The library parking lot confrontation had ended in a stalemate worthy of a corporate merger: Haven maintained absolute control over the vehicle's environmental systems, while Althea seized the audio rights. As she settled into the passenger seat, Althea's mind was already racing, plotting her next move in the ongoing investigation of her infuriatingly complex wife. The Alpha beside her was a walking contradiction a stone-cold CEO who blushed under a direct gaze and whose lips tasted of a devotion her words constantly denied.
Deciding to probe the immediate environment for clues, Althea casually reached for the central console, feigning an interest in the climate controls.
"Oh, wow, my throat is so dry from all that intense hydrangea discourse," she announced. "Any secret Alpha stash of emergency rations in here, Mrs. Hartwell? Protein bars? Contraband snacks?"
Haven shot her a glance that could flash-freeze lava, but before she could deliver a clipped refusal, Althea's fingers had found the latch. She popped open the glove compartment.
Tucked neatly inside, beside a pristine owner's manual and a secured first-aid kit, was a slender, elegant box of artisanal chocolates. They were the kind of dark, single-origin confections that whispered of expensive, private self-care, not corporate bulk-buying.
"Aha! Brain food!" Althea crowed, triumphantly pulling out the box. "Chocolates! Haven, you secret softie! Are these for me, or are these your executive-level, stress-management provisions?"
Haven's grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles bleaching white against the leather. "They are a preventative measure for sustaining focus during extended operational periods, Althea. They are not for casual consumption. Replace them."
"Too late!" Althea sang, already peeling back the delicate cellophane. She popped a rich, dark square into her mouth, the complex bitterness blooming on her tongue. "You need the energy, Haven. And I need the data. This is being logged as 'Confirmed Alpha Soft Spot: Cocoa-Based.'"
Haven merely released a long-suffering sigh, accelerating smoothly out of the parking lot. "Choose the music. And cease consuming the classified assets."
Grinning, Althea connected her phone to the car's Bluetooth. The system instantly recognized her device, pulling up a media library. Her smile faltered. The entire library was her music. Every album, every single. But it wasn't the public catalog. Each file was meticulously labeled with dates and codes, many marked "DEMO" or "UNRELEASED."
Hmmm. Are these my... unreleased tracks? A strange thrill mixed with trepidation shot through her. This was a vault she hadn't known existed.
She selected a random demo from the list, dated years ago. The system purred, and then a voice filled the car her voice, but different. It wasn't the dominant, razor-sharp pop star from her hit songs. This voice was younger, softer, layered with a raw, vulnerable emotion that made Althea's breath catch.
The lyrics that flowed out were nothing like the scathing anthems of independence she'd been shown.
(Song: "Mysterious Ways" - Demo)
Who'd have thought this is how the pieces fit? s
You and I, two different worlds, making sense of it...
I forgot how we ever came this far
I believe we had reasons, but I don't know what they are
So I'll just blame it on my heart...
[Chorus]
Love moves in mysterious ways
It's always so surprising
How it appears over the horizon
I'll love you for the rest of my days
But still, it's a mystery
Of how you ever came to me
Which only proves
Love moves in mysterious ways
[Verse 2]
Heaven knows it's just a chance we take
We make our plans, but then love demands a leap of faith
So hold me close, never ever let me go
Even when we think we know which way the river flows
That's just not the way love goes...
Althea sat in stunned silence, the chocolate forgotten in her mouth. The woman singing her sounded achingly sincere, full of wonder and a tender, hopeful devotion. It was the polar opposite of the "tyrant" and "monster" everyone described.
What the fuck? I thought I was a lyrical villain! Why the fuck is this so... sweet? So genuinely romantic? This is creepy and beautiful as heck?
The song ended, leaving a void in the car filled only by the hum of the engine and the weight of the revelation.
"That was me?" Althea finally whispered, her voice small.
Haven's hands flexed on the wheel, her gaze fixed rigidly on the road ahead. "Yes. That was you. It was an unreleased demo you recorded during your final year of high school. Before the fame solidified your... public persona."
"Ehh?????" Althea blinked, trying to reconcile the two images. "That's... interesting. I never thought I could write something like that."
