The morning of the resort trip dawned with the electric buzz of a military operation, if the military operation was planned by a hyperactive, amnesiac pop star. Althea was a whirlwind of pastel-colored silk and strategic packing, tossing swimsuits (one a daring crimson, one a "respectable" navy) and casual wear into a suitcase as if preparing for a three-month siege of a five-star island.
"Okay, Sushi, listen up," she declared, kneeling before the Golden Retriever, who thumped his tail with grave seriousness. "Mommy has to go on a top-secret mission with the CEO. It's a two-day, high-stakes negotiation involving room service and potential poolside flirting. You," she said, tapping his nose, "must hold down the fort. Protect the greenhouse. Do not let Mrs. Li replace my rare succulents with more practical herbs. Can you do that for me?"
Sushi responded with a slobbery lick to her entire face, which Althea took as a solemn vow.
Haven, already dressed in a travel-friendly but still intimidatingly chic linen-blend suit, watched the scene from the doorway, her expression a familiar blend of exhaustion and bewilderment.
"Althea, it is a 3 day vacation. The resort has laundry services."
"One must be prepared for all eventualities, Mrs. Hartwell! What if there's a sudden gala? A paparazzi ambush? A spontaneous need for a dramatic, windswept photoshoot on the beach?" Althea retorted, zipping her bag with finality. "Emotional stability requires sartorial options."
At breakfast, the air was thick with unspoken anticipation. Althea devoured her perfectly sliced mango with the focused energy of an athlete before the big game, while Haven sipped her tea, her grape old wine scent a low, steady hum of controlled readiness.
Finally, it was time to leave. Althea turned to Sushi, her eyes welling up with dramatic, genuine tears.
"Sushi, my baby boy! I'll be gone for two whole days! Survive for Mommy, okay? Remember the emergency treat stash under the third fern pot in the greenhouse! Use it wisely!"
She hugged the confused dog tightly. Haven simply stared, a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow twitching upwards.
"Mrs. Li," Althea sniffled, turning to the housekeeper. "Please. Take care of my baby."
Mrs. Li, the picture of stoic competence, gave a slight, reassuring nod. "Of course, Madam Vale. He will be perfectly content."
The drive was a journey from one world to another. The imposing glass and steel of the city gradually softened, the skyscrapers giving way to sprawling suburbs, which then melted into a lush, green tapestry of trees. Eventually, the salty tang of the ocean breeze filtered through the (firmly closed) windows, and the sparkling blue of the coastal horizon unfolded before them.
Althea, feeling adventurous, had connected her phone and was scrolling through the car's music library her library. The unreleased demos. The ghost of her past self serenaded them as they drove, each song a fragile, emotional artifact.
The sheer intimacy of it finally overwhelmed her curiosity. "Haven," she began, her voice cutting through a particularly tender ballad from her high school years. "How did you get all of these? These aren't the public releases. These are... the raw files."
Haven's grip on the steering wheel didn't change, but Althea saw the subtle tightening of her jaw. "You used to make me listen to your music first," she stated, her voice even. "Before anyone else. Even before your producers. You said... you valued my opinion."
Althea's eyes widened. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. "Oh, really? So little teenage Althea would run to her bestie Haven with her little guitar and her corny love songs, begging for approval? 'Oh, Haven, does this chord progression make you feel things? Does this lyric adequately capture my burgeoning, dramatic feelings?'"
Haven's cheeks flushed a faint, telltale pink. "It was not quite so... theatrical. It was a mutually respectful creative exchange."
"A 'creative exchange'?" Althea cackled, delighted. "You're blushing! You're totally blushing! Oh my god, you treasured it! You treasured me! You kept all my cringey teenage demos in your car like a secret stash of emotional contraband! You're such a softie, Haven B. Hartwell! A big, mushy, sentimental"
"The resort is just ahead," Haven interjected, her voice a little too loud, effectively cutting off Althea's triumphant teasing. "Please prepare to disembark in a manner befitting the Vale heir."
The Coastal Sapphire Resort was breathtaking. It wasn't just big; it was an ecosystem of luxury, nestled between lush, manicured jungles and a pristine, white-sand beach. The main building was open-air, with vaulted ceilings that let in the sea breeze. As soon as they stepped out of the car, a small army of staff descended, bowing respectfully.
"CEO Hartwell! Madam Vale! Welcome!"
The greetings were warm, but Althea noticed the subtle shift when eyes landed on her. The smiles were tinged with wariness, the bows a little deeper, as if they were handling a priceless but notoriously volatile artifact. She was a legend, and legends were unpredictable.
Haven handled it all with her usual detached efficiency, directing staff with their luggage. She led Althea through the stunning resort to a private wing, unlocking a door to a sprawling suite that was more of a luxury apartment. The view of the ocean was postcard-perfect.
