Page 95 of Lavender and Honey

The bell above the door chimes, cutting through our heated exchange like a knife. We both turn to see a woman standing in the doorway, her expression a mixture of concern and wariness. I recognize her immediately—Mrs. Chen from the antique shop next door, a kind-hearted Beta who often brings me tea when she comes to browse my watercolors.

"Everything alright in here, Lydia?" she asks, her eyes darting between my flushed face and my mother's rigid posture. "I heard raised voices."

I take a shaky breath, grateful for the interruption. "Everything's fine, Mrs. Chen. My... visitor was just leaving." My mother's eyes narrow at being so summarily dismissed, but she's too conscious of appearances to make a scene in front of a stranger. Her mask of polite indifference slips back into place with practiced ease.

"We'll continue this discussion later," she says, her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear the underlying threat. "This isn't over, Lydia."

"Yes," I say, meeting her gaze without flinching for perhaps the first time in my life. "It is."

For a moment, I think she might ignore the witness and continue our confrontation anyway. But my mother has always been acutely aware of public perception. With a final icy glare, she turns on her heel and stalks toward the door, her spine ramrod straight, her movements precise and controlled.

"Good day," she says to Mrs. Chen with a curt nod as she passes, not bothering to wait for a response before sweeping out of the shop, the bell jangling discordantly in her wake. Thesilence she leaves behind feels like the aftermath of a storm—charged and unsettled, with the lingering threat of another downpour on the horizon.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The bell's jingle fades into silence, but my mother's presence lingers like the aftermath of a toxic perfume, seeping into everything it touched. Mrs. Chen stands awkwardly near the door, her kind face creased with concern, her hands fidgeting with the jade bracelet she always wears. I want to reassure her, to slip into the professional mask I've perfected over the past year, but my usual defenses feel shattered, leaving me exposed in ways I haven't been since I fled my family's house in the middle of the night, Avery's car idling at the end of the drive like a getaway vehicle.

The shop door swings open again before Mrs. Chen can speak, the bell's cheerful tone an absurd counterpoint to the ice that floods my veins. My mother stands in the doorway, her figure outlined by the morning sun, throwing her face into shadow. But I don't need to see her expression to know it's perfectly composed again, the brief flash of genuine emotion tucked away beneath her immaculate veneer.

"One more thing, Lydia," she says, her voice honey-smooth yet carrying barbs beneath its surface. Her eyes flick meaningfully to my neck, where my unblocked scent glands pulse with anxiety and anger. "If you insist on this... independent lifestyle, you might at least consider wearing your blockers again. A respectable Omega doesn't flaunt her scent in public like some common stray."

The words hit with precision accuracy, finding the tender spot of my newest vulnerability. Not wearing blockers—letting my true scent emerge after a year of chemical suppression—had been a conscious choice, a declaration of trust in the four men who've somehow become central to my world. A step toward authenticity I'm still learning to navigate.

My mother's gaze slides to Mrs. Chen, taking in her sensible shoes and hand-knit cardigan with a single, dismissive sweep. "It's hardly appropriate," she continues, her voice pitched to carry just enough for the Beta to hear. "Though I suppose standards are... different in small towns."

Mrs. Chen draws herself up, her normally gentle expression hardening around the edges. "We value authenticity here," she says, her voice carrying the quiet dignity that's always made me admire her. "Lydia is a respected business owner and a valued member of our community."

My mother's smile could freeze flowing water. "How quaint. Well, I won't keep you from your... charming little establishment any longer, Lydia. Do think about what I've said. Your father and I will be at the Grand Haven Hotel until Sunday. I trust you'll come to your senses before then."

With that parting shot, she turns and walks away, her heels clicking a precise rhythm on the sidewalk outside. Through the window, I watch her slip into a sleek black car I hadn't noticed before—expensive, understated, with the tinted windows that speak of wealth that prefers not to announce itself too loudly.

Mrs. Chen mutters something under her breath in Mandarin that doesn't sound like a compliment.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asks, turning to me with eyes full of gentle concern. "That woman... she's your mother? I couldn't help overhearing a bit before I came in."

I nod, not trusting my voice as a low whin left my throat. My hand rises unconsciously to my neck, fingers brushing against the scent gland that now feels exposed, vulnerable, wrong. Should I have kept using blockers? Was my decision to stop—to let myself be truly seen and scented—a mistake? The doubts multiply like shadows at dusk, stretching and distorting my newfound confidence into something unrecognizable.

"Family can be the heaviest burden to carry," Mrs. Chen says softly, moving to stand beside me at the counter. "Sometimes the people who should love us the most are the ones who hurt us the deepest."

I swallow hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming in my throat. "I thought I was done with all that," I manage, my voice embarrassingly unsteady. "It's been a year. I thought I was... free."

"Ah," Mrs. Chen sighs, settling her small, work-worn hand over mine. "The past has long fingers, yes? It reaches for us when we least expect it." A single tear escapes before I can stop it, streaking down my cheek in a hot trail of betrayal. I brush it away quickly, but not before Mrs. Chen notices.

"You should not listen to her about the blockers," she says firmly, squeezing my hand. "My nephew is an Omega, you know. For years he hid himself behind those chemical masks, ashamed of his true nature. Now he lives freely, proud of who he is. He is the happiest I've ever seen him."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they tangle with my mother's accusations in my mind, creating a confused knot of uncertainty. Is my decision to stop using blockers a step towardself-acceptance or a naive mistake that leaves me vulnerable? Is my mother right that I need the protection of a traditional pack, or is Mrs. Chen's nephew's path the healthier one?

"Thank you," I say automatically, falling back on the polite responses ingrained since childhood. "I appreciate your concern."

Mrs. Chen studies me with eyes too perceptive for comfort. "You should close early today, I think. Go home. Rest. Whatever she wanted from you, it has stirred up old pain, yes?"

Old pain. The phrase is so inadequate it would be laughable if I weren't so close to crying. Not just old pain but old fear, old doubt, old patterns I've fought so hard to break free from. My mother's brief visit has left fault lines in the foundation I've been carefully building—cracks in my certainty that I can define my own life, choose my own path.

"I might do that," I murmur, though the thought of being alone with my turbulent emotions feels almost as daunting as facing my mother again.

Mrs. Chen nods decisively. "Good. I will tell anyone who comes looking for you that there was a family emergency." Her nose wrinkles slightly. "Not entirely untrue, that one."

Despite everything, a small smile tugs at my lips. "Thank you, Mrs. Chen. You're very kind."

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