Page 62 of Knot Your Sugar

“…Though,” he starts again, rubbing the back of his neck, “Speaking of medication, I’ve been thinking—well, actually, I told myself I was being paranoid—but… just for the sake of discussion… don’t you think there’s atinychance she already knows? That maybe she’s been hiding her designation?”

That stops both of us.

James shifts, eyes darting between us like he’s testing the weight of his own theory. “I mean, I know it's unlikely. Like why would we even smell her if she was on meds? But… what if?" He hesitates. “If that’s the case, springing some big ‘surprise, you’re an omega’ moment on her could go even worse.”

Another silence stretches. Uneasy. Considering.

Then James mutters, “I mean, it's probably dumb. Why would she even hide it? Sure, there’s still some old-fashioned prejudice out there, but it’s not like being an omega is a death sentence for your career anymore. Plenty of omegas have successful, high-powered jobs these days."

“Well,” I say slowly, thinking of my department’s sister division handling omega crises, “while it’s legal and more common now, it’s still noteasy. There’s the constant, often unwanted attention from alphas. The pressure to mate, to settle down, to pop out babies. Safety concerns during heats. Subtle discrimination in certain fields." I shake my head. "I'm not saying I agree with your theory, but being an unmated omegawho just wants to focus on her career and live her life on her own terms… it isn’t easy. Even in supposedly progressive places."

"Which is ridiculous," Dorian adds, his voice tight with a sudden anger that surprises me. "If she weremyomega, I would encourage her to do whatever she damn well pleases. She could run my entire patisserie division, or open her own chain of bakeries, or decide to become a professional dancer. I wouldn’t care. As long as she was happy. Fulfilled. Though," he pauses, an almost sheepish smile touching his lips, "I would also derive immense pleasure from showering her with gifts and ensuring she never had to worry about working another day in her life, if that was her desire." He pauses for a second and sighs. "But I guess it’s precisely that kind of well-intentioned, yet rather possessive instincts that can make it seem… easier for an independent omega to just hide."

"Exactly," I nod, then steer us back to the point. "And circling back to Elena possibly hiding her status… she’s been living and working in Lakeview for over three years. You can’t stay on meds indefinitely without a break, it’s dangerous. Most doctors recommend at least one off-cycle a year. If she’d done that, even once, someone would’ve noticed. Her scent would’ve shifted. She would’ve gone into heat. And in a town as gossipy as Lakeview?" I shake my head. "There’s no way it would’ve stayed under wraps."

"Agreed," Dorian says, nodding slowly. "The late-bloomer theory is far more likely in this scenario."

"Late bloomer it is," James nods.

A beat of silence stretches, each of us now exchanging an uncertain glance.

"So," James finally breaks the silence, clearing his throat. "Who tells her?"

Chapter thirty-two

Elena

"Welcome, bakers, to our final workshop before the grand finale tomorrow!" Judge Chen announces. "This is a low-pressure, purely for-fun session on advanced decorative techniques. Think of it as a chance to play, to relax, to let your creative muscles stretch a bit before the main event. No judging, no critiques, just pure, joyful artistry!"

I try to summon some of that joyful artistry, I really do. My station is a Willy Wonka-esque dream of tempered chocolate in various shades, an arsenal of gleaming piping tips, and tiny pots filled with shimmering edible glitter, sugar flowers, and dragees.

Itshouldbe fun. A delightful, low-stakes romp through the prettier side of pastry. But my focus is shot. My hands, usually so steady, tremble as I attempt to pipe a chocolate lace design ontoparchment paper. I'm not sure what's happening… only that the single pill I took this morning clearly isn’t enough.

"How’s the… uh… joyful artistry going over here, Elena?"

I nearly snap my piping bag in half as Cole materializes beside my workstation, with a small, hesitant smile.

"About as relaxing as trying to juggle live eels while riding a unicycle," I manage, gesturing with a shaky hand toward my rather pathetic attempt at chocolate lace, which looks more like a melted spiderweb. "One wrong move and the whole damn thing shatters into a million un-artistic pieces." My voice sounds sharper than I intend.

"I'm sure it's not that bad," he says, leaning in for a closer look.

His proximity sends my senses into overdrive. I can clearly smell the cedar coming off him, and it's making my hands tremble harder.

"Are you okay?" Cole asks, his brow furrowing with concern. "You look a little flushed."

"I'm fine," I say too quickly. "Just warm in here."

"It's actually pretty cool today," he says, looking even more concerned. "Do you want some water?"

"No, I—" I break off as I attempt another chocolate decoration and my hand shakes so badly that chocolate splatters across the workstation. "Dammit!"

Cole grabs some paper towels and helps me clean up, his movements quick and efficient. "Maybe you should take a break."

"I don't need a break," I snap, then immediately regret my tone. "Sorry. I just... I'm having an off day."

He studies me for a moment, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I… I don’t want to sabotage your focus, or anything. I know how important tomorrow is to you." He takes a deep, slightly awkward breath, his gaze flicking around before settling back on me, his hazel eyes full of a strange mixture of determinationand apprehension. "But… actually… there’s something I… need to talk to you about. Something important."

The sudden change in his tone, the gravity in his expression, makes my heart stutter, then begin to pound a frantically. "What’s wrong, Cole?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper. "Is it… is it about the festival? About my baking?"

---