Page 58 of Omega's Formula

“I forgive you, Nolan. I hope someday you can forgive yourself.”

The recording ends with a soft click. The silence that follows is deafening, pressing against my ears like deep water.

I stare at the phone lying on the polished table, then at Alistair’s carefully composed face.

That was Nolan’s voice admitting that everything he told me was a lie.

None of it was true.

The past five days replay in my head with brutal clarity. The heat. The intimacy. The way he looked at me like I was something worth wanting, worth trusting, worth letting close. The way I started to believe him—not just about the research, but about everything. About us. About the possibility that this arrangement could become something real.

I was falling for him. I can admit that now, in the privacy of my own thoughts where no one can see me bleed. I was fallingfor him, and I was starting to think that maybe, impossibly, he was falling for me too.

And it was all a manipulation. A long con played by someone who makes his living through charm and tips, who told me himself that he knows how to work people, how to make them see what he wants them to see.

The omega who cried research theft. He played the victim so convincingly that I doubted my own company, my own judgment, my own carefully constructed sense of reality. Who fucked me through his heat and made me think it meant something beyond biology and convenience.

It washisvoice. I know that voice. I’ve had it whisper the sweetest things to me. I’ve heard that voice cry out under me. I know it.

I should have known better. I should have remembered who I was dealing with, should have kept my guard up instead of letting five days of heat-fog and soft touches and those green eyes strip away every defense I’ve spent years building.

“Erik?” Sara’s voice cuts through the spiral of my thoughts, careful and professional. “Are you all right?”

I realize my hands are trembling slightly beneath the table. I flatten them against my thighs where no one can see.

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out steady, controlled, revealing nothing of the destruction happening inside my chest. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Alistair. I apologize for any doubt this situation may have caused you.”

Alistair’s shoulders relax visibly, tension draining out of him. “I understand completely. The accusations were serious, and you had every right to investigate them thoroughly. I would have done the same in your position.”

“Sara will see you out.”

He stands, straightening his jacket, and collects his phone from the table with obvious satisfaction. The folder he leavesbehind, sliding it a few inches closer to me. “If you need anything else—any clarification, any additional documentation—please don’t hesitate to reach out. I want this matter resolved as much as you do.”

I don’t respond. I don’t look at him. I just sit there and let myself absorb what has just happened.

By the time I’m finished, I’ve reconstructed myself from the wreckage. The version of Erik Nilsson who got lost in heat-fog and soft touches and green eyes full of false sincerity is gone, buried under the weight of evidence I can’t ignore. In his place is the CEO, the alpha, the man who built an empire by never letting anyone see him bleed or get close enough to make him vulnerable.

I gather the folder, leave the conference room, and go home to my husband.

The apartment smells like him.

It hits me the moment I open the door: that omega scent, still intensified from the heat, wrapped around everything I own like he’s marked every surface with his presence. A week ago that scent would have made me want to bury my face in his neck and breathe until I couldn’t smell anything else. Now it makes me want to open every window and scrub the walls until no trace of him remains.

Nolan is on the couch, reading something on his phone with his feet tucked up underneath him. He looks comfortable here, at home in a way that feels like an invasion now that I know the truth. He looks up when I enter, and that smile starts to spread across his face—the warm one, the real one, the one I thought meant something.

“Hey.” He sets his phone aside, giving me his full attention. “How was the meeting? You were gone longer than you thought.”

“It ran over.” I close the door behind me with a careful click. I don’t move any closer to him than necessary. “How was Ellie?”

“Good. Better, actually. The treatment seems to be helping with her energy levels.” He’s watching me now, something uncertain creeping into his expression as he registers that I haven’t moved from the doorway. “She asked about you. I think she’s curious to meet the alpha who married her brother.”

“Perhaps sometime.”

The words come out flat, noncommittal, and I watch Nolan’s smile falter as he tries to parse my tone.

“Is everything okay? You seem... off.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” I cross to the kitchen, pour myself a glass of water I don’t want, just to have something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve looking at him. “Your heat has broken. You’re recovered enough to take care of yourself now.”