Page 12 of Knot Happening

Especially when his mother decided to serve a "family-style" meal where everyone had to share. Ten alphas trying to be polite while internally combusting over who got the last dinner roll, who deserved the biggest portion, and whether offering to refill someone's water glass was a sign of submission or dominance. By the time dessert arrived, they were having passive-aggressive arguments about proper fork placement and whether eye contact while chewing was considered rude or a challenge.

And that's exactly why I've never been back to Adam's house for dinner. Not because of the testosterone-fueled etiquette wars, but because his motherstillintroduces me to every alpha she meets at the farmer's market as "Belle, you know, the one who's still single."

I murmur back, "Lady Inkwell has such a big mouth. We really need to find out who she is."

Adam's eyes widen with sudden inspiration as he glances at Marissa, who's still hovering near our table with obvious longing. "You don't think...?" he whispers, nodding slightly in her direction.

I follow his gaze, studying Marissa's expectant face and the way she seems to be cataloging every detail of our interaction. For a moment, the pieces almost fit, because she’s always at the library, she's always around to overhear conversations, and she definitely has the kind of observational skills that would make for good gossip reporting.

But then I shake my head, and Adam does the same. "Nah," I whisper back. "She's too obvious. Lady Inkwell is sneakier than that."

"Can we help you?" I ask Marissa. After all, I spent half the night perfecting this particular peace offering, and sharing it with someone who wasn't part of the original conflict feels like diluting its power.

She shakes her head with visible disappointment, her shoulders sagging slightly as she realizes she's not going to be included in our chocolate feast. Her expression reminds me of a child pressed against a candy store window, all longing and resignation.

Adam and I exchange a look and then dissolve into laughter like school kids sharing a secret joke.

"I was up all night making this," I admit as he takes his first proper bite, watching his eyes practically roll back in bliss. "Literally up all night, especially with the fondant. If you don't get the timing exactly right, it ends up looking like shit in the middle of a cake, which isn't appealing and tastes even worse."

"Bake therapy," Adam says around a mouthful of molten chocolate, his voice slightly muffled but filled with appreciation. "Your solution to everything."

"It works, doesn't it?" I counter, feeling some of the tension from yesterday's discovery starting to ease. There's something therapeutic about watching Adam enjoy something I created, about the simple act of taking care of someone I love even when I can't tell him exactly how much he means to me. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing sensual about our relationship. As much as I wish there was, there isn't, and this is why I know that I need to let him go. I know one day he will find a pack and leave me, and this is the part that I dread the most. Just thinking that this day could be around the corner at the ball.

"I felt guilty about the invite," I continue, my voice dropping as I glance around to make sure we're not being overheard. "After giving you such a hard time about yours, finding out I had one too... I didn't know what else to do but…”

"Bake!" Adam finishes with a grin, then his expression grows more serious. "But Belle, this is huge. Do you realize what this means? Both of us getting invitations to the Masquerade Ball? That never happens to people like us."

He's right, and that's exactly what's been keeping me awake at night since I found that gold-embossed card hidden among the book returns. The Masquerade Ball at Thornfield Palace isn't just some fancy party, but the most exclusive social event in a three-state radius, with a guest list that reads like a who's who of successful alphas, omegas, and betas.

"I've been researching it," I admit, pulling out my phone to show him the notes I've been compiling.

"Adam, the numbers are insane. Ninety-five percent of attendees find their perfect mate within one year of attending. Three times higher fertility rates for couples who meet there.Business connections that lead to million-dollar deals. Social elevation that can transform someone's entire life."

Adam whistles low, scrolling through my research with growing amazement. "No wonder people apply years in advance. Hotel rooms within fifty miles are completely booked for the weekend. People are flying in from California, New York, even internationally."

"The economic impact on Willowbrook is massive," I continue, warming to the subject despite my personal anxiety about it. "Local businesses make more money during ball weekend than they do during the entire Christmas season. The catering alone costs more than most people make in a year."

"But here's what I don't understand," Adam says, leaning closer and lowering his voice. "How did we get invited? I mean, I know my parents applied for me, they've been not-so-subtly hinting about my 'romantic prospects' for months. But you never applied, right?"

“Years!” I correct him. There’s no way that his mom has been concerned about his love life for months.

“Did you apply?” He repeats.

I shake my head, feeling that familiar flutter of panic in my chest. "That's what's so weird. I never applied for anything. I just found the invitation mixed in with the book returns yesterday evening. After you left, like someone had specifically placed it there for me to find."

The golden envelope with my name written in elegant calligraphy, the paper so heavy it felt expensive just to hold. When I'd opened it, the invitation inside was printed on what looked like actual gold leaf, with details that had made my hands shake:

The honor of your presence is requested at the Annual Masquerade Ball at Thornfield Palace. October 31st, eight o'clock in the evening. Formal masquerade attire required.RSVP required by October 25th. This invitation is non-transferable and admits one guest only.

"Someone knows about you," Adam says quietly.

Not even you know, and you’re my best friend! I shake my head at the thought. Someone knowing I’m an omega? That’s impossible. Ifyoudon’t know, how couldthey?

Someone, somehow, knows I exist in a way that matters enough to warrant an invitation to an event that could completely destroy my carefully constructed facade. The Masquerade Ball is famous for its matching success, but it's also notorious for the way it strips away pretenses and reveals people's true natures.

Just then, the library door opens again with its characteristic creak, and this time it's not Marissa returning. A tall figure fills the doorway with broad shoulders, confident posture, the kind of commanding presence that makes the air itself seem to shift and thicken with alpha pheromones.

My breath catches as he moves through the library, scanning the shelves with the kind of focused attention that suggests he's hunting for something specific. He's gorgeous in the way that dangerous things often are with a sharp jawline covered with perfectly maintained stubble, dark hair that looks like he's run his fingers through it, and an intensity that seems to draw light toward him even in the shadowed spaces between the stacks.

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