Page 26 of Omega's Formula

The world goes white at the edges. I can hear Dr. Burke still talking, something about vital signs and expected reactions and nothing to worry about, but the words don’t make sense anymore. Seizure. Ellie. Seizure.

I don’t remember hanging up. I don’t remember telling Hazel I had to go. I don’t remember leaving the café, or taking the elevator up to the oncology wing, or walking through those familiar halls that suddenly feel like they’re a thousand miles long.

One second I’m behind the counter with a cloth in my hand, and the next I’m standing in Ellie’s doorway, heart trying to claw its way out of my throat, lungs refusing to work properly.

“Let me guess. Dr. Burke called you.”

“You had a seizure.”

“Atinyseizure.” She pats the bed beside her, utterly unimpressed by my obvious panic. “More of a seizure-adjacent experience. A seizure-ette, if you will. Sit down before you pass out and make this about you.”

I don’t sit. I can’t sit. I’m frozen in the doorway, taking inventory—color in her cheeks, steady rise and fall of her chest, the annoyed furrow between her brows that means she’s feeling well enough to be irritated with me. She really is okay.

“Nolan.” Her voice softens. “I’m fine. Look at me. I’mfine.”

I make myself move. Cross the room on legs that don’t feel entirely solid and sink into the chair beside her bed. Up close, I can see she’s telling the truth—she looks tired, maybe a little paler than usual, but not scared. Not in pain. Just exasperated with her overprotective brother.

“It lasted thirty seconds,” she says, grabbing my hand like I’m the one who needs comforting. “It’s a known side effect. They warned me it might happen. And you know what? Dr. Burke said my numbers are actually improving. The treatment isworking, Nolan.”

“You should have called me.”

She squeezes my fingers. “I’m okay. You can stop looking at me like I’m about to shatter.”

“You’d tell me,” I say. “If it was bad. You’d tell me.”

“Of course I’d tell you.” Her gaze holds mine, steady and sure. “I’m not the one in this family who keeps secrets, remember?”

I don’t flinch, but it’s a near thing.

“I just mean you worry enough,” she says, softer now. “You don’t need to add ‘minor expected side effects’ to the list. Save the panic for the big stuff.”

“There isn’t going to be any big stuff.”

“Right. I’m going to get better, and you’re going to stop looking at me like every visit might be the last one. Deal?”

I don’t know what to say to that. So I just hold her hand and stay until she falls asleep.

8. Erik

Con men are charming. It’s how they reel in their marks.

I stare at the quarterly report spread across my desk, but I haven’t read a single word. Instead, I keep looking at the marriage certificate propped up next to my computer monitor. Nolan’s signature is messy next to my neat one. I should have filed it weeks ago, but somehow I haven’t gotten round to it.

Three weeks, and I can’t stop thinking about him.

I’ve pulled up his original claim against the company so many times I’ve practically memorized it. Every accusation, every piece of alleged evidence, every passionate argument for why Nilsson Industries had stolen his research. The courts dismissed it. Our lawyers demolished it. By every objective measure, Nolan West’s case had no merit.

So why can’t I let it go?

I remember Alistair Wallace well. He’d been charming. Too charming, if I’m being honest. The kind of alpha who walked into a boardroom and owned it within minutes, who could sell sand in a desert and make you feel grateful for the opportunity. I hadn’t liked him personally, but the proposal had been solid. More than solid. It had been exactly what we needed.

The research itself had shown real promise. The initial findings were groundbreaking, the kind of work that could actually change lives for people with chronic autoimmune conditions. I’d been impressed despite myself, despite my reservations about Alistair’s slick presentation and expensivesuit. The science was sound. The methodology was rigorous. Everything had checked out.

The patent had been filed properly. The acquisition was professional, comprehensive, airtight. I’d had the legal team go over every page, every clause, looking for problems. They’d found none. It was clean. A good deal. The kind of opportunity that doesn’t come along often.

Maybe it was too good.

I shift in my chair, reaching for the cold coffee that’s been sitting on my desk for the past three hours. The chemistry. That’s what’s making me doubt everything, making me second-guess a decision based on solid evidence and proper due diligence.