Page 62 of Omega's Formula

“Did you push?”

“What was I supposed to do, Ellie? Pin him down and demand answers?” I laugh, and it sounds bitter even to my own ears. “He made it pretty clear he was done with me. I don’t know what I did wrong, and honestly? I’m not sure I want to find out.”

“Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why—”

“I don’t know.” She reaches over and takes my hand, her fingers thin but warm around mine. “I’m just saying, people get cold when they’re scared. I bet it had nothing to do with you. He doesn’t sound like someone who was exactly emotionally mature.”

I laugh. That’s probably an understatement.

“Are you relieved?” Ellie asks. “That it’s over?”

The question hangs between us. I open my mouth to say yes, of course I’m relieved, this is exactly what I wanted.

Nothing comes out.

“I don’t know,” I admit finally. “I thought I would be. I thought I’d be counting down the days until I could get away from him. And now...” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

“Now you miss him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Should doesn’t have anything to do with it. It was a prime match. It was never going to be easy.” Ellie squeezes my hand. “The heart wants what it wants, even when it’s stupid.”

“My heart is an idiot.”

“All hearts are idiots. That’s kind of the point.”

I stay with her until visiting hours end, talking about nothing important, letting the simple comfort of her presence smooth some of the rough edges of the day. When I leave, she makes me promise to text her when I get home, to eat something real for dinner, to try to get some sleep.

I promise all of it. I’m not sure how much of it I’ll actually manage.

The apartment is dark when I return, shadows pooling in corners that felt bright when Erik was here. I turn on every light I can reach and it doesn’t help. The space still feels hollow, waiting for something that isn’t coming back.

I make a sandwich and eat half of it standing over the sink. I try to watch television and can’t focus on the screen. I pull outmy laptop to work on job applications—real jobs, jobs that might actually use my skills—but the words blur together until I give up and get into a bed that somehow still smells like him even though I have washed the sheets twice.

As I’m drifting off to sleep, my phone buzzes with a Bureau notification.

Your compliance during the mandatory cohabitation period has been confirmed. A follow-up meeting has been scheduled for one month from today. Both parties are required to attend. Details to follow.

A month.

A follow up meeting? What’s that about? We’ve done what they wanted. Maybe it’s just about paperwork. Maybe they’ll try make us go through this nightmare all over again.

I stare at the message, trying to parse what I’m feeling. A month feels like forever. A month feels like no time at all.

I miss him. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but I do. I also never want to see him again. The thought of sitting across from him in some Bureau office, watching him look through me with those cold blue eyes, makes me want to disappear entirely.

Both things are true. Neither one cancels the other out.

I turn off my phone, get up and strip and redo the bed. Sleep doesn’t come for a long time. When it does, I dream of him.

16. Erik

The penthouse is exactly as I left it.

I stand in the doorway of my own home and feel nothing. I should be relieved. This is my space, my sanctuary, the place where I’ve always been able to think clearly without the distraction of other people and their needs. For two weeks I’ve been living in a cramped apartment that smelled like Nolan, sleeping beside him, touching him, letting him get under my skin in ways I never intended.