Page 68 of Omega's Formula

“I’m fine,” I say again, and the lie tastes worse every time I tell it.

I pick up an extra shift after my regular one ends.

It’s not about the money, though I tell myself it is. It’s about having something to do, somewhere to be, a reason not to go back to that apartment.

The evening crowd at the coffee shop is different from the morning rush. There are more doctors grabbing caffeine between rounds and fewer visitors killing time between hospital visiting hours. The visitors that are here are people with worry lines etched into their faces, clutching cups they don’t really taste, waiting for news they’re afraid to hear.

I know that waiting. I’ve done it myself, more times than I can count.

Hazel has the night off, so it’s just me and the new kid behind the counter. He’s a good kid—twenty, studying nursing, always has something playing in his earbuds when the shop is quiet. He doesn’t ask questions about my personal life, which is exactly what I need right now.

The hours pass in a blur of espresso shots and steamed milk. By the time we close up at ten, my feet are aching and my back is stiff.

The walk back to the apartment takes three minutes. I take my time, letting the cool night air clear my head. It’s spring, but the nights are still cold and tonight I need that.

The building lobby is quiet when I arrive, the evening security guard barely glancing up from his phone as head through the lift.

When the doors finally open on my floor, I see the envelope immediately. It’s taped to my door. It’s white, legal-sized, my name typed in neat black letters on the front and official-looking in a way that makes my stomach drop before I even touch it.

I peel it off and tear it open right there in the hallway, not bothering to go inside first. Some part of me already knows what it’s going to say.

NOTICE TO VACATE

Dear Mr. West,

This letter serves as formal notice that you are required to vacate the premises within thirty (30) days of receipt of this notice. Your tenancy is being terminated pursuant to Section 4.2(b) of your marital agreement with Nilsson Industries.

Should you have questions regarding this notice, please contact the legal department at the number below.

Sincerely,

Erik Nilsson

CEO, Nilsson Industries

For a moment, I just stare at the paper in my hands. The words don’t make sense. They’re arranged in an order my brain refuses to process, like a sentence in a language I don’t speak.

Then the meaning crashes through, and the fury is immediate and absolute.

That bastard. That absolutebastard. He’s not satisfied with the cold shoulder and the silent treatment, he’s throwing me out of the apartment too.

Maybe I was already thinking about leaving, but that’s different. It was going to be on my own terms, not because he decided to evict me like a tenant who hasn’t paid rent.

It’s late. After eleven. I don’t care.

I pull out my phone and call Sara’s number. She gave it to me during the prenup negotiations, told me to reach out if I had any questions.

She answers on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice is cautious, professional even at this hour.

“I just got an eviction notice. Taped to my door like I’m some kind of squatter.”

A pause. “Mr. West. I’m sorry you had to find out that way.”

“Find out what way? What the hell is going on?”

“Given the circumstances, Mr. Nilsson feels it would be inappropriate for you to continue residing in the property.”

I laugh, and it sounds sharp and ugly even to my own ears. “Inappropriate. Right. He’s the one who offered me the apartment in the first place. What changed?”