Page 87 of Omega's Formula

Sara’s investigation has been thorough. Brutally, devastatingly thorough. “This isn’t the first time,” Sara had told me yesterday, spreading documents across my desk like accusations. “I found four other cases. Same playbook every time. He finds brilliant researchers—usually omegas, usually without strong support systems—gets close to them, gains their trust. Then he takes their work and sells it as his own.”

“How did we miss this?”

“Because he’s good at it. The other victims either couldn’t afford to fight or were too broken to try. Their cases got buried. Settlements with NDAs attached.” She’d met my eyes steadily. “Nolan was the only one who actually took it to court. And we crushed him for it.”

We. The company. My lawyers, acting on my authority. My name on the paperwork authorizing the acquisition.

And now he’s gone, and he might be carrying my child, and I have no idea where to find him.

The first place I try is his old landlady’s building.

Mrs. Kay answers the door in a housecoat, her expression souring the moment she sees me. She’s small and grey-haired and looks like she could kill a man with her bare hands if sufficiently motivated.

“You’re the alpha,” she says. Not a question.

“Yes. I’m looking for—”

“I know what you’re looking for.” She doesn’t move from the doorway, doesn’t invite me in. “He’s not here.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.” Her eyes are sharp, assessing. “That boy lived above my head for years. Paid his rent on time, never caused trouble, worked himself to the bone trying to take care of his sister. And then he came back looking like death warmed over, packed his bags, and left in the middle of the night.” She tilts her head.

I know it’s impossible but I could swear I could still pick up his scent in the building.

It’s faint now, fading, but still there if I breathe deep enough. It’s still enough to make my chest ache.

The woman folds her arms. Apparently she’s not done telling me off. “That boy looked like he was running scared, and I’ve been around long enough to know that when someone’s running, you don’t help the person chasing them.”

The words hit harder than they should. Is that what I am? The person he’s running from?

Of course it is. I looked at him like he was nothing and watched his face shatter and told myself it was justified.

Nolan’s sister is awake when I arrive at the hospital. She’s sitting up in bed, a laptop balanced on her knees, and she looks so much like him that it takes my breath away for a moment. The same green eyes. The same stubborn set to the jaw.

She looks up when I knock on the open door, and her expression goes carefully blank.

“Mr. Nilsson.”

“Erik, please.” I hover in the doorway, uncertain of my welcome. “May I come in?”

She considers this for a moment, then nods. I take the chair beside her bed—Nolan’s chair, I realize, the one he must have sat in a thousand times—and try to find the right words.

“I’m looking for your brother.”

“I figured.” She closes her laptop, sets it aside. “He’s not here.”

“I know. I just—I need to talk to him. To explain.”

“Explain what?” Her voice is sharp now, protective. “Why you threw him out like garbage after he—” She stops herself, pressing her lips together.

After he what? The question burns in my throat, but I don’t ask. I don’t have the right to ask.

“I made a mistake,” I say. “I need to make it right. Please. If you know where he is—”

“I don’t.” Her eyes meet mine, steady and unflinching. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. He left because he needed to get away from you. He doesn’t trust you and he shouldn’t.”

She’s right. I know she’s right. But the desperation clawing at my chest won’t let me accept it.