Chapter 14 Erik
I wake to an empty bed and the smell of coffee.
For a moment I just lie there, staring at the ceiling, cataloging the aches in my body.
Muscles I didn’t know I had are protesting against even the slightest movement.
There are scratches down my back—I can feel them when I shift against the sheets—and what feels like a bite mark on my shoulder that throbs when I press against the mattress.
Five days. Five days of heat, of Nolan, of losing myself so completely I forgot my own name.
I should regret it. I should be panicking about the implications, the complications, the way this changes everything between us.
Instead I’m smiling at the ceiling like an idiot who’s never been hurt before.
The bedroom door is open and I can hear Nolan moving around the kitchen, the clink of mugs, the soft pad of bare feet on tile.
Domestic sounds. Comfortable sounds. The kind of sounds I never thought I’d want in my life, never imagined fitting into the carefully ordered existence I’ve built for myself.
I drag myself out of bed, pull on sweatpants, and follow the coffee smell down the short hallway.
He’s at the counter with his back to me, wearing my shirt.
It’s too big on him, hanging off one shoulder to expose the constellation of marks I left on his skin, hitting mid-thigh over bare legs.
His hair is a disaster, sticking up in seventeen directions from sleep and sex and my hands running through it.
He’s humming something under his breath, some melody I don’t recognize.
He looks ridiculous. He looks perfect. He looks like someone I could wake up to every morning for the rest of my life and never get tired of seeing.
“Morning,” I say from the doorway.
He turns, and the smile that breaks across his face does something dangerous to my chest, something that feels like cracking open.
“Hey.” He holds out a mug, steam curling up from the dark liquid. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Our fingers brush when I take it from him. Neither of us pulls away, and the contact sends warmth spreading up my arm that has nothing to do with the hot ceramic.
“How do you feel?” I ask, searching his face for any sign of discomfort or regret.
“Human again.” He leans against the counter, cradling his own mug between both hands. “Sore. Hungry. Like I could sleep for another week and still not catch up.” He grins at me over the rim. “Worth it, though.”
“We should eat something substantial. Real food, not whatever’s left in the takeout containers we’ve been living on.”
“Are you offering to cook?”
“God, no; But there’s a café down the street that does a decent breakfast. Good pancakes, if I remember right. If you’re feeling up for going out.”
His eyebrows lift with surprise. “You want to go out? Together? In public?”
“We’re married, Nolan. It’s not scandalous for us to have breakfast together.”
The word married hangs between us, heavier than it was a week ago.
Nolan looks away first, but he’s still smiling, a soft private thing that makes me want to cross the kitchen and kiss him. “Breakfast sounds good. Let me shower first. I’m pretty sure I’m not fit for public consumption right now.”
“I don’t know about that.” I let my eyes travel down his body, taking in the marks on his neck, the way my shirt barely covers him. “I think you look perfect.”
He flushes, the pink spreading down his chest, and disappears into the bathroom without another word. I stand in the kitchen drinking coffee and trying to remember the last time I felt this light, this hopeful, this dangerously close to happy.
My phone buzzes on the counter where I left it days ago, forgotten in the haze of heat. I glance at it absently, expecting a compliance notification or spam or one of the dozens of work emails I’ve been ignoring.
It’s Sara.
Alistair arrived early. Meeting moved to 11am. He’s insisting on seeing you in person. Says he has something important to discuss.
The lightness evaporates like morning fog burning off under harsh sunlight.
I’d forgotten. In the haze of heat and Nolan and everything that happened between us, I’d completely forgotten that Alistair Wallace was coming to clear his name. Supposedly, he can provide documentation that would prove the research was legitimately his.
A week ago, I wanted that proof. I wanted confirmation that my company wasn’t built on stolen work, that everything I’d accomplished wasn’t tainted by someone else’s theft.
Now the thought of that meeting makes my stomach turn with something that feels like dread.
I’ll be there, I text back, because there’s nothing else I can say. I need to know. Maybe what he’ll give me is more of the same. Maybe it’ll actually prove that Nolan is telling the truth.
