Page 100 of Written in Scent

Still, I try it on. The dress glides over my skin like water, settling into place with a whisper of silk against skin. The hem brushes just below my knees, the neckline modest but flattering. I smooth my hands down the front, turning in front of the mirror again.

“It feels like too much,” I say nervously, tugging at the hem. “Like I’m trying too hard… Everyone will look at me and think I’m playing dress-up.”

Sophie comes up behind me and rests her chin on my shoulder, meeting my eyes in the reflection. “Elodie, for La Tavola this is exactly right. Not too much at all. You look beautiful and put together and still completely you. The guys are going to lose their minds in the best way. Trust me.”

Before I can argue further she reaches for my cream cardigan hanging on the back of the chair. She drapes it lightly over my shoulders, letting the wool sit just right so the bold black is softened at the edges. The familiar fabric brushes my arms like a gentle reminder of who I usually am, and the contrast suddenly feels right instead of jarring.

“There,” she says, giving my shoulders a little squeeze. “Bold where it counts and soft where it matters. Perfect balance.”

I run my palms down the dress one last time, feeling the smooth fabric under one hand and the cozy knit of the cardigan under the other. I’m still a little uncertain, the nerves dancing lightly in my stomach, but Sophie’s confidence is contagious.

I meet her eyes in the mirror and offer a small smile, deciding in that moment to trust her judgment completely.

I reach for the small velvet box on my nightstand. The diamond butterfly necklace the pack gave me rests inside, delicate wings catching the last of the afternoon light even before I lift it out. My fingers tremble just a little as I fasten the clasp behind my neck. The chain is cool against my skin, and the pendant rests perfectly at the hollow of my throat.

I turn back to the mirror. The diamonds sparkle with every tiny movement, bright and intricate against the solid black of the dress. They stand out so strikingly, like tiny stars scattered across midnight fabric. I touch the butterfly lightly, tracing one wing with my fingertip, and a small private smile forms on my lips. The weight of their gift rests against my collarbone, a tangible reminder that tonight isn’t just any dinner.

The light mood between Sophie and me changes without either of us saying a word. I move to the bed and sit beside her, the mattress dipping a little under our weight. Noodle stirs, stretches in one fluid motion, and climbs straight into my lap, curling up as if she knows exactly where she belongs. Her little body presses against my stomach, purring steadily, and I rest one hand on her back, letting the rhythm soothe me.

For a long moment I simply stroke her fur and breathe in the quiet of the room. Then the words finally slip out a little hesitantly.

“Something happened in the archives yesterday,” I say. “Dean Reynolds came by while I was working. Jules introduced me, told him about my pinning project and how I’m on track for the Dean’s List. I felt so proud standing there, explaining the variation in beetle elytra patterns and why the rainforest expedition matters to my research. For a minute it felt like he really saw me. Like I was just Elodie the scientist.”

Sophie stays perfectly still, her hand resting lightly on my knee in that instinctive way only another omega understands. She gives me space, listening, her green eyes kind.

I keep going. “Then he drew in a breath and caught my scent. The moment he realized I’m the omega Pack Whitmore is courting, everything changed. His questions stopped. The academic interest vanished. He asked how I am settling in with such a prominent pack instead. Like that was the only thing worth knowing about me.”

The confession hangs between us, and I try not to curl in on myself. Noodle presses closer, as if she can feel the ache I have been carrying since yesterday.

Sophie’s thumb moves in a comforting circle on my knee, and I realize how much lighter I already feel just from saying it out loud.

For a long moment the only sound is Noodle’s low purring and the distant hum of campus life outside our window.

“I wish I could tell you this is unusual,” she says softly, “but it’s not. This kind of pressure exists for every omega, pack or no pack. Professors, deans, even other students… they see the designation first. Always.” She pauses, rolling her eyes with a flare of the dramatic.

“You can be the most brilliant mind in the room, but the moment they catch your scent, some part of them files you under ‘omega’ instead of ‘scientist’ or ‘writer’ or ‘person with a functioning brain’.” I can’t help the short burst of laughter at her words. “Omegas have to work twice as hard for the same recognition. It’s exhausting, and it is one hundred percent totally unfair.”

She gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “In high school I was top of my class in every subject. I wanted to study sociology more than anything. One of my teachers actually pulled me aside after I submitted a big project and told me I should consider something ‘softer’ because omegas do better in nurturing fields. He said it with a smile, like he was giving me good advice. I cried in the bathroom for twenty minutes. That was the day I decided no one was ever going to shrink me down again.”

Her words land somewhere deep inside my chest and stay there. For the first time I truly see it clearly. My deepest fear has never actually been having a pack. It has always been this… being an omega in a world that labels me before it ever sees my work or my mind.

The pack haven’t created the label for me. They’ve simply made it more visible. The revelation feels heavy at first, then strangely freeing, like something I’ve been carrying without knowing its true shape.

Sophie leans in closer, her voice warm and certain. “But here is the other truth, Elodie. The right pack doesn’t have to be another label. It can be armor. It can give you a safe place to land so you can keep fighting the world’s assumptions instead of fighting them alone.”

She smiles, the expression knowing. “Look at how they already support you. Alex is strength you can lean on when everything feels heavy. Jamie brings so much joy that he can lighten even the darkest days, and he will always remind people to see past your designation. Chase… well, his protectiveness can be a lot,” she adds with a playful wink, “but you can be sure he will always provide a soft place to land or an escape when you need one. And Adrian? He is a walking example every single day that your designation does not have to define you. He proves it just by existing.”

I absorb her words in thoughtful silence, my fingers gently stroking Noodle’s warm fur.

I breathe in slowly. My own bright strawberry peach scent mingles with Sophie’s comforting honey and lavender, creating something a blend of us in the air. For the first time in days I feel steadier, like the ground beneath me has grown more solid.

My phone lights up on the desk. The screen glows with a new message. I lean over and read the words from Chase.

We’re outside in the parking lot whenever you’re ready. Tell Sophie and Mittens we say hi.

A small smile touches my lips. I’m not completely certain of everything yet, but I am ready to walk into tonight carrying this new understanding with me.

The hostess leads us through the dimly lit main dining room of the restaurant and turns down a narrow hallway before opening a carved wooden door. The private dining room Alex reserved is beautiful and intimate, draped in amber lighting and rich burgundy walls that make the space feel like it belongs only to us. A long table dressed in crisp white linen waits under the gentle glow of a chandelier, far from the noise of other guests.