Page 92 of Omega's Formula

“The cost is irrelevant,” he says, and even through the video I can see the steel in his eyes. “What matters is that the people who were hurt get what they’re owed. Dr. West’s research has generated significant revenue for this company over the past four years. Every cent of that belongs to him. I intend to make sure he receives it.”

“And your personal relationship with Dr. West?” the reporter presses. “There are rumors that you were involved—”

“My personal life is not up for discussion.” Erik’s voice goes cold. “What I will say is that I owe Dr. West more than money. I owe him an apology that no press release can adequately convey. I believed lies about him, and I treated him accordingly. That’s something I’ll have to live with.”

The video ends. I sit there staring at the frozen frame of Erik’s face.

He looks terrible. Gaunt and tired and haunted in a way I’ve never seen before. There are shadows under his eyes and the perfect composure I’m used to seeing is cracked, something raw showing through underneath.

He looks like I felt when I left. He looks like someone whose world has collapsed and they’re just trying to survive the rubble.

Mich finds me an hour later, still sitting on my bed with my laptop open, staring at nothing.

“Hey.” She knocks on the open door frame. “I heard you left work early. Everything okay?”

I should say yes. I should put on the mask I’ve been wearing for weeks and tell her I’m fine, just tired, just pregnant and emotional.

Instead I burst into tears.

Mich doesn’t hesitate. She crosses the room and sits down beside me, pulling me into a hug without asking questions. She just holds me while I sob—ugly, heaving sobs that shake my whole body—and doesn’t say a word.

That night, I lie awake and think about what I actually want.

Not what’s safe. Not what’s smart. Just... what I want.

I want my baby to know their father. Not just as a name on a check or a face in photographs, but as a real presence in their life.

I want the financial security that Erik’s reparations would provide. Not because I need his money, but because that money is mine. I earned it. Years of my life went into that research, and I deserve to benefit from it.

I want to stop running. I’m so tired of running.

And underneath all of that, buried deep where I’ve been trying to pretend it doesn’t exist—

I want Erik.

I want his arms around me in the dark. I want his voice in my ear, low and rough, telling me I’m his. By god, I want him inside me.

Even more than that, I want to trust him again. That’s the hardest one. Because trust, once broken, doesn’t just come back.

But maybe I don’t have to decide everything right now.

If Erik really means what he says, he can wait. He can prove it and if he can’t do that—if he gives up, or gets impatient, or decides I’m not worth the effort—then I’ll have my answer.

I pick up my phone and type a message to Ellie.

Tell him I got his message. Tell him I need time to think. Tell him... tell him I’m not ready to talk yet.

I stare at the words for a long moment. Then I add:

And tell him the baby is healthy. Strong heartbeat. Everything looks good.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself.

It’s not forgiveness. It’s not even an opening, really. I put my hand on my stomach, where our baby is growing, and close my eyes.

Erik can’t U-turn on this, not with the press release and the way it has hit the media. For all his faults, he’s not stupid and he’ll have known exactly what it would cost him to do this. He’ll know I have an ironclad claim against his company now. Hell, he handed it to me on a silver platter.

I just don’t know if that’s enough. “Do you think that’s enough?” I whisper to the curve of my belly.