Chapter 18 Erik
I’m early. Fifteen minutes before our scheduled Bureau appointment, which gives me time to compose myself in the lobby before—
He’s already here.
Nolan is standing near the water cooler, his back to me, and the sight of him hits me somewhere between the ribs. My whole body responds before my brain can catch up: heart rate spiking, muscles tensing, some primal part of me wants to strain towards him.
I forgot how strong the pull is but my body knows his even from across a room.
He turns.
The impact is immediate and visceral, and then it shifts into something else entirely. Because he looks wrong.
The Nolan I know is sharp-edged and vital, all quick wit and defiant green eyes.
This Nolan is a shadow of that person. His clothes hang loose on a frame that’s lost weight it couldn’t afford to lose and dark circles bruise the skin beneath his eyes.
His complexion has gone grey and waxy, like someone fighting off a flu that won’t quite take hold.
What the hell?
Our eyes meet. Pain flickers across his face before his expression smooths into careful neutrality. He crosses the lobby toward me.
“Erik.” His voice is flat, professional. Giving nothing away.
“Nolan.”
We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving. The pull between us is almost audible, a low hum of chemistry that I feel in my teeth. I want to reach out and touch him. I want to demand to know why he hasn’t been taking care of himself.
He extends his hand. A handshake. The most impersonal greeting two people can exchange.
I take it.
The contact sends electricity crackling up my arm, and I see him flinch at the same moment I do.
His hand is ice-cold and touching him feels like pressing my palm against an open flame. I let go faster than I should, and he pulls away at the same time.
“You look well,” he says.
“You don’t.”
The words come out harsher than I intended. I didn’t mean to even say it. It just came out. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.
“Mr. Nilsson? Mr. West?” Sun appears at the edge of my vision, clipboard in hand. “Thank you for being so prompt. If you’ll follow me please.”
We fall into step behind him, side by side but not touching, maintaining a careful distance that feels louder than any conversation.
I keep stealing glances at him as we walk.
The weight loss is more pronounced than I first thought.
His cheekbones stand out sharply, and his wrists look fragile where they emerge from his sleeves.
His scent has changed too. He doesn’t smell sick, but there is something different.
He catches me looking and frowns.
Sun leads us into a different meeting room to the one that we first met in.
There’s a small glass number next to the door that simply says ‘9’.
Sunlight streams through tall windows, casting patterns across the polished floor.
The conference table in the centre has twelve chairs and a large screen TV takes up the far end of the room.
“Apologies, the usual rooms were not available today,” Sun says. “Mr. Nilsson. Mr. West.” He gestures to the chairs across from him. “Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.”
We sit, leaving an empty chair between us.
“First, let me congratulate you both on completing the mandatory cohabitation period.” Sun settles into his own seat, folding his hands on the table.
“That particular requirement can be... challenging for newly matched pairs. The fact that you fulfilled it successfully speaks well of your commitment to the process.”
Neither of us responds. The silence stretches.
“This follow-up meeting is simply an opportunity for the Bureau to assess how things are progressing,” Sun continues, seemingly unbothered by our lack of enthusiasm.
“We’ll discuss communication, living arrangements, your plans for the coming months.
Nothing too intensive. Think of it as a check-in. ”
“Fine,” Nolan says. It’s the first word he’s spoken since we entered the room. I resist the urge to glance at him.
Sun opens a folder. “Let’s start with communication. How would you describe your interaction since the cohabitation ended?”
“Minimal,” I say.
“Nonexistent,” Nolan corrects.
Sun makes a note. “And is this by mutual agreement, or...?”
“We fulfilled the Bureau’s requirements.” My voice comes out clipped, corporate. “Beyond that, there’s been no need for contact.”
“I see.” Another note. “And living arrangements?”
“I’m at my penthouse.” I don’t mention that I also still own the apartment I evicted Nolan from, that it’s sitting empty because I couldn’t bring myself to do anything with it.
“I have accommodation.” Nolan’s tone is flat.
“Ah yes, this is the apartment where you fulfilled your requirements.”
I want to slap him. Sun clearly knows that Nolan is no longer there.
“No,” Nolan says.
Sun’s pen pauses. “Mr. West, the Bureau’s records indicate that housing was to be provided as part of your arrangement. Is that no longer the case?”
I feel Nolan’s gaze land on me, sharp and cold. He folds his arms. Clearly, he’s going to let me take this one.
“There was a change in circumstances,” I say carefully.
“I was evicted.” Nolan’s voice is pleasant in a way that makes the words land harder. “Thirty days’ notice. Very professional.”
Sun looks between us, his expression shifting into something more assessing. “I see. And where are you currently residing, Mr. West?”
“I have a room.”
“The address?”
A pause. “I’d rather not say.”
“The Bureau does require—”
“It’s temporary housing while I look for something more permanent. I’ll update my file when I have a stable address.”
Sun writes something down. I resist the urge to lean over and see what it says.
