28. Elena
Chapter twenty-eight
Elena
I wake up from a sleep so deep it feels like I’ve been marinating in contentment.
I stretch languidly, every muscle in my body humming a tune of delicious, well-earned soreness. A slow, secret smile curves my lips. Dorian. Last night. His villa. The stars. Mon Dieu…
Right now, all I feel is a warm, fuzzy glow. A bit tired, yes, in that deeply satisfied, bone-weary way, but also strangely, wonderfully energized. It’s like my whole being has been plugged into some high-voltage cosmic charger.
Humming a cheerful, slightly off-key tune, I pad barefoot into the kitchen, my mind already replaying some highlights from the past few days. Cole's strength and the way he makes me feel safe. James dropping his facade and our moments in the hot springs. And Dorian. God, last night…
Everything that should feel complicated somehow feels... right. And I’m enjoying it all.
I open the window in my living room, letting the fresh morning air and the cheerful sounds of Lakeview waking up fill my small apartment. The sun on my face feels glorious.
Two minutes later, I grab my bottle of DuoBlocks from the kitchen counter and tap out the two daily pills that are supposed to keep my hormones in check (I mean, they haven’t been perfect lately.
But hey, at least I haven’t ended up bonded or anything).
I set them on the small table in the living room, ready to take.
After a quick, refreshing shower where I try very hard not to replay last night some more, I pull on my favorite comfy jeans and a soft t-shirt. Just as I pop two slices of bread into the toaster, my phone rings, Pierre’s name flashing on the screen. Ugh. What does he want?
"Elena," I answer, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder as I cross to the open living room window. I lean against the frame, letting the sun warm my skin. "Good morning, Pierre."
"Elena." His gruff voice crackles through the line, thick with his French accent and the usual weight of sky-high expectations. "You are… prepared for tomorrow’s final competition?"
"Yes, Pierre," I reply, though I’m not entirely sure if it was a question or a warning.
"Hmph. You sound different," there’s a pause. "Almost… confident."
Is it that obvious? "Well, I am feeling good about my chances," I say, trying to sound modest. "And actually, I’ve been thinking about what to make. Maybe your classic Lakeview Apple Pie…"
"A masterpiece of generations," he interjects predictably.
"Indeed," I agree quickly. "But I was wondering…
what if I were to, say, introduce a subtle hint of cardamom to the apple filling?
And perhaps a salted caramel drizzle woven through the lattice top?
Just a thought, to give it a modern twist, something…
unexpected." I hold my breath, bracing for the inevitable explosion.
Silence stretches on the line. A long, assessing kind of silence that makes me want to check if the call dropped.
"Cardamom and salted caramel…" He says at last, before taking another pause.
"Perhaps… perhaps we can discuss these… innovations …
after the competition. If, and only if, you place in the top three. "
My jaw nearly hits the floor. Pierre? Considering changes to his sainted pie recipe? This is monumental. "Thank you, Pierre! And I've got the final covered, I won’t let you down."
"See that you don’t," he grumbles, though there’s now an unexpected lack of his usual bite. "And Elena?"
"Yes?"
"I may be returning to Lakeview a little earlier than planned. Tomorrow, in fact. In time to witness your… performance … in the final."
"Oh! That’s great… Uh, was your trip to France alright?"
"Yes, the… shortened holiday was fine." He clears his throat. "The point is, Elena, I will be there. I expect you to be ready. To honor my bakery’s reputation."
"Understood, Pierre. I’ll make you proud."
"Good." And with a final, curt "Goodbye," he hangs up.
I lean further out the window, a giddy laugh bubbling up.
Pierre, the immovable bastion of baking tradition, actually considering my ideas.
This day is starting off brilliantly. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, my love life is…
delightful, and my curmudgeonly mentor might actually be evolving?
Miracles do happen. I’ll definitely rock tomorrow’s final. This is going to be—
The acrid smell of something rudely interrupts my triumphant internal monologue. Smoke!
My head whips around. Oh God. The toaster. My toasts!
I rush back into the kitchen just as the smoke alarm, with a piercing, ear-splitting shriek, decides to join the party.
Flames, small but angry, are spreading across the kitchen counter from my toaster slots.
And there, right in the danger zone… sits my bottle of DuoBlocks.
