the chaos. But if you find your heart sinking when that slick starts, then maybe skip one and see how it goes. You are your own boss.”

I set the pill bottle down with a loud clack in the middle of my desk before finishing with, “Stay bossy out there.”

It wasn’t strictly necessary to say I’m always taking the pills. But these days, I become someone else whenever I’m behind the camera. Through the lens, I’m Willow, the perfect omega who travels everywhere and lives a glamorous life. The omega every woman and omega out there looks up to.

At first, I just hid my scars, but then someone asked for my favorite exercise routine. After that, I faked being able to walk around fine. Then another viewer asked how I handled travel and itineraries, so I faked traveling. It spiraled into something so big I can’t unravel the threads anymore.

All I know is that behind the camera, everything is perfect. Organized, curated, glamorous. And now I spend most of my day containing the ever-growing lie that hangs over me.

But it’s okay, because I’m helping millions of women with my advice. If they protect themselves and their finances, it doesn’t matter how the information comes. So long as they don’t find themselves at the mercy of vicious alphas who want to take away their independence and chain them to a nest.

That’s all I want.

And if living behind a mask of perfection helps silence the old voices in my head, even better. People all around the world hang on every word from the omega those brutes called worthless.

Speaking of which, I need to organize another ‘trip’. After sending today’s filming to my editor for tidying up, I shoot off a message to my personal assistant, Kylie, to set out an itinerary for filming. I’ll green screen it from my studio room while she runs around the globe getting on-site footage. Wonders of modern technology.

Would Alessandro condemn me, if he knew the truth?

Clicking my tongue at the thought, I pack up for the day. With no stock trades running and enough video content scheduled to last a few days, I can afford to take an afternoon off. Realistically, I could take weeks off, and no one would know, but what would I do, alone in my house? Binge streaming services and fall into depression?

Been there, done that, don’t need to go back.

I wander aimlessly through the multi-story house until I find myself in the small room I set aside for crafts. How long has it been since I did any of my old hobbies? Once upon a time, I knitted scarfs for my packmates and made quilts for my friends. Tried to impress three alphas with homemade crafts.

Might as well be a lifetime ago.

Now I have no one to share them with, and finished pieces would only grow into a pile. Unless I started a segment showing I have handicraft hobbies, which would increase my appeal to a new section of social media users?

A quilt then.

I set up the video camera in my craft room and pull out a half-finished project I was working on when the accident happened. The seams tickle my fingers as I run my hand across the patchwork. I used to love making these. Now the colors seem lifeless.

Maybe I could run the numbers on pricing and selling at a fair or weekend markets, as a way for others to start small businesses. Usually, I advocate against businesses involving small goods, since they’re so difficult to scale. But it might be the best place for some omegas, especially if that’s all they know how to do.

Or women who are broken like me. Would they be inspired to know I started out selling things privately when my pieces-of-shit pack members dropped me like a pile of steaming manure?

Meh. No one needs that sob story.

Everyone wants the good and perfect, something flawless to strive for. Anything else gets torn to shreds in this cruel world. So that’s the only side of me they get to see.