The shower shuts off in the bathroom. A few minutes later Nolan emerges, damp and flushed from the hot water, wearing jeans and a soft sweater that looks worn enough to be a favorite.
He looks young like this, hopeful in a way I haven’t seen before.
Nothing like the furious omega who accused me of theft at our first meeting.
“Ready?” he asks, reaching for his jacket.
“Actually—” I set down my coffee mug with more care than necessary. “I have to go into the office. Something came up that can’t wait.”
His expression flickers with disappointment before he smooths it away. “Oh. Okay.”
“It shouldn’t take long. A few hours at most, probably less.
” I’m already moving toward the table to grab my laptop.
“You could visit Ellie while I’m gone. I’ll text you when I’m done and we can do lunch instead of breakfast. I won’t be gone long enough to break compliance and I don’t think they’ll be too upset if we do miss one.
We’ve met every single check in so far.”
“Sure.” His voice is carefully neutral, giving nothing away. “Whatever works.”
I want to cross the room and kiss him. I want to explain where I’m going and why, to tell him about the doubts that have been growing in my mind since he first made his accusations, but I’m not doing anything until I’m sure.
I just nod and go to get dressed, leaving Nolan standing alone in the kitchen with his cooling coffee and his uncertain smile.
Alistair Wallace is already in the conference room when I arrive at Nilsson Industries.
He’s a tall man, silver-haired and distinguished, with the kind of patrician good looks that photograph well in annual reports and investor presentations.
I’ve met him perhaps a dozen times over the years—board meetings, acquisition negotiations, the occasional industry event where we made polite conversation over expensive drinks.
He’s always struck me as smooth, polished, the kind of man who knows exactly how to work a room and make everyone in it feel like his particular friend.
Today he looks nervous, and that nervousness puts me on edge in a way I can’t quite explain.
“Erik.” He rises when I enter the glass-walled conference room, extending his hand with practiced warmth. “Thank you for making time on such short notice. I know the circumstances are unusual.”
I shake his hand briefly and take the chair across from him without returning the pleasantries. “Sara said you had documentation to share.”
“I do. Please, sit—oh, you already are.” He laughs, a small awkward sound, and lowers himself back into his own chair. “Straight to business, then. I’ve always appreciated that about you.”
Sara is already seated at the end of the table, tablet in hand, ready to take notes on whatever transpires. She gives me a small nod of acknowledgment, her expression professionally neutral.
Alistair opens his leather briefcase and removes a folder. It’s thick, stuffed with papers and what look like photographs of documents, and he handles it like it contains something precious or fragile.
“I understand there have been questions,” he says, choosing his words with obvious care. “About the provenance of the research I sold you. About whether proper protocols were followed during the original development phase.”
“There have been concerns raised, yes.” I keep my voice neutral, noncommittal. “Apologies for dredging this all up again. We’ve had reason to go into it again. Just a precaution, of course.” I don’t mention Nolan. I don’t mention anything that might reveal how personal this has become.
“That’s fine. I understand.” Alistair shakes his head with what looks like genuine regret.
“West has a brilliant mind, truly exceptional talent, but troubled in ways I didn’t recognize until it was too late.
When things ended between us, he took it badly, poor thing.
Omegas can be just as intelligent as alphas but they struggle with the emotional side of things.
Ultimately, I just don’t think he was suited to the business world. ”
I don’t react to the description. I don’t give him anything to read in my expression.
It is strange though to sit across from this man and know that he used to be Nolan’s fiancé.
Once Alistair was the one who helped Nolan through his heats.
The thought makes me want to punch through my laptop screen.
Alistair pauses, and something shifts in his expression. “You already have most of the documentation. All the lab records and statements.”
He’s wasting my time. I don’t need an in-person meeting to be told about information that I already have.
“There’s a recording,” Alistair says, leaning back in the chair. “Of the researcher himself, admitting that his claims were fabricated.”
“A recording,” I repeat, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will.