A Taste for You - Chapter 3

Business at the dessert shop began to decline for no apparent reason.

Had you been able to smell pheromones, you would have understood at once. Unfortunately, you could not.

Qin Wei flaunted his scent like a peacock displaying its tail. Even the mortar between the bricks seemed steeped in the cool bitterness of tea.

Taking advantage of a neighborhood full of Omegas, he marked the shop as a beast marked its territory, driving away everyone who came near with his pheromones before arranging the desserts in meticulous rows.

You frowned at the cakes that would not sell. Worry robbed you of the desire to eat or sleep, and the weight fell from you.

Had your skills deteriorated?

You tried countless ratios and launched one new item after another, but business never improved.

Qin Wei ate every failed dessert. He sat by the window with a slice of unsold cake, utterly content. The rich, velvety sweetness relaxed his face, and he narrowed his eyes lazily in the sunlight.

He was clearly in an excellent mood.

Qin Wei loved everything you made. His verdict was always the same: “Very sweet. Delicious.”

You could serve him coffee bitter enough to numb the tongue, and his answer would not change.

You looked at the sugar jar. Had you been adding too much? Were your desserts simply too sweet?

You carried over your newest creation, a matcha ice-cream cake, and watched him expectantly.

“Qin Wei, does this one taste any better?”

He frowned after the first bite.

Your stomach tightened.

“Not as sweet.”

You exhaled in relief. At least he had finally said something other than *very sweet*.

Qin Wei studied your haggard face. The shadows beneath your eyes had appeared during these past weeks of sleeplessness. Your lips were pale, nothing like the healthy red they had been when you first met. Even your fitted dress hung loosely now, its decorative bow drooping listlessly at your waist.

He thought about how rarely you had been eating or sleeping. You often rose at night to scribble at your desk, and sometimes went straight to the kitchen to experiment.

An irregular routine had thrown your pheromones into disorder. Your sweetness was fading.

That would not do.

He had grown increasingly addicted to it. To smell more of your scent, he had replaced all your suppressants with saline.

Believing your pheromones repelled him, you injected yourself every so often.

But another switched syringe would not solve this.

What was he supposed to do if you stopped being sweet?

Qin Wei lowered his eyes to you, irritation churning inside him.

Yet another new recipe failed.

“You still have to eat.”

Wearing an apron, Qin Wei set a bowl of noodles in front of you.

Steam billowed against your face, warm mist pulling your mind abruptly back to the present.

The tender poached egg resting on the noodles reminded you of your mother—a gentle, beautiful Omega whom your violent father had tormented beyond recognition.

The only daring choice she had ever made was to seize a rare lucid moment, take you from that magnificent villa, and run. She rented this shop in the city’s forgotten outskirts.

Her condition fluctuated. When you differentiated as an Omega and your defect became clear, she collapsed completely, often holding you as she wept.

You had forced yourself to smile and hugged her back.

“It’s all right, Mom. With pheromones like mine, my desserts are bound to taste wonderful. Let’s open a shop.”

Together, you painted the walls a creamy yellow and laid floral tiles across the floor. You chose the doorframe and display cases with care, bought kitchen equipment piece by piece, and poured your strength and love into making the dessert shop thrive.

Whenever your mother was well, she cooked you noodles topped with a soft white egg. She would watch tenderly as you ate. Those were your happiest memories.

The shop used to do so well. Everyone had loved your desserts.

How had it come to this?

Your eyes burned. You added five heaping spoonfuls of chili to the bowl. Before you had taken a single bite, tears began falling into the broth.

You wiped them away with a tissue and offered Qin Wei a painfully transparent excuse.

“The noodles are too spicy.”

Your doe-like eyes swam with tears. Your shoulders shook like the wings of a fragile butterfly, as though the slightest breeze might carry you off.

No sooner had the thought entered Qin Wei’s mind than his hand settled on the back of your neck. His callused thumb traced slow circles over your scent gland.

His canines itched.

Your sob caught in your throat. This time the chili truly made you cough until you could scarcely breathe.

Qin Wei’s hand traveled naturally down your spine and came to rest on your back, patting it gently.

“How can you be so careless?”

Without a flicker of distaste, he took your bowl of red, oily broth and pushed his untouched clear soup toward you.

“Don’t eat that. It’ll hurt your stomach.”

He ate the noodles laced with five spoonfuls of chili without changing expression.

Curious, you asked, “Do you like spicy food?”

“I have a sweet tooth.”

The look he gave you was laden with meaning. Lamplight glimmered in his pupils, like a wolf watching from the dark.

Your heart skipped.

Eyes still wet, you looked away in panic.