Page 93 of Run Wild Omega

The clip went viral. Again.

And this time, it wasn’t just cable news picking it up. It was social media, podcasts, blogs, online forums. The hashtag evolved from #UnbondedOmegas to #OmegaNegligence to something even more vile that I won’t repeat. Comment sections that had been simmering boiled over. Someone doxxed me—found my address, my phone number, the café’s Google listing—and posted it all on a forum with the caption “Want to tell her what you think?”

Daniel’s legal team got the post taken down in four hours. By then, the information had been screenshotted and shared thousands of times.

Mom and Dad didn’t tell me about the doxxing. I found out from Miles, who told me calmly and matter-of-factly over dinner, like he was reporting the weather. I appreciated his directness.

I also wanted to throw my crutch at the wall.

Leo called me on day ten. I could hear the exhaustion in his voice before he said a word.

“The lawsuit is still active,” he said. “Daniel’s been amazing—truly, I can’t say enough about what he’s doing. But the insurance gap… it’s a problem. The carrier is balking at the retroactive endorsement. They’re saying the gap was a material breach, not an administrative error.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they might deny coverage for the incident. Which means I’m personally liable for the damages if the lawsuit succeeds.”

“Leo—”

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad. I’m telling you because you deserve to know, and because I need you to know that it’s not your fault. It’s my responsibility. I should have caught the gap when I transitioned the company. That’s on me.”

“Two million dollars, Leo.”

“I know.”

“If they win⁠—”

“They won’t. Daniel’s building a case. The meteorological data alone should be enough to get it dismissed, and even if it isn’t, the comparative negligence argument is strong. The corporate group was warned about the conditions. They signed the waiver. But it’s going to take time, and in the meantime, I’m burning through cash just keeping the lawyers fed.”

I pressed my hand over my eyes, the guilt so heavy it felt physical. “I’m sorry.”

“Tess. I swear to God, if you apologize one more time⁠—”

“I’ll stop. I’m sorry—damn it.”

He laughed, but it was hollow. “I’m okay. We’re okay. Gray’s been helping me restructure the books, and Daniel’s got a meeting with the carrier’s legal team next week. It’s not over.”

It wasn’t over. But it wasn’t getting better either, and every morning I woke up to a new article, a new comment thread, a new politician using my name to score points. The storm I caused—if that’s even the right word for it—wasn’t passing. It was expanding.

Day fourteen. A Thursday.

I’m at the Lodge, in one of the smaller sitting rooms off the main lobby—the one with the leather armchairs and the gas fireplace and the bookshelves lined with titles no one ever reads. Mrs. Lacey let me use it as a makeshift office after I finished the linen audit, and I’ve been spending my afternoons here, cross-referencing the spring booking calendar with the staff availability matrix and pretending I’m not refreshing my phone every ten minutes.

Mara is across from me, her feet tucked under her on the couch, a mug of tea in her hands. She’s been here since lunch, keeping me company under the guise of “needing to get out of the house,” though I suspect the real reason is that Daniel asked her to keep an eye on me.

Not that I mind. Mara’s presence is the one thing that doesn’t feel like pressure. She doesn’t hover. She doesn’t check on me. She just exists in the same space, comfortable and unobtrusive, and occasionally says something so dryly funny that I snort tea out of my nose.

“Can I ask you something?” she says now, setting her mug down.

“Probably.”

“The scenting. How is that going?”

I look up from the calendar. Her expression is open, curious—not prying, just interested. Mara has a gift for asking questions that feel like conversations rather than interrogations.

“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s weird, but it’s fine.”

“Weird how?”