A muscle feathered in Haven's jaw. "Well," she said, the single word clipped and heavy with unspoken history. "You could."
The discovery shifted something fundamental inside Althea. The narrative of her past was not just black and white. There were shades, hidden rooms, forgotten versions of herself. It made her bold.
"It makes me think," Althea said, her voice gaining strength. "I wanna visit one of the family resorts. Specifically, your favorite one. I know we have a lot of branches, so... which one is it?"
Haven's head turned a fraction, a quick, assessing glance. "Are you certain? It is a high-stimulus environment."
"I'm sure," Althea insisted, leaning forward. "Besides, I need to start showing my face, right? I'm still the face of the company, even if the brain is currently rebooting. It's good for the 'necessary structure.'"
Haven was silent for a long moment, navigating the winding roads back to the Estates. Finally, she conceded. "Okay. Tomorrow, then."
They arrived home. Sushi, a furry barometer of the household's emotional climate, greeted them with an enthusiastic, tail-wagging sprint that nearly knocked Althea over.
"Mrs. Li has departed for the evening," Haven stated, depositing her keys on the marble console with a definitive click. "I will prepare dinner. You will go to your room and rest, Althea."
"Absolutely not," Althea declared, shedding her jacket and marching straight for the intimidating, professional-grade kitchen. I'm helping. It's non-negotiable."
Haven spun around, physically blocking the entrance to the main cooking area like a guardian at a gate. "No. Althea. You are a variable. You are physically and cognitively unstable. This is a high-risk environment with sharp objects and open flame. You will stay out."
"Unstable?" Althea challenged, ducking under the Alpha's rigid arm and slipping past her defense. "I'm a dominant Omega with a fully functional, recently kissed leg! Besides, Mrs. Hartwell, cooking together is peak, textbook marital intimacy! And since we can't seem to manage sharing a bed, we have to find our bonding experiences somewhere. It's for the stability of the 'Necessary Structure'!"
Haven let out a sound of pure, unadulterated frustration, rubbing her temples as if fighting off a migraine. "Fine. You can de-leaf the basil. That is your entire operational scope. Do not touch a knife. Do not approach the stove. Is that understood?"
"Loud and clear, Chef," Althea chirped, giving a mock salute.
The next thirty minutes were a study in stark contrasts. Haven, who was orchestrating a complex, from-scratch pasta dish that filled the kitchen with incredible aromas, moved with a silent, breathtaking ballet of precision. Her hands the same hands that had signed billion-dollar deals, kissed Althea back with desperate intensity, and bought her rare books were now skilled and sure, effortlessly kneading dough, finely chopping herbs, and reducing a sauce with a chef's focus.
Althea, meanwhile, was a spectacle of cheerful incompetence, mostly managing to massacre the basil leaves, crushing them rather than gently plucking them.
"You're amazing, Haven," Althea sighed, leaning against the counter to watch the Alpha work. "You can run a multi-billion dollar company and still whip up what smells like a nonna's secret pasta recipe. Past Me really hit the Alpha jackpot, even if she was too much of a diva to appreciate it."
"It is a required life skill," Haven mumbled, her attention locked on the simmering sauce. "It minimizes reliance on external, unpredictable catering services."
"Required life skill," Althea repeated, rolling her eyes. Right. And the perfectly medium-well Wagyu was just 'inventory management.'
Feeling the need to shatter the remaining professional distance, to see the raw Alpha beneath the suit, Althea decided on a reckless escalation. She picked up the small, razor-sharp paring knife Haven had been using and, with sudden, clumsy dramatics, held it near her finger.
"OW! Oh no!" Althea cried out, letting loose a piercing Omega screech of manufactured pain. "I think I cut myself! Oh, God, Haven! It's bleeding everywhere! It's a fountain!"
The effect was instantaneous and utterly shocking. Haven dropped the wooden spoon she was holding. It clattered against the pot, splashing vibrant red sauce across the pristine white marble like blood. Her Alpha scent exploded a violent surge of grape old wine, now laced with a terrifying, primal panic.
