Page 90 of Omega's Formula

“I suspected,” I manage. “I wasn’t sure.”

“He’s terrified.” Ellie’s voice is matter-of-fact, but there’s steel underneath. “Not of being a parent—he’ll be an amazing parent. He’s terrified of you. Of what you’ll do when you find out. There’s a clause in your marriage contract, isn’t there? About custody?”

The clause. The standard alpha-omega provision that gives primary custody to the alpha in case of offspring. I’d barely thought about it when Sara drafted the contract. It was just boilerplate, just legal protection.

Now I understand exactly what it means. Why Nolan ran. Why he’s so determined to stay hidden.

He thinks I’m going to take his child.

“I would never,” I say, and my voice comes out rough, broken. “Ellie, I would never do that to him. I don’t care what the contract says. That clause—I’ll have it struck. I’ll sign whatever he wants, give him whatever guarantees he needs. I’m not going to take his baby.”

“Our baby,” she corrects quietly. “It’s your baby too.”

Our baby. The words hit me like a wave, overwhelming and terrifying and somehow, impossibly, wonderful.

I’m going to be a father. Nolan is carrying my child. And I’ve spent the last two months making him believe I’m the enemy.

“Tell him,” I say, and I don’t recognize my own voice. “Please. Tell him I know. Tell him I’m not going to fight him for custody. Tell him—” I stop, swallow hard. “Tell him I just want a chance. To be there. To be part of this. I’ll do whatever he asks. I’ll stay away if that’s what he needs. But please, just... tell him I love him.”

Ellie looks at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she folds the check and tucks it into her book like a bookmark.

“I’ll tell him,” she says. “I can’t promise he’ll listen. But I’ll tell him.”

It’s not enough. It’s not nearly enough. But it’s all I have.

“Thank you,” I say.

I leave the hospital with my heart cracking open in my chest, terrified and hopeful in equal measure.

Somewhere out there, Nolan is building a new life without me. Growing our child. Believing I’m the monster he has every reason to think I am.

All I can do now is prove him wrong.

23. Nolan

Ellie’s call comes while I’m elbow-deep in dishwater.

I dry my hands on my apron and duck into the stockroom, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Better than fine, actually.” There’s something in her voice I can’t quite place. Careful. Measured. Like she’s choosing her words with unusual precision. “I need to tell you something, and I need you to not freak out.”

My heart rate spikes immediately. “That’s literally the worst way to start a conversation.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Just—sit down, okay?”

I lower myself onto a crate of bar supplies, my free hand pressing against the swell of my stomach. I’m showing now—a gentle curve that I can almost hide under loose shirts but that feels enormous to me every time I catch my reflection.

“I’m sitting. What’s going on?”

“Erik gave me something to give to you.” She pauses. “A check. Nolan, it’s... it’s a lot of money.”

The world tilts slightly. “What? Why?”

“He called it a down payment. On what he owes you for your research.” Another pause. “Have you seen the news? The press release?”

“What press release?”

“Nolan.” Ellie’s voice is gentle but insistent. “You need to look this up. Nilsson Industries put out a statement yesterday. They’re suing Alistair Wallace. For fraud. For stealing research. They named you specifically—said they’re going to make full reparations to everyone affected.”