Page 82 of Knot Your Sugar

"I'm here!" I manage to squeak, but it’s promptly swallowed by the general hubbub.

Taking another breath, big enough to inflate a bounce house, I try again, channeling my inner town crier. "I'M HERE!"

That got their attention. Heads swivel and the crowd starts to part like the Red Sea. My legs feel wobbly like under-whipped meringue as I navigate the aisle, every single eye boring into me. The sheer weight of public attention, a thing I’ve dodged my whole life, presses down. But I keep moving, one foot in front of the other.

James spots me first. His face, usually a mask of charming roguishness, lights up with a joy so genuine it could power a small kitchen. "Elena!"

Dorian turns, and a wave of relief washes over his features. Even Pierre straightens, a flicker of something suspiciously like pride breaking through his stern expression.

And then, just as I reach the foot of the stage, I see him. Cole. He’s at the edge of the crowd, looking like he just sprinted a marathon. Our eyes lock for a beat, a silent exchange that speaks volumes, and he gives me a small, almost imperceptible nod.You got this.

The stage steps feel like climbing Mount Croquembouche, but somehow, I ascend. Chen approaches, holding the championship medallion. The medallion. The one I’d mentally kissed goodbye, convinced it was destined for someone else's neck.

"Ms. Avery," she announces, her voice amplified for the eager crowd, "on behalf of the Lakeview Baking Festival, we are incredibly pleased to award you this year's championship. Yourmixed fruit tart was unanimously declared the superior creation of the competition!"

The applause is a tidal wave. Someone lets out an enthusiastic whistle that nearly makes me jump out of my skin. I just stand there, stunned into silence, as Chen places the surprisingly heavy medallion around my neck.

"Would you like to say a few words?" Chen asks, offering me the microphone with an encouraging smile.

I take it on autopilot, my mind a blank canvas. Hundreds of faces blur before me, all expectant, all curious. The spotlight feels hotter than a blast furnace.

"I..." My voice cracks, a mortifying squeak. I clear my throat, trying for composure. "Thank you. I... wow. I honestly don’t know what to say. I wasn't expecting this."

A ripple of gentle laughter from the audience. Good, they're not going to stone me.

"I wasn't here for the initial judging," I begin, taking a steadying breath. "I was at the bus station, contemplating a dramatic life change possibly involving llamas and Peru. Well, not really, but I was conflicted and confused. Then I heard about… the unexpected turn of events on a radio, and I came running back."

My eyes find James, who’s now lurking at the side of the stage. "I owe this, all of this, to James Reynolds. He could have sailed to victory, taken the credit, all the glory. He had absolutely everything to gain by just… staying quiet."

James shakes his head, a blush creeping up his neck, trying to wave off the praise, but I’m on a roll now.

"What James did today, that’s the real icing on the cake. It’s the true spirit of what we do. Baking isn't about cutthroat competition, it’s about generosity. It’s about sharing something beautiful, even a little bit magical, with the world."

My gaze shifts, landing on Dorian. "And to Dorian Beaumont. Who championed my tart when he had every perfectly good business reason to distance himself from me. Your unwavering belief in excellence, in the integrity of the craft, even after being caught in a… compromising position," I say, catching the brief glance Parker and Chen exchange, "is nothing short of inspiring."

The words are tumbling out now, a torrent of truth I can’t, and don’t want to, stop.

"The truth is," I continue, my voice gaining a surprising steadiness, "I’ve spent most of my life hiding a pretty significant part of who I am. I was terrified that if people knew, I’d be instantly slapped with a label. That I’d lose my independence, my dreams, my very sense of self, all because of a biological lottery ticket."

A new murmur ripples through the crowd. This is it. No more hiding.

"I'm an omega." The words ring out, clear and unexpectedly steady, echoing through the speakers as the crowd erupts in surprised gasps and chatter.

"And I've been on medication for years. I'm not a late bloomer," I continue, glancing at James and Dorian, then at Cole. "Just… a somewhat convincing actress." I draw a breath as the crowd fades back into silence.

"I hid it because I believed that being an omega, independent, and career-driven were mutually exclusive. I thought that letting anyone get too close would eventually mean being... diminished. Controlled." I take another deep breath.

"To all of you here in Lakeview who've known me for three years, and to you Dorian, James, Cole, I owe you a sincere apology. I'm so, so sorry I deceived you. I was terrified."

I sneak a peek at the alphas. James’s jaw is set, a muscle twitching. Dorian looks stunned, his expression cracking toshow surprise and dawning understanding. Cole's gaze is locked on mine, intense and unwavering. I can smell a blazing fury rolling off them… but it seems…protective. Like they're not angryatme butforme.

"Today," I continue, drawing strength from their silent support, "I’ve been shown otherwise. By three extraordinary alphas who sawme, not as a possession to be claimed, but as a person to be supported. Someone, dare I say, to be respected."

My voice catches as emotion overcomes me. "I was so petrified of losing myself that I almost lost everything else. Including the very people who, it turns out, don't make me weaker, but make me feel like I could take on a whole army of temperamental soufflés."

A lone tear escapes, making a break for freedom down my cheek. I don’t bother wiping it away. This is me, unfiltered.

"I’ve been incredibly stupid," I admit, the rawness in my voice carrying. "Blinded by my own anxieties. Pushing away connection because I thought independence meant standing entirely alone."

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