"Oh, look, ladies! Her Alpha is here!" Mrs. Perkins whispered, triggering a wave of delighted, hushed giggles through the group.
Althea's attention snapped to the entrance. Right. The 6 PM pickup. Another item on Haven's meticulously managed schedule.
She always heard the whispers when Haven arrived. "I wish my husband had an Alpha like that," they'd sigh. "So commanding, so punctual, so utterly devoted."
Althea couldn't stop a wide, ridiculous grin from spreading across her face, a wave of possessive pride swelling in her chest. You have no idea, ladies. This Alpha is my secret simp. She makes me tea at 5 AM and lets me get away with building a conspiracy wall in our bedroom. She's a total marshmallow.
Haven B. Hartwell was framed in the library's doorway, a stark, breathtaking silhouette in a navy suit that cost more than some cars. Her grape old wine pheromones cut through the quiet room, a scent of pure, undiluted dominance and old money. Her sharp gaze scanned the space and locked onto Althea with unerring accuracy.
Althea dropped the hibiscus cuttings onto the table (Mrs. Perkins lunged to catch them) and strolled not walked, strolled over to Haven, putting a deliberate, confident sway in her hips, a final test of her recovered grace.
She reached Haven and, without a shred of hesitation, playfully grabbed the Alpha's firm bicep, her fingers flexing against the fine wool of her suit jacket.
"Come on now, wifey," Althea purred, leaning in close enough to drown in the rich, intoxicating scent of her. "The public demands a display of our unwavering devotion."
Haven stiffened, every muscle locking. "Althea, what is the purpose of this?" she asked, her voice a low, strained vibration. She tried to discreetly shake off Althea's grip.
Althea held fast, her Omega dominance asserting itself through sheer, stubborn physicality. "Come on, play along! The ladies are living for it. And by the way," she pressed, meeting Haven's annoyed gaze with wide, imploring eyes, "you have to take me on a dinner date tonight! To celebrate my one month 'out of hospiss' anniversary! Please, please, please? It's a medical necessity."
Haven's face remained a mask of neutrality, but Althea saw the telltale flush creeping up her neck. "That is not feasible. I have international calls and documentation that require my attention."
"Documentation can wait," Althea insisted, giving her arm a playful squeeze. "This is a huge milestone! We can't celebrate by silently judging each other over Mrs. Li's meatloaf. We need ambiance! Social data points! I need to see if you can order food without consulting a quarterly report."
"This is an unnecessary extravagance," Haven stated, making another attempt to extract her arm.
"It's required for my mental health," Althea countered, her tone turning sly. "Otherwise, I might suffer a tragic relapse and you'd have to carry me up the stairs again. Do you really want to explain that to the trustees?"
Haven sighed a deep, defeated, purely Alpha sound. She knew she was outmaneuvered. The risk of Althea's theatrical helplessness was greater than the inconvenience of a two hour dinner.
"Fine," Haven clipped out, her tone glacial. "Thirty minutes. You will change into appropriate attire, there will be no frivolous behavior, and we will select the nearest viable establishment."
"Yay! Best wife ever!" Althea crowed, still clinging to Haven's arm as Mrs. Li materialized to collect the cuttings and make her exit.
They walked out to the waiting black SUV. Haven surprised her by opening the passenger door and guiding her into the front seat, not the isolated back. Haven then slid into the driver's seat herself.
Althea settled in, buckling her seatbelt with a triumphant little smile. Front seat privileges! I've been upgraded from corporate asset to... slightly more important corporate asset.
Haven drove with silent, efficient precision, navigating out of the Estates. They pulled up to a towering, minimalist glass facade that screamed exclusivity and reservations booked months in advance.
"Oh, damn. This is fancy," Althea whispered, genuinely impressed.
The restaurant was a five star temple of gastronomy. Impeccable waiters greeted Haven by name and ushered them to a secluded, velvet upholstered booth.
Feeling emboldened, Althea snatched the leather bound menu. "Okay, let's see. Everything looks incomprehensibly expensive. I want the most expensive thing on here!" she declared with a grin.
Her eyes scanned the descriptions, landing on a particular delicacy. "I want this A5 Wagyu "
"Make that medium well," Haven interjected instantly, speaking over Althea to the hovering waiter, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Althea froze, her hand hovering over the menu. She stared at Haven, completely thrown. "Wait, why medium well? I didn't say medium well."
Haven didn't even glance at her, continuing to address the waiter. "The truffle pommes purée will be substituted for the creamed spinach. And she will have the Montrachet, a glass of the '19. Also, the heirloom tomato salad, with the vinaigrette on the side."
Althea watched, her mouth slightly agape, as Haven efficiently recited a list of preferences that were intensely detailed, specific, and clearly belonged to a ghost the ghost of Past Althea.
Haven finally handed the menu back, her expression coolly professional. "You requested a date. I am expediting the process based on historical data."
Althea leaned across the table, her voice dropping to a whisper. "How did you know all that? I just said 'Wagyu.' How did you know I prefer it medium well?"