Close enough to taunt me. Too far to save without risking a trip to the ER.
"No, no, no, no, no !" I shriek, panic a cold fist clenching my heart.
My brain kicks into emergency mode. Fire extinguisher. Hallway. Now!
I fling open my apartment door, the smoke alarm still wailing like a banshee, and grab the heavy red extinguisher from its bracket on the wall.
Back in the kitchen, my hands are shaking so badly it takes me three agonizing attempts to pull the pin and get the damn thing operational.
All the while, I’m watching in horror as the flames stretch taller.
"Shit! Come on, work, you stupid thing!" I finally manage to unleash a torrent of white foam. After a few long seconds, the fire finally dies with a pathetic hiss, but not before my pill bottle is a melted, blackened mess of plastic.
Silence. Well, save for the dripping of foam and the incessant beeping of the smoke alarm, which I promptly silence by yanking its battery out.
A sudden shout startles me. "Elena! Should I call the fire department?" The unmistakable voice of Mrs. Nguyen (from 2B) rings out from the stairwell, slicing through the quiet
"Sorry, Mrs. Nguyen!" I call back, my voice strained. "Just a small kitchen accident. Everything's fine now!"
She doesn’t reply, but I hear retreating footsteps and the sound of her muttering (something about irresponsible late-night oven usage and now morning fires) until her voice fades entirely.
As silence returns, I turn back to the wreckage on my counter.
My toaster: a casualty of poor wiring.
My favorite box of cinnamon crunch cereal: a smoky mess.
And my DuoBlocks...
My fingers tremble as I sift through the remains.
Burned. Destroyed. Every last one. Gone.
Except… my gaze flies to my small table in the living room. And there they are. The two little blue pills I’d set out just before Pierre called. Two. Only two.
"Okay, Elena, don’t panic," I tell myself, my voice a shaky whisper. "It’s okay. It’s fine." I snatch up my phone, my fingers already dialing the number for the local pharmacy.
"Rosy, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I need an emergency refill of DuoBlocks, please. It’s… urgent."
A sympathetic sigh from the other end. "Oh, I am so sorry. Even with a prescription, we’re totally out. Festival week, you know? It’s like a run on toilet paper before a pandemic. Everyone stocks up."
My stomach clenches. "Out? Completely? Do you know when you’ll get more?"
"Our next shipment isn’t due until Monday, dear."
Monday. The festival ends tomorrow , on Sunday.
I try four pharmacies in the neighboring towns. All the same story. Depleted. Sold out. No DuoBlocks or even suppressants to be had for love or money in a fifty-mile radius.
I sink onto a kitchen stool, staring at the two small, innocent-looking blue pills on my table. My entire supply. Two days of the festival left. Today, and the final tomorrow.
"It’s fine," I say aloud, trying to inject a conviction I absolutely do not feel into my voice. "It’s completely fine. One pill today, one pill tomorrow. That was my old dose anyway. It’ll be enough. It has to be enough."
I swallow today’s pill with a gulp of lukewarm coffee, trying to ignore the voice in the back of my mind whispering that my body is already responding to the alphas even with the medication. That a single dose might not be enough to keep the… symptoms … at bay.
I push the voice away and begin the messy task of cleaning up. The kitchen counter itself is surprisingly almost intact (thank goodness for protective finishes), unlike my peace of mind…
I take a deep breath.
I can't let this throw me off. I’ve handled worse. I can handle this. I just need to stay focused. Positive.
And maybe avoid standing too close to some alphas…
* * *
The chime of the bell above The Daily Grind's door is a welcome sound.
Mia, bless her punctual heart, has already claimed our usual cozy corner table, two steaming mugs of what smells like heavenly hazelnut latte already waiting.
Her eyes light up when she spots me, then her perfectly sculpted nose wrinkles in confusion.
"Whoa, Elena! Rough morning? Were you attacked by a rogue chimney? You kind of smell like smoke."
I manage a weak grimace as I slide into the seat opposite her. "You could say that. Small kitchen fire. My toaster decided to stage a pretty dramatic protest this morning."
"Oh my God! Are you okay?" Genuine concern flashes across her face, chasing away the teasing glint. "Was it bad? Is the apartment alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. No major damage," I say, deliberately downplaying the incident, and definitely not mentioning the tragic demise of my entire DuoBlocks supply.
