Page 92 of Knot So Social

“If you’re resonating with what I’m saying, you’re not alone. In fact, eating and being fed are a huge part of pack culture, and so many omegas I hear from say that while they sometimes get spoiled with their favorite takeaway, the alphas generally control what gets served at regular meals. And hey, I get it, they’re big eaters and often doing more physical jobs. But if you’re going along with what they want and pretending your appetites don’t matter, that’s a slippery slope.”

I tilt the tray toward the camera. “This is girl dinner, and I’m here to tell you to eat what you want.”

I scoop a piece of cheese onto a cracker and bite into it, confident the crunch will translate nicely through the audio.

“Here’s a fun fact they don’t want you to know. Alphas are perfectly capable of making their own food, if this is all you want to eat. And if they aren’t, honeys, you’ve created a monster. There’s no rule that says the omega must be the homemaker. I talk about that so much on this channel. Omancy doesn’t mean you can’t be the one who keeps house and does all the cooking. No, boss girl. It means you have the option to stay home, or go out and work, or do whatever the heck you want.”

I pick up a lettuce cup and toast the camera. “So, eat what you like and don’t feel guilty. Stay bossy out there, omegas.”

With a hum I take a bite, careful not to let the aioli drip, chewing and smiling for a minute before stopping the recording.

The food sits heavy in my stomach as I take the next bite. I shouldn’t have turned my conversation with Jeremy into content ideas, and he certainly wasn’t trying to dictate what I eat. It was fun, and nice, and his way of saying he wanted to cook for me.

But I need to make up time and get more videos out after four days offline.

I work my way off the couch and carry my food back to the office. I’ve got a ton to catch up on, and some hyperfocus will help take my mind off the two kind alphas who want to get to know me better.

I’m a boss omega, and nothing else matters.

Chapter twenty-nine

Alessandro

I sit on the edge of my bed, scrolling through social media in the early hours of the morning as dawn spreads her hesitant light fingers outside. Normally I don’t spend much time on my phone, unless it’s talking to Mammina back home, in which case it’s hard to get off the call, but today I’m looking for something. I cross my legs on the bed, the plain sheet draped across my knees as I lean back against the rough shed wall.

My algorithm brims with gardening and business topics, so I skip over to the browser and type “Willow” into the search bar. Not much to go on, but the filming equipment in her house suggested she does some pretty serious recording.

A lot of my clients in this district are famous people, including the city mayor, sports stars, company owners, and socialites. I’ve never investigated any of them before, figuring it wasn’t my business.

But everything about Willow draws me in and triggers my curiosity.

When I add ‘omega’ to the search terms, a profile picture pops up of the woman with her head tilted to one side, silver-painted nails close to her face, and wearing an open-mouthed, intrigued expression. Makes it seem like she’s staring right at me.

My heart leaps and I enlarge the image. Although clearly her, Willow looks different here. Her big smoky eyes and a leather-look jacket speak of confidence and sultry styling, without a trace of the uncertainty I’ve witnessed in person.

I slide away from the image so I can read the articles.

Willow Sheldon, CEO of Boss Omega and named in Forbes’ Richest Under Thirty, three years ago, is a social media influencer and entrepreneur who runs the Boss Omega brand which provides advice and education to empower omegas to find independence and financial stability.

Just reading the introduction makes me smile. Of course she’s helping others. Look at the way she loves her dog.

I follow a link to her main social media presence and find a page radiating professional charm. Willow has daily videos of her in all sorts of locations going back years, with over two million followers. When I click on some of her videos, her advice is upbeat and firm, encouraging omegas to rely on themselves first.

Most videos have thousands of comments, mostly from ladies, presumably omegas, who find her posts inspiring. Life changing even. But my smile fades as I discover the vitriol alongside the rest. While most are from men telling her to fuck off and get back in the nest, some also come from women claiming the helpless omega energy is how omegas are designed.

“Scroll on if you don’t like it,” I mutter under my breath, disgusted. “Is that so hard?”

Cicadas chirping outside get louder, joining my protest.

Is this the silent burden Willow carries? People attacking her work and her opinions? Must be hard to put herself out there in the public eye so much.

I click on another video. The omega speaks so fluently, her gaze hitting the camera just right, so it feels like she’s talking directly to me. She’d fit right in on a big conference or TED talk stage, as compelling as she is beautiful.

One sentence near the end makes my ears perk up.

“You don’t ever want to completely rely on your alphas. Even if they’re good, honest people, that much vulnerability is dangerous. Trust me, I know.” For a split second, her gaze drifts, some memory poisoning the vitality insider her. It’s gone as quick as it came, replaced with a bright smile and more good advice.

I ball up my fist. Her pain flows much deeper than I imagined, and at the source of it lies some fucking alphas who let her down. Rage sends hot quivers through me. She mentioned this when I was at her house yesterday. Alphas dropping an unwanted omega like steaming shit, I believe she said. Did they beat her? Is that why she flinched at a dropped glass?