Haven took a slow, deliberate sip of ice water. "You have a documented preference for medium well. You find the aroma of truffle oil cloying. You insist on dressing on the side, regardless of the salad. And yes, this is one of three establishments Past Althea frequented for client entertainment and the occasional... mandated public appearance as a couple."
Althea felt a dizzying cocktail of awe and violation. Haven knew the intimate culinary neuroses of her past self better than Althea knew her own face. She had cataloged it all through years of silent, watchful partnership.
"Let me guess," Althea said, a wry smile touching her lips despite the chill. "This was Past Me's favorite because it was priced to keep my trashy ex Alphas away?"
Haven's lips twitched a fleeting, almost imperceptible ghost of amusement. "Precisely. Now, let's review the physical therapist's final report."
When the food arrived a perfectly cooked medium well Wagyu that smelled divine the conversation continued, but the intimacy of Haven's knowledge hung between them, a shared secret.
Althea savored a piece of the steak, the flavor a testament to her past self's expensive tastes. "This is delicious, Secret Chef. You're just giving me data, aren't you? First the 5 AM fruit sculptures, now my complete dietary blueprint. You're making the 'necessary inconvenience' story very hard to believe."
Haven sliced her own meal with surgical precision. "You are conflating efficient management with sentiment, Althea. I oversee all assets. That includes understanding the operational parameters and optimal fuel for the most valuable one your health. It streamlines the process."
"Oh, so my personal dislikes are just 'operational parameters'?" Althea teased, taking a dramatic sip of water. "That's cold, Mrs. Hartwell. Colder than the corporate structure you use as a shield."
"It is the reality of the situation," Haven asserted, her gaze steady.
"Fine. Let's talk reality," Althea said, shifting her tone to match Haven's businesslike demeanor. "I'm fully recovered. This Dominant Omega body is operational. My music career requires active management. When do I return to work? Beyond my current role as a professional plant whisperer, that is."
Haven paused, placing her utensils down in a perfect parallel on her plate. "The answer is no. You are on a medical leave of absence for a minimum of six months, pending a full cognitive evaluation. Dana is managing all public facing duties and has scheduled media statements regarding your extended recovery."
"Six months?" Althea was genuinely shocked. "But Dana has me signing waivers! I need to be active! I'm a performer!"
"You will remain on leave until you are fully stabilized," Haven stated, her gaze unwavering. "The priority is your neurological health. That is non negotiable. Until you regain your memories, you will not be making independent professional decisions. Do not concern yourself; you are financially secure."
"So, I'm just a very pampered, very well fed bird in a gilded cage?" Althea asked, the playful tone evaporating, replaced by genuine resentment. "You hold all the control."
"I bear all the responsibility," Haven corrected, her voice low and firm. "And the obligation."
Althea leaned across the table, her eyes suddenly intense, all pretense gone. "Fine. Then your responsibility includes helping me with my new objective. I'm done being passive. I need to actively investigate my past. I need to be in the world. I told you about the plant and book club. I'm going. This house is giving me a clinical case of Stockholm Syndrome, and I need outside stimulus."
Haven rubbed her temples, a gesture of genuine weariness. "Stockholm Syndrome is a gross mischaracterization of your living situation, Althea."
"Is it?" Althea challenged, pushing harder. "My life is managed, my phone is sterile, I'm fed by a corporate chef who is also my warden, and I'm legally trapped. I'm done. I'm going out tomorrow. And since you're the one who built the cage, you can be the one to escort me. No Mrs. Li this time."
Haven stared at the determined Omega, recognizing the unyielding force of her will. Arguing would be a futile drain on resources.
Haven closed her eyes for a brief second, conceding to the inevitable. "Fine. We will allocate one hour tomorrow afternoon for the library and its associated club. I will provide security."
Before Haven could say another word before Althea could launch her next verbal volley a shadow fell over their secluded booth. A woman approached, radiating an intense, expensive Omega scent a clash of night blooming jasmine and sharp ambition. She was stunning, with a polished, predatory grace that mirrored Althea's own forgotten public persona.
"Well, I don't believe my eyes. Is that you, cousin?" the stranger said, her voice a smooth, honeyed contraIto dripping with feigned delight.
Althea's breath hitched. Cousin? She scoured the blank slate of her mind for any reference. Nothing. Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through her. Only a handful of people knew about the amnesia; this wasn't supposed to happen.
Instinct took over. Althea slapped a mask of theatrical recognition onto her face. "Oh, hey, cousin!" she chirped back, her voice a decibel too high. She then shot a desperate, wide eyed look at Haven, a silent scream for backup.
Haven, ever the diplomat, rose smoothly, inserting her body as a subtle shield between Althea and the newcomer.
"Hello, Miss Emara Vale Sinclair," Haven said, her voice dropping into a frosty, formal register.
The stranger Emara flashed a brilliant, sharp toothed smile. "Wow, Haven. A full name? Trying to intimidate me?" she purred, her eyes raking over Haven's powerful, Dominant Alpha form with open appreciation.
