Page 24 of Stream Heat (Omega Stream #1)

"So those are my options?" I asked bitterly. "Risk my health with illegal suppressants, accept a life of unpredictable biology, or become dependent on Alphas for basic functioning?"

"When you put it that way, it sounds rather dire," he acknowledged. "But yes, essentially. And only two of those options won't kill you."

I sat in silence, the full weight of my situation pressing down on me. Eight years of chemical suppression had led to this impossible choice, risk my health or accept being publicly, permanently Omega in a world that would never see me as more than my designation.

"How much?" I asked finally. "For the suppressants. The military-grade ones."

Dr. Levine's expression hardened. "Did you hear anything I just said? Those suppressants could, probably will kill you."

"I heard you. How much?"

He stood, gathering his tablet. "I don't prescribe medication that will harm my patients. Not even the ones who pay cash and use fake names."

"Please," I hated the desperation in my voice. "Just enough to get through the next tournament. Two weeks' worth. Then I'll start the withdrawal properly."

"You're already in withdrawal," he pointed out. "Going back on, even briefly, would shock your system further. Potentially fatally."

"I can't be an Omega," I whispered, the truth I'd been avoiding finally spoken aloud. "Not in this industry. Not with my brand. Everything I've built is based on being something else."

Dr. Levine's expression softened. "Ms. Smith, or Quinn, I presume, the world already knows you're an Omega. That livestream saw to that. The question now isn't whether you can hide it, but how you'll live with it."

The truth of his words hit me with devastating clarity.

He was right. The world had already seen me in heat, already knew what I was.

The carefully constructed Beta persona I'd maintained for eight years had shattered beyond repair. Victoria and her cronies had told me that and yet somehow it hadn’t hit me the same way until Dr. Levine had said it.

"The tests show significant potential for recovery if you follow the proper protocol," he continued, his voice gentler now. "Your youth works in your favor. But you need to make a choice that prioritizes your health, not your image."

"What would you do?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded. "If you were me?"

He considered this for a moment. "I'd recognize that adaptation is the most fundamental survival skill.

Things change. We change with them or we break.

" He paused. "And I'd consider that perhaps those Alphas you're living with might be more than a business arrangement. Your body seems to think so, at least."

I looked away, unwilling to acknowledge the truth in his observation.

"I'm prescribing an adjusted tapering schedule for your legal suppressants," he said, returning to professional efficiency. "And supplements to support liver and kidney function. I want to see you again in two weeks to monitor your progress."

He handed me the prescriptions, along with a data stick. "This contains your test results and my full analysis. Share it with your primary physician, your real one, not just me."

I took them numbly, still processing the devastating reality of my situation.

"One more thing," he added as I stood to leave.

"Those preliminary bond responses I mentioned?

They're unusually strong for casual contact.

If those Alphas are responding in kind, and based on your scent markers, I suspect they are, then fighting those connections might be doing more harm than good to your system right now. "

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting that perhaps the solution you're so determined to avoid might be the very thing your body needs to heal." He held my gaze steadily. "Sometimes surrender isn't defeat. Sometimes it's just adaptation."

I left the clinic with prescriptions in my pocket and a weight on my shoulders that made each step feel like wading through concrete. The morning sun was too bright, the traffic too loud, everything amplified by the knowledge that my body might never process sensory input normally again.

In the rideshare back to the Pack Wrecked house, I stared at the data stick in my hand, turning it over and over as if it might somehow offer a different answer if examined from the right angle.

But the truth remained unchangeable. I had poisoned myself for years in pursuit of a career that valued me only as long as I pretended to be something I wasn't. And now I was paying the price, and I potentially would be for the rest of my life.

The driver dropped me off a block from the house at my request. I needed time to compose myself, to decide what I would tell the others. If anything.

As I walked slowly toward the imposing structure that had become my temporary home, I tried to imagine a future where I accepted my designation publicly.

Where I managed unpredictable heats and sensory issues while maintaining a professional gaming career.

Where I wasn't defined by what I was but by what I could do despite it.

It seemed impossible. The gaming world wasn't kind to Omegas. The few who succeeded did so by leaning into stereotypes, monetizing their designation rather than transcending it. I'd built my brand on being the opposite: sharp, aggressive, untouchable.

What would I be without that armor?

I paused at the edge of the driveway, looking up at the house where five Alphas were going about their morning routines, unaware of the crisis unfolding inside me.

Five Alphas whose scents had become familiar reference points in my destabilized world.

Five Alphas who, according to Dr. Levine, might be the key to my recovery.

Five Alphas I was terrified of needing.

The front door opened before I reached it, revealing Reid in workout clothes, clearly just returned from a run.

His scent washed over me, cedar and thunderstorms, something that was now so familiar I could identify it from across a room, and it instantly calmed the anxiety that had been building since leaving the clinic.

"There you are," he said, his eyes scanning my face with that unnerving intensity. "Jace said you had a doctor's appointment. Everything okay?"

I opened my mouth to lie, to deflect, to maintain the walls I'd built so carefully. But something in his expression, genuine concern without pity, made the words stick in my throat.

"No," I admitted finally, the truth spilling out before I could stop it. "Everything is not okay."

His expression shifted, Alpha protectiveness flaring before he carefully modulated it. "Come inside. We should talk."

As I followed him into the house, the data stick heavy in my pocket and Dr. Levine's words echoing in my mind, I realized I was at a crossroads.

I could continue fighting what I was, potentially at the cost of my health.

Or I could accept the reality of my situation and find a way forward, possibly with the help of the very Alphas I'd been so determined to keep at arm's length.

Neither option was what I would have chosen. But as Dr. Levine had said, sometimes survival isn't about getting what you want. Sometimes it's just about adaptation.

And perhaps it was time I learned how to adapt. Or tried to at least.