“Let’s discuss your plans for the future,” Sun continues, moving on with the practiced ease of someone who deals with hostile interviewees regularly. “The matching agreement requires you to maintain your legal union for a minimum of one year. How do you envision that proceeding?”
“Legally, we have fulfilled our requirements. I expect that we will dissolve the union at the end of the year,” I say.
“Agreed,” Nolan adds.
“You understand that the Bureau’s preference is for matched pairs to develop their connection over time. The prime match designation indicates exceptional compatibility. In our experience, couples who invest in the relationship—”
“We’re not a couple.” The words come out of Nolan’s mouth sharp and sudden. “I fulfilled the cohabitation requirement. We should be done here.”
Sun’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture suggests he’s recalibrating his approach.
“Mr. West, I understand this process can feel coercive. That’s not the Bureau’s intention. Our role is simply to facilitate connections that might otherwise never occur.” He turns to me. “Mr. Nilsson, how would you say you’ve treated your omega during this adjustment period?”
“He’s not my omega.”
“Your matched partner, then. Has the relationship been characterized by respect and consideration?”
I open my mouth to try answer as best I can, but before I can speak, Nolan laughs.
I flinch. I can’t help it.
“It sounds like there are some unresolved tensions between you,” Sun says mildly. “Perhaps couples counseling—”
“No.” We say it simultaneously, the first thing we’ve agreed on since entering this building.
Sun makes another note. The silence that follows is oppressive.
Throughout the session, I keep glancing at Nolan. I can’t seem to stop myself. Every time I look, he seems worse. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead despite the comfortable temperature of the room, and he keeps swallowing in a way that suggests his throat is bothering him.
What’s wrong with him?
I want to ask. The protective alpha part of me wants to reach across the empty chair between us and touch his forehead, check for fever, do something other than sit here pretending I don’t notice that he looks like he’s about to collapse.
But I evicted him. I have no right to concern myself with his wellbeing now.
Sun is saying something about quarterly check-ins and documentation requirements when Nolan suddenly stands.
The motion is abrupt, graceless, his chair scraping back against the floor. His face has gone from grey to green.
“Excuse me,” he manages, and then he’s moving, nearly running toward the door we came through, disappearing into the hallway beyond.
I hear the door of the bathroom up the hall slam and then a moment later, I hear it. The unmistakable sound of someone being violently sick.
Sun and I sit in silence. The retching continues, muffled by what I assume is a bathroom door but still audible enough to make the situation clear.
“Is Mr. West ill?” Sun asks, his tone carefully neutral.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” He repeats the words back to me. “He’s your matched partner. Your omega. And you don’t know if he’s unwell?”
“He’s not my omega.” The denial sounds weaker than it did before. “We don’t... we’re not in contact. He could have the plague and I wouldn’t know about it.”
“Perhaps that’s something you should consider changing.” Sun’s gaze is steady. “Whatever difficulties exist between you, Mr. Nilsson, you accepted responsibility for him when you completed the matching process. The Bureau takes the welfare of matched omegas very seriously.”
“He’s a grown adult. He’s capable of taking care of himself.”
I hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, then footsteps in the hallway, slow and unsteady. Nolan reappears in the doorway.
“I apologize for the interruption,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “Something I ate, probably. I’m fine now.”
He’s not fine. Anyone with eyes can see he’s not fine.
Sun rises from his seat. “Mr. West, I think we should end this session early. You’re clearly unwell. I’d strongly recommend you see a doctor as soon as possible.”
“That’s not necessary—”
“It wasn’t a suggestion.” Sun’s voice is kind but firm. “The Bureau has an obligation to ensure the health and safety of all matched individuals. If you won’t seek medical attention on your own, we may need to require it.”
Nolan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue further. He just nods, a small jerky motion, and turns toward the door without looking at me.
“Mr. Nilsson.” Sun’s voice stops me as I start to follow. “A word.”
Nolan keeps walking. I watch him go, watch him disappear down the hallway toward the lobby, and something in my chest aches with an intensity I can’t ignore.
“Yes?”
“I’ve overseen hundreds of matched pairs in my career.” Sun’s voice is low, private. “I’ve seen couples who started with more hostility than you two eventually find their way to genuine partnership. I’ve also seen matches where one party’s neglect resulted in... unfortunate outcomes.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that your omega—your matched partner—is clearly suffering.
Whether that suffering is physical, emotional, or both, I can’t say.
But something is very wrong, and pretending otherwise won’t make it go away.
” He meets my gaze steadily. “Whatever happened between you, whatever grievance has created this distance, I would encourage you to consider whether it’s worth more than his health. ”
I don’t have an answer. I don’t have words at all.
“You have fulfilled your requirements, at least legally, but you are failing to do so as his alpha. I suggest you take some time to think about your duties.”
God, Sun is a smug little asshole. I resist the urge to tell him to fuck off and instead treat him like he is some rival CEO with a stick up his ass. “I will do so,” I say, meaning I will do nothing of the sort. Nolan West is no longer my problem.