Page 78 of Omega's Formula

The words stick in my throat. Admitting this feels like weakness.

“He looked terrible,” I finally say. “Thin. Pale. Like he hasn’t been sleeping or eating properly.” I stop walking, staring at the pavement. “He looked sick, Anna. Really sick.”

She’s quiet for a moment. When I glance at her, she’s watching me with an expression I can’t quite read.

“Could be withdrawal,” she offers. “Prime matches—the chemistry is intense, right? Breaking that bond isn’t easy on the body.”

“I know.” I’ve felt it too, though I’d never admit it. The restlessness that won’t settle. The way my body keeps reaching for something that isn’t there anymore. “But this seemed different. Worse.”

“What kind of worse?”

I think about the way he’d looked at me across the lobby, the brief flicker of something before his expression went flat. I think about the sheen of sweat on his forehead during the meeting, the way he kept swallowing like he was fighting down nausea.

“I don’t know,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. We’re done. Whatever’s going on with him isn’t my problem anymore.”

“Uh huh.” Anna tilts her head. “Is that why you can’t stop talking about it?”

“I’m not—”

“Erik.” She stops walking and turns to face me fully. “You’ve brought him up in every conversation we’ve had this week. You’re clearly still thinking about him constantly. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be like this.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s right, and we both know it.

We start walking again, slower now. The evening has turned cool, the air carrying the first hint of autumn. Leaves are beginning to turn on the trees lining the street, orange and gold against the darkening sky.

“Erik,” Anna says quietly, “have you considered that he might be pregnant?”

The question hits me like ice water.

I stop. My feet just stop moving, rooted to the pavement while my mind races through the implications.

Pregnant.Pregnant.

The heat. The days we spent tangled together, biology overriding everything else. I know he was on contraception, the same contraception that becomes dramatically less effective when prime matches are involved.

“That’s—” My voice comes out strangled. “No. That can’t be—”

“Can it, though?” Anna’s watching me carefully. “The timing works. You went through a heat together. The statistics for prime match conception are what, forty percent even with protection?”

“If he’s pregnant,” I hear myself saying, “he would have told me.”

“Would he?” Anna’s voice is gentle but pointed. “You evicted him, Erik. You threw him out without warning. Why would he tell you anything?”

Because it’s my child. Because I have a right to know. Because—

Because none of those arguments would matter to someone who believed I’d betrayed him. I also know the clause I put in the contract about custody of offspring.

My hand is already moving toward my pocket, reaching for my phone.

“What are you doing?” Anna asks.

“Calling Sara. She can find out—”

“No.” Anna grabs my arm, stopping me. “Erik, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because if Nolan is pregnant, sending your lawyer to snoop around isn’t going to help anything. It’s going to make you look like you’re gathering ammunition for a custody battle.”