Knot Now, Maybe Knot Ever

Chapter 7: Savannah

Savannah, Monday, April 7th

I sprint through the narrow alleyway, my footsteps echoing against the pavement, each breath forming a faint mist in the crisp spring air. The envelope clutched against my chest feels like it weighs nothing and everything at once. It's almost funny—three years of carrying the weight of Tyler's abuse, and this piece of paper somehow feels heavier.

My ribs ache from running, but it's a different kind of pain than I'm used to—one born of hope rather than fear. For once, I'm running toward something instead of away. The thought almost makes me stumble.

Around me, loose newspapers scatter in my wake, dancing across puddles that reflect a clear, blue sky. My heart pounds as I reach the dilapidated stairs leading to my apartment above The Rusty Tavern.

I scan the area before taking the first step. No sign of Jack. No sign of anyone who might report back to Tyler. The stairs creak beneath my weight, each sound making me flinch.

Once inside, my hand trembles slightly as I grip the envelope tighter. The sound of distant, muffled sirens filters through the thin walls of the apartment, underscoring the tension in my hurried steps. I double-check the locks on the door—not that they'd keep Tyler out, but at least I'd have warning. The familiar routine does little to calm my racing heart.

The rickety couch groans as I settle onto it, the springs digging into my thighs through the worn fabric. I carefully break the seal on the envelope, worried that even the slightest tear might somehow ruin whatever's inside.

I unfold a neatly printed invitation, the heavy cardstock so unlike anything that ever enters this apartment. My eyes widen as I read:

Ms. Savannah Grace Everleigh,

You are cordially invited to attend the Omega Gala, this Saturday, April 12th, at the Grand Pavilion.

Time: 8:00 p.m. to Midnight.

Transportation and attire will be provided.

The gold-embossed letters swim before my eyes. Part of me wants to laugh at the absurdity—a girl who hasn't left this neighborhood in three years, invited to a gala at the Grand Pavilion. The other part wants to cry because it might be the only chance I'll have at... something. Anything.

At the bottom, there's a contact name and number: "Nora Blake, Omega Gala Coordinator."

A soft whine escapes my throat—part disbelief, part hope. I press my hand against my mouth to muffle the sound, even though no one's here to hear it. The habit of silence is too ingrained to break.

Without thinking, I scramble to locate my outdated flip-phone buried under scattered papers near the cracked mirror on the wall. My fingers tremble as I punch in the number, each beep sounding impossibly loud in the quiet apartment.

The phone emits a piercing ring once, twice, three times. Each ring feels like an eternity, and I find myself mentally rehearsing what to say, like I'm preparing for one of Tyler's interrogations. Old habits die hard, I guess.

"Hello, this is Nora Blake."

I swallow hard, suddenly unsure what to say. "Hi, I—I'm Savannah Everleigh. I just received an invitation to the Omega Gala and—" My voice catches. "Is it true I'm invited?"

"Savannah! Yes, of course. I'm so glad you called." Nora's voice carries a warmth I'm not used to hearing directed at me. "Your name, along with other registered, underprivileged omegas, was entered into our community outreach raffle. And you're our lucky winner this year."

I sink deeper into the couch, my legs suddenly weak. "I don't understand. I never registered for anything."

"The registration is automatic through the omega designation database," Nora explains. "We've been running this program for five years now."

"What exactly does it mean?" I ask, still clutching the invitation like it might disappear.

"This coming Saturday, at noon, we'll pick you up at your registered address and take you to the Grand Pavilion where the event is held. You'll be treated to hair and makeup stylists, and you can select a gown and shoes from a collection donated specifically for this event. Everything is provided—you just need to bring yourself."

The possibility blooms in my chest—one night away from this place, dressed in something beautiful, surrounded by people who aren't looking to hurt me. One night of pretending I'm someone else, someone whose biggest worry is which fork to use at dinner rather than how to hide fresh bruises. The irony isn't lost on me—Cinderella got a whole ball to escape her abusers, I get precisely four hours. But right now, those four hours feel like everything.

"That's..." My voice cracks, and I have to swallow hard before continuing. "That's really kind of you. All of you." The words feel foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I thanked someone for genuine kindness rather than just trying to avoid a beating?

"It's our pleasure, Savannah," Nora says, and there's something in her voice—not pity, exactly, but understanding. Like she knows. Like she sees past my careful words to the desperation underneath. "Every omega deserves a chance to feel special, to be celebrated."

Celebrated. The word hits me like a physical thing. I can't remember the last time I felt celebrated. Or even just... seen. Really seen as something other than Tyler's property or a waitress who shouldn't make eye contact.

"Can I—" I hesitate, glancing toward the window that overlooks the alley. "Can I be picked up a couple blocks from here? Not at my address?"

There's a pause on the other end. When Nora speaks again, her voice is gentler. "Of course, Savannah. Just let me know where would be convenient for you."

"Could I be picked up at Fifth and Maple, close to the coffee shop?" I ask hesitantly.

"Absolutely, Savannah," Nora replies. "That won't be a problem. Do you have any other questions?"

I close my eyes, relief washing over me. "No, thank you so much for this opportunity."

"You're very welcome, Savannah," Nora says gently. "We'll see you on Saturday."

I clutch the phone to my chest after hanging up, half expecting to wake up and find this was all a dream. But the invitation is still there, cream-colored paper catching the sunlight streaming through my dirty window. Never in a million years did I think I'd be given an opportunity like this.

My hands shake as I set down the phone, and suddenly the enormity of what I've just done crashes over me. I've accepted an invitation to the Gala. The thing Tyler nearly killed me for even asking about. And in five days, I'm going to walk out that door and climb into a car that will take me away from here, even if just for a few hours.

The fear hits me then, sharp and cold. What if someone sees me getting picked up? What if Jack mentions something to Tyler about me being gone that day? What if Tyler comes back early?

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to push back the panic. "Stop it," I whisper to myself. "Just stop."

But my mind won't stop spinning. What if I get there and everyone can tell just by looking at me that I don't belong? What if my bruises haven't faded enough by Saturday? What if—

I force myself to take a deep breath, then another. Five days. I have five days to figure this out. Five days to heal as much as I can. Five days to plan.

And maybe, just maybe, five days until everything changes.

I pick up the invitation again, running my fingers over the embossed lettering. Savannah Grace Everleigh. My full name, written in elegant script like it matters. Like I matter.

The thought makes my chest tight with something that might be hope or might be terror—I honestly can't tell the difference anymore.

Staring at the invitation, I realize—I do have a fairy godmother. And her name is Nora Blake. Though instead of mice turned into horses and pumpkins into carriages, she's offering me something far more precious: a chance to remember who I am beyond these four walls, beyond Tyler's shadow.

The question is: do I have the courage to take it?