And then Althea saw it. On a mantelpiece, a silver-framed photograph. Her breath hitched.
It was a family. A handsome, smiling Alpha man with her eyes, a warm-looking Beta woman with her smile, and a bright-eyed little boy sandwiched between them. And there she was, a teenage Althea, standing slightly apart, a confident, almost challenging smirk on her face, but her arm was linked with a taller boy.
Her family.
According to the facts she'd been given, they had died in a car crash while she was in high school. She should feel a gut-wrenching wave of grief. A profound, soul-crushing loss. She stared at their smiling faces, searching the blank vault of her memory for any flicker of recognition, any echo of love or pain.
Nothing. Just a hollow, empty confusion.
She felt a presence beside her. Haven.
"Are you okay, Althea?" Haven's voice was uncharacteristically soft.
Althea shook her head, her eyes still glued to the photo. "I'm just... confused. I should be sad, right? That's my family. I'm alone in the world because they're gone. I should feel this... this massive, aching hole. But I don't feel anything, Haven. I just see strangers in a frame. It's like my heart is as broken as my memory, but I can't even remember what it's supposed to be breaking for. I'm just... lost. A ghost in my own life, staring at the ghosts of people who were supposed to mean everything."
Her voice cracked on the last word. The bravado, the teasing, the Dominant Omega performance it all crumbled, leaving behind the raw, frightened young woman underneath.
Haven didn't touch her. She didn't offer empty platitudes. She simply stood there, a solid, steady presence, her grape old wine scent a comforting, complex anchor in the storm of Althea's confusion.
"You are not alone," Haven said, her voice low and firm. "You are here. And you are remembering in your own way. The feeling will come, or it will not. Neither defines the person you are now."
It was the most comforting thing anyone had said to her since she woke up. It wasn't a demand to feel; it was a permission to be.
After a long moment, Haven's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, her CEO mask slipping back into place. "I am being called for a board meeting with the local directors. You should go down to dinner. It's being served in the main pavilion. There's a musical performance scheduled. Wait for me there. I'll have someone escort you when it's time."
Althea just nodded, feeling emotionally drained.
Once Haven was gone, the silence of the suite felt heavy. Her eyes scanned the room, landing on a beautifully carved wooden chest at the foot of the bed. A small, brass plaque was affixed to it: Althea's Treasures.
Her heart hammered. Treasures?
She lifted the lid. Inside was a trove of her past. A slim, older-model laptop. A couple of external hard drives. And stacks of notebooks and loose sheets of paper, filled with handwritten lyrics and musical notation.
Her hands trembled as she lifted the laptop. It booted up, but a password screen greeted her. The hint: Your favorite instrument.
She glanced around. A beautiful grand piano stood in the corner. That seemed obvious. She typed piano.
Incorrect.
Her eyes then fell on a stand in the corner, holding a weathered, slightly battered acoustic guitar. It was missing a string. It looked... loved. She typed guitar.
The screen unlocked.
And Althea's jaw dropped.
The desktop wallpaper was a photo she'd never seen. Two girls, probably fourteen or fifteen, sitting on a sprawling lawn. A younger, softer-faced Haven, her grey eyes less guarded, was looking at the camera with a small, shy smile. And tucked into her side, grinning wildly with her head on Haven's shoulder, was her. Teenage Althea. They looked... inseparable.
What the...
Her eyes darted to the files. There was a folder named For My Heaven <3
Heaven? Who the hell was Heaven? Why was it spelled like... oh.
Oh.
A dizzying, hilarious, terrifying realization began to dawn. Heaven. Haven. The old her, the teenage her, had a nickname for her best friend or?? A corny, adorable, utterly revealing nickname.
She clicked open the folder. It was full of word documents and music sheets. Lyrics. Dozens of them. They were like love letters disguised as songs. Corny, heartfelt, overflowing with adolescent devotion.
Aaaaaa, the old me was a secret cornball! she thought, equal parts horrified and fascinated.
She found a video file. Clicking it, a younger version of herself appeared on screen, holding the very guitar from the corner. She was laughing, adjusting the camera. "Okay, Haven, stop being a grump and listen. This one's for you. It's still untitled."
She began to strum, and a beautiful, melancholic melody filled the suite. The voice that came out was pure and clear, so different from her polished pop persona. It was a song about quiet moments and shared secrets. Attached to the video file were digital music sheets for the instrumental.
There was another file, a MIDI of just the instrumental for a different song. The sheet music for it was printed out and tucked in the chest, also marked Untitled, but in the corner, in her teenage handwriting, it said: For My Heaven. And another set, for a more upbeat track, was labeled For My Sky.
Heaven and Sky, Althea mused, her mind reeling. Was Haven her heaven? And was she... Haven's sky? The cheesiness was lethal. The implication was earth-shattering