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There's something twisting in my chest, something sharp and uncomfortable that I don't want to examine too closely. The suppressants usually keep these kinds of intense emotions at bay, but this feeling cuts right through the medication like a blade. "Are you going to go?"

The question hangs between us, and I realize I'm holding my breath waiting for his answer. Which is ridiculous. Adam should go. He deserves to go. He deserves to find someone who sees how wonderful he is underneath all that shyness, someone who appreciates his quick wit and gentle heart and the way he always remembers exactly how I like my coffee.

Someone who isn't me.

Someone who isn't an Omega in hiding, pretending to be something she's not.

"I don't know," he admits, running his hand through his dark hair until it sticks up at odd angles. "Part of me thinks I should. I mean, when will I ever get another chance like this? But, I worry that I’ll make a fool of myself."

"You won't make a fool of yourself," I say automatically, even though that twisting feeling is getting stronger. My chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around my ribs and keeps pulling it tighter. "You're brilliant, Adam. You're kind and funny and anyone would be lucky to…”

I cut myself off before I can finish that sentence, and say something that might reveal the sudden panic clawing at my throat. Because what if he does go? What if he meets someone? What if some beautiful, confident Omega or Alpha sees past his shyness to the amazing Beta underneath, and suddenly I'm not his best friend anymore? What if I'm just his coworker, the girl he used to eat lunch with before he got mated and moved on with his life?

I have no right to be jealous. I'm just his friend, his coworker, his chocolate supplier. Nothing more.

"Belle?" Adam's voice is gentle, concerned. He leans forward slightly, and I catch a hint of his natural Beta scent like clean cotton and old books, it makes my suppressant-dulled instincts stir dangerously. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I force a smile, the same bright expression I've been perfecting for over a year now. The one that says everything's fine, I'm just bubbly Belle who loves books and baking and has absolutely no complicated feelings whatsoever. "Sorry, just thinking about all the gossip Mrs. Henderson will want when you get back. You know she's going to corner you for details."

"If I go," he corrects, but there's something in his voice that suggests he's already made up his mind.

"When you go," I insist, pushing down the selfish part of me that wants to tell him not to. The part that wants to grab his hand and tell him to stay here, safe in our little library bubble where nothing has to change. "This is your chance, Adam. Your chance to find your person."

The words taste bitter, but I mean them. Even if the thought of Adam finding his mate makes me want to lock myself in the poetry section and cry into a first edition of Keats.

"Maybe," he says quietly. "It's pretty obvious that my parents want me mated and out of the house." He pauses, avoiding my stare, the one that's trying to read his mind. I never try to read it, because it happens naturally, but there's nothing natural about what's happening right now. And if I don't control my emotions, then I'm scared that not only will Adam go to the ball, but no amount of suppressants can stop me from going into heat.

"Anyway, what about you, Belle? Don't you ever think about finding your person?"

I nearly choke on my own saliva. If only he knew. If only I could tell him that I found my person years ago, and every day we sit in this very library, sharing books, dreams and terrible jokes. If only I could explain that my person has kind eyes and gentle hands and a laugh that makes everything feel right with the world.

If only my person wasn't my best friend, who has no idea what I really am.

This is the problem: the feelings I have for Adam are the type that a sister has for her brother, the ones that don't want to let go. This bubble we've created exists because I have no one in my life anymore. No family and no real friends. Whereas Adam has parents, he has a family, and he was brought up in a pack, and his parents want the same for him. But I have no one, and if Adam leaves me, then I'll have no one. The thought of it terrifies me more than dying alone.

"I'm perfectly happy with my books," I lie, popping another piece of brownie into my mouth to avoid saying anything else incriminating. The chocolate turns to ash on my tongue. "Besides, you know how I feel about all that pack bonding stuff. Too complicated."

It's not entirely a lie. Pack bonding is complicated when you're an Omega in hiding. When every instinct screams at you to nest and claim and submit, but you can't risk anyone finding out what you are. When the suppressants keep your scent neutral but make you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Adam nods, accepting my deflection the way he always does. He's never pushed, never pried, never questioned why I've never dated or shown interest in anyone. He just accepts Belle the Librarian, Belle the Book Lover, Belle the Friend. He has no idea that Belle the Omega exists at all.

"You're probably right," he says. "It's all so... intense. All that scenting and claiming and..." He trails off, cheeks flushing pink in that endearing way that makes him look like a teenager again. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound like I'm judging. It's just not something I really understand."

There’s the reminder of why this can never work. Adam is a Beta, sweet , steady and uncomplicated. He doesn't understand the burning need that lives under my skin, the way every instinct tells me to curl up in his scent and never leave. He doesn't know that sometimes, when he's reaching for a book on a high shelf, I catch a hint of his natural scent and have to excuse myself to the bathroom until the suppressants kick back in.

He doesn't know that I'm not the uncomplicated friend he thinks I am.

"It's fine," I manage. "We're both just... not built for all that drama."

"Exactly." He grins, and the familiar expression makes my chest ache. "We're much better suited to quiet afternoons and chocolate therapy."

"Chocolate therapy is a legitimate medical treatment," I inform him, grateful for the change of subject. "I read it in a very official-looking article."

"Was this article perhaps titled 'Ten Reasons Why Chocolate is Better Than People’?” He asks.

"Maybe."

"Did you write this article?" He teases.