Althea Vale's Internal Monologue: F**k. Vale. She really is family. What do I do? Her aura is giving 'I bankrupt startups for fun and steal partners for a hobby.'
Under the table, hidden by the long linen cloth, Althea acted. She delivered a swift, precise kick to Haven's ankle a clear, panicked signal: Talk. Handle this. Now.
Haven received the message instantly. Althea felt a flicker of annoyed tension through the contact, but the Alpha complied. Haven turned her full attention to Emara, the conversation instantly shifting to corporate formalities.
"Emara, my understanding was that you were finalizing the Vale Communications merger in Geneva," Haven stated, her voice a cold inquiry.
"Oh, darling, that wrapped up days ago," Emara purred, leaning into the table, her jasmine scent overwhelming their booth. "I flew back this afternoon. I simply couldn't wait to see you."
Then, in a move that turned Althea's blood to ice, Emara swooped forward. She bypassed Althea completely, wrapped her arms around Haven, and planted a soft, lingering kiss directly on Haven's cheek, perilously close to the corner of her mouth.
"Oh, God, I missed you, Haven," Emara murmured, holding the embrace a moment too long.
Althea's entire body went rigid. The playful, teasing dynamic she had cultivated with Haven shattered, replaced by a consuming, primal surge of territorial fury.
Althea Vale's Internal Monologue: WHO THE F**K IS THIS WOMAN?! How dare she?! The audacity! I couldn't even maintain eye contact for weeks, and this... this stranger is giving her a full face, borderline lip kiss?! And Haven isn't shoving her off! What the actual fuck?
A dark, painful wave of insecurity crashed over her. Of course she isn't pushing her away. Emara is everything I'm not polished, present, and she knows how to play this toxic high society game. I'm just the broken, amnesiac placeholder.
Althea watched, her expensive Wagyu turning to ash in her mouth, as Haven gently but firmly extracted herself from Emara's embrace.
"It is good to see you, Emara," Haven said, stepping back and straightening her lapels a clear, physical re establishment of boundaries. "However, I am currently with my wife. We are celebrating her recovery."
Emara finally deigned to look at Althea, her gaze sharp and assessing, devoid of any warmth. It was pure, Dominant Omega competition.
"Ah, yes. Althea," Emara said, her tone dripping with false sympathy. "I heard about the... incident. Such a tragedy, that little memory gap. But you look well, darling. A bit quiet, perhaps, but well."
"Thank you, cousin," Althea managed, forcing a brittle, celebrity grade smile. "I'm just slowly reintegrating into the beautiful chaos Past Me left for me. It's been a journey."
Emara dismissed Althea's words with a flick of her wrist and immediately refocused on Haven, placing a manicured hand on the Alpha's forearm.
"You look tired, Haven," Emara said, her voice dropping into an intimate, concerned whisper, her jasmine scent sweetening. "Managing the Vale empire and a convalescing Omega at home must be draining. You always take on too much. Let me help. I'm free tomorrow. We could discuss the merger over a proper dinner, somewhere you can actually unwind."
Haven's expression remained glacial, her grape old wine scent offering no purchase to the flirtation. "Merger discussions are confined to the executive board, Emara. I appreciate the offer, but my schedule is committed. And my priorities are here." She glanced pointedly at Althea.
"Are they?" Emara challenged, her eyes glinting. "Or are they contractually obligated to be here?"
The air in the booth turned to ice. Emara had plunged a knife directly into the heart of the secret Althea only whispered to Sushi.
Furious that this woman was succeeding where she had so often failed, Althea decided to interrupt with the only weapon she had left: unapologetic Omega entitlement.
"She can't, Emara," Althea chirped, picking up her fork and tapping it loudly against her water glass. "Haven is my head of security tomorrow. We have a very important date at the library to discuss fern propagation and African Violets. It's doctor's orders. You wouldn't want to be responsible for my tragic relapse, would you?"
Emara laughed, a sound like shattering crystal. "You always were so dramatic, Althea. Well, I won't keep you from your... domestic duties," she said, making the words sound like a terminal diagnosis.
She gave Haven one last, lingering look. "Call me, darling. We have so much history to catch up on."
With that, Emara swept away, leaving a trail of aggressive floral scent and simmering tension in her wake.
Haven sat down heavily, releasing a long, weary breath. She looked more drained than she had all evening.
"That," Haven stated, picking up her wine glass but not drinking, "was Miss Emara Vale Sinclair. Your cousin. And a significant corporate adversary."
Althea stared at her plate, her playful facade completely obliterated. Her heart hammered, fueled by a bitter, agonizing jealousy she didn't know she could feel. She kissed her. She flirted with her. And Haven barely reacted.
"Yeah," Althea whispered, her voice rough. "I got that. So, why did she call you 'darling,' Secret Chef? Was that also a necessary part of the 'consolidation of assets'?"
The enjoyable dinner date was over. The battlefield was now officially open.