Page 18 of Bitter Truths

Whitney links her arm through mine. “Perfect! Bianca and I need to get ready. Looking good is a process.”

“Bianca always looks good.” Owen’s focus remains fixed on me.

Whitney’s grip tightens on my arm. “Sweet, but trust me, once the girls work their magic, she’ll look even better.”

I glance back at the alphas as Whitney pulls me away. “I’ll see you all in a bit.”

“Count on it,” Tristan answers.

Dr. Montgomery intercepts us as we enter the estate. His smile looks forced, cold around the edges.

“Whitney, honey, go get ready. The styling team is waiting. Bianca and I need to discuss an important matter first.”

Whitney’s brow furrows. “Daddy, can’t it wait? We have appointments⁠—“

“Now, Whitney.” His tone shuts down all arguments.

She huffs but complies, kissing my cheek before heading toward the stairs. “I’ll see you upstairs. Don’t take too long.”

Dread builds with every step I take behind Dr. Montgomery. The smell hits me—a hospital smell that clings to him. This is weird. In all my years as his patient, he’s never brought me to his home office for medical discussions. We’ve always met at his clinic.

“Dr. Montgomery, is everything okay?”

He opens the door to his private study. Medical journals line the walls. His desk holds neat stacks of research papers.

“We need privacy for this conversation.” He gestures to the chair across from his mahogany desk. Not the same examination chair from his office, but somehow it feels just as clinical. Just as ominous.

“Your most recent lab work came back.” He opens a thick file, glancing at his watch. “I had planned to call and have you come into the office next week, but...”

“But what?” I fiddle nervously with the edge of my sleeve.

“Whitney mentioned you’ll be unreachable for weeks. I felt this information shouldn’t wait.” He removes his glasses, cleaning them slowly. “The advanced genetic sequencing uncovered significant developmental abnormalities in your omega designation.”

My chest tightens painfully. “What kind of abnormalities?”

Dr. Montgomery replaces his glasses, meeting my gaze steadily. “Your hormone receptors are severely compromised. The neural pathways essential for omega presentation never properly developed.”

A pause. Then the killing blow.

“Bianca, your omega will never awaken. The biological structures required simply aren’t present. The markers are there genetically, but they’re incapable of activation.”

Never? The word echoes in my skull. He’s never said “never” before. Always “give it time,” always “these things happen differently for everyone.” Never this cold, clinical certainty.

The words punch me, knocking the air right out of my lungs.

“But I am an omega. The tests—” My words feel far away, like someone else is talking.

“Confirmed genetic markers, yes.” His tone becomes colder, matter-of-fact, unyielding. “But genetics don’t always translate into functionality. Think of it like having all the correct ingredients but lacking the critical element to trigger the necessary reaction. Without that activation, nothing happens.”

But it makes no sense. If I’ll never present, why can I sense my omega just beneath my skin? Why does it feel like it’s trapped, clawing desperately to break free? Why do I know, deep in my bones, that Weller, Freddie, Tristan, and Owen are mine if my omega can’t even wake up enough to claim them?

I taste copper. I’ve bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it.

“What does that mean for my future?” Each word hurts coming out.

“No presentation. No scent. No heats.” He lists each impossibility clinically, precisely, like he’s marking off points in a lecture. “And unfortunately, your reproductive system hasn’t matured adequately. Ovarian and uterine development are both insufficient. Bianca, natural conception simply isn’t possible.”

A broken sound escapes me before I can stop it.