"Just lost my trusty toaster and a full box of Cinnamon Crunch. I’m kind of bummed about the cereal, actually.
It was the limited-edition holiday flavor. "
"Oh, thank God it wasn’t worse!" Mia says, visibly relieved. She studies me more closely then, her eyes narrowing with that familiar perception that always makes me feel like she can see straight into my soul. "But wait a minute… there’s something else. Beyond the faint aroma of burnt breakfast. You’re…
you’re practically glowing , Elena. What gives? "
I feel the tell-tale heat rise to my cheeks, but for once, I can’t quite suppress the happy dazed smile that’s been plastered on my face pretty much since I woke up—well, incident aside. "So how's the salon going, Mia?"
"Don't you dare try to deflect with pleasantries!
" She leans forward, her eyes sparkling with eager curiosity, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I've waited long enough. Spill it. Who is responsible for that ‘I-just-had-the-best-night-of-my-life’ look?
Wait. Did you see that guy from the bar again?
" Oh, she has no idea what she’s missed the past few days.
I take a long, deliberate sip of my latte, letting her squirm with anticipation, savoring the moment. The truth is, I feel lighter than I have in years. More myself. Full of promise.
"Well," I say finally, setting my mug down with a soft clink, watching her jaw practically unhinge as a mischievous smile spreads across my face, "what if I told you yes, but… I also met two more alphas?"
"Elena!" Mia practically squeals, her voice attracting a few curious glances from the other patrons.
She claps a hand over her mouth, then leans even closer, her eyes like saucers.
" Three ? You absolute little minx! You vixen!
You… you baking Casanova! I need details!
Every single, solitary, scandalous detail! Now!"
"There’s not that much to tell," I protest, but my smile, wider now, totally gives me away.
"Uh-huh. Right. That’s why you’re practically radiating enough bliss to power a small European nation." Her eyes narrow again, then dart to my neck. "And is that… is that a hickey I see peeking out from the collar of your shirt, Ms. ‘Not-Much-To-Tell’?"
My hand flies instinctively to my neck, and Mia lets out a triumphant, if slightly muffled, laugh. "Busted!"
"It’s… it’s probably just ash from this morning!" I stammer, my face now officially on fire.
"Oh my God, Elena!" she whispers, her voice a mixture of awe and delight. "How do you do it? You are literally living every omega’s wildest fantasy right now, and you're not even one! This is… this is epic!"
“It’s not like that,” I reply, something inside me pulsing with the need to tell her the truth.
That I’m not really a beta. That I never was.
But I swallow it down. “It's just… I don’t know, Mia… It just feels right. Natural. Like this is how things were always supposed to be. Which is totally insane, I know, but…” I trail off, shrugging helplessly.
Mia’s expression softens, her usual teasing glint replaced by a genuine, heartfelt warmth. "Oh, honey." She reaches across the table and gently squeezes my hand. "You deserve this, you know?"
Her words loosen a knot of ingrained caution I didn’t even realize was still there. For so long, I’ve been afraid of wanting too much, of needing anyone, of letting anyone get close enough to potentially hurt me, to derail my laid plans. But now…
"I think… I think I might actually be," I admit quietly, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. "Happy, I mean. Really, truly, ridiculously happy."
"Good." Her smile is radiant. "Then it’s about damn time.
" She squeezes my hand again, her eyes sparkling. "Now, drink your cooling latte, my little beta-in-paradise, and tell Auntie Mia everything . And don’t you dare leave out a single juicy detail! We haven’t had a proper gossip session since…
well, since before this whole festival madness started! It feels like ages!"
"Mia, it’s literally been, what, four days?" I laugh.
"Exactly!" she exclaims dramatically. "An eternity! I’ve missed you, babe! We need to schedule some serious bestie time, stat!"
We spend the next twenty minutes in a comfortable, giggling cloud of shared confidences, Mia expertly extracting just enough details to satisfy her boundless curiosity while still respecting my (admittedly somewhat blurry) boundaries. Sharing this feels… so good.
As we finally gather our things to head out for the day, Mia pulls me into a tight, fierce hug.
"I am so incredibly proud of you, Elena," she whispers into my hair, her voice thick with emotion. "For finally letting yourself have this."