In a flash, Haven was on her, grabbing Althea's hand and pulling it close to inspect the supposed wound. Her eyes, usually so cold and controlled, were wide, the pupils dilated with frantic worry.
"Where? Althea, where is it? How deep? *F**k*, Althea, I told you not to" Haven's voice was strained, her breath coming in ragged pants. She frantically searched over Althea's completely smooth, unmarked skin, the fear etched into every tense line of her beautiful face.
Althea watched her, the guilt hitting her like a physical blow. She had never seen Haven so completely, utterly undone. This wasn't corporate concern; this was pure, unvarnished Alpha protectiveness.
"It was just a tiny scratch, wifey!" Althea whispered, gently pulling her hand free. "Look, see? It's nothing. Just a tiny, tiny scratch. It's already gone."
Haven stared at the unblemished skin, then up at Althea's face, the realization dawning that she'd been deliberately, cruelly tricked. The panic in her eyes instantly morphed into a furious, cold Alpha anger.
"Althea," Haven hissed, her voice low and dangerous, vibrating with repressed emotion. "That was not. Funny. Do not ever do that again."
"I'm sorry," Althea said, her playful facade crumbling, replaced by genuine shock at the depth of the reaction. "I just... I wanted to see if you cared. And you do. You dropped the sauce, Secret Chef! You ruined the efficiency!"
Haven took a long, shuddering breath, visibly forcing her scent and her composure back under lock and key. "I am responsible for your safety, Althea. That is the foundation of the necessary structure. You deliberately risked triggering a panic response."
"And you risked the pasta!" Althea countered, trying desperately to lighten the devastatingly heavy moment. "Okay, point taken. You care about my physical well-being to a terrifying degree. I will now return to my post and stick to basil terrorism."
The remainder of the cooking was conducted in a subdued, charged silence. Haven maintained a furious, professional distance, but Althea noticed the Alpha's gaze flicking toward her every few seconds, a silent, hyper-vigilant confirmation that she wasn't attempting any further self-sabotage.
When dinner was finally served a meal that tasted far more complex than their relationshipAlthea immediately started sneaking slivers of Parmesan cheese and prosciutto to Sushi, who was lying with practiced innocence beneath the table.
Haven noticed immediately.
"Althea," Haven said, her voice stern, cutting through the quiet. "Cease feeding the dog from the table."
"Why?" Althea asked, widening her eyes in feigned innocence. "He's part of the 'necessary structure,' Haven! He's my primary emotional support unit! And I deserve to share my luxury pasta with my fluffy, four-legged bodyguard."
"He is an Alpha-breed Golden Retriever, Althea. He is not a toddler who requires your clandestine catering," Haven retorted, her tone dry. "He consumes a precisely measured, specialty kibble provided by Mrs. Li. You are disrupting his nutritional schedule."
"Oh, so you manage his dietary schedule, too?" Althea teased, leaning back in her chair and studying Haven. "It all comes back to control, doesn't it? You control the dog's diet, the plants' humidity, the dinner's ingredients, and the wife's movements. I bet Past Me just hated that."
Haven paused, her fork hovering over her plate. She took a deliberate sip of water before answering, her gaze distant. "She did," she confirmed, the words quiet but clear. "She resented any structure she perceived as my control."
Althea absorbed that, the pieces of the puzzle shifting again. It made a tragic sense. The Dominant Omega pop star, used to commanding stages and adoring fans, would have chafed under the meticulous, loving care of an Alpha who expressed devotion through action, not words.
After they finished, Haven began clearing the plates with her usual efficient silence. Althea stood, feeling the weight of the day the kiss, the music, the kitchen panic, the confession—settle over her.
"Haven," she said, her voice softer than usual.
Haven paused, a plate in each hand, her back to Althea.
"Thank you," Althea said. "For dinner. For... putting up with me. For the chocolates. For everything."
Haven's shoulders tightened almost imperceptibly. She didn't turn around. "It is my responsibility. Good night, Althea."
"Good night, Secret Chef," Althea whispered.
She turned and walked to her room, Sushi at her heels, leaving Haven standing alone in the kitchen, surrounded by the remnants of their shared, complicated meal.