Page 22 of Knot The Nanny We Planned

"Supposed to be?" I repeat.

Her eyes soften, not with kindness, but with something worse. Pity. "Oh, sweetheart. You really don't know, do you?" She reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture uncomfortably intimate. "They're not looking for a mate. They're looking for a mother for Lily. A warm body to fill the omega-shaped hole in that child's life. And once they've knotted you, once the bond is set, and the biological imperative is satisfied, do you know what happens then?"

I don't answer. My throat is too tight.

"They get bored," Serena whispers. "The match fades. The heat dies down. And you're left in a penthouse with three men who look right through you, wondering where the fire went." She pulls back, her hand leaving my hair. "I watched it happen to myself. I watched the way JD's eyes went flat. The way Knox stopped smiling. The way Deklan rebuilt every wall I'd spent months tearing down."

"That's not…" My voice breaks. I clear my throat. "That's not going to happen to me."

"Of course it is." She stands, smoothing her dress. "Because you're not a person to them, Willow. You're a function. A biological match. A womb. Deklan's sister is dead, and they need someone to fill the gap she left, someone to mother Lily, to manage the household, to be the omega they can't be bothered to find organically." She looks down at me, and her expression is almost gentle. "You're a small-town girl with a duffel bag and a thrift-store wardrobe. They're billionaires. What did you think was going to happen?"

I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again. Nothing comes out.

Serena watches me struggle for a moment. Then she sighs, reaches into her purse, and pulls out a business card. She places it on the bench beside me.

"When it falls apart, and it will, call me. I know what it's like to be discarded by men like that. I know what it's like to believe you're special and then find out you were just convenient." She turns, her blonde hair swinging. "Good luck, Willow. You're going to need it."

She walks away. Heels clicking on the pavement. Perfect, measured, devastating.

I sit on the bench and stare at the business card. My hands are shaking. My scent has shifted, I can feel it, the honey and vanilla going sour, tinged with fear and doubt and something that tastes like heartbreak.

In the sandbox, Lily looks up from her digging and stares at me. Her dark eyes, Deklan's eyes, Mara's eyes, are wide and watchful.

"Willow?" she says. My name, barely formed. "Willow sad?"

Willow sad.

I pick her up. Hold her against my chest. Bury my face in her curls and breathe, baby shampoo and sunshine and innocence.

"I'm fine, baby," I whisper. "Willow's fine."

But I'm not fine. Because Serena's words are burrowing into my brain like parasites, finding every insecurity I've ever had and inflating them to catastrophic proportions.

Placeholder.

Womb.

They get bored.

You were just convenient.

I think of JD in the shower, growling my name. I think of Knox in the kitchen, his hand on my hip, his whispered filth making my knees buckle. I think of Deklan, cracking open for just a moment, admitting I’m more than a nanny before slamming the door shut.

Was any of it real? Or was it just biology? Just the match, primal, chemical, and meaningless?

The match doesn't lie, JD said. But Serena said it fades.

You're not a person to them. You're a function.

I hold Lily tighter, and she pats my cheek with her small, sticky hand.

"Willow," she says firmly. "Willow okay?"

And despite everything, despite the fear, the doubt, the poison Serena dripped into my ear, I laugh. Because this tiny human, this motherless child, is comforting me. And she's doing a better job of it than any adult ever has.

"Willow okay," I repeat. "Yeah, baby. Willow's okay."

But even as I say it, I feel the ground shifting beneath me. The solid foundation I've been building since I walked into that penthouse, fragile, new, built on nothing but scent and instinct and the desperate hope that maybe, this time, I might actually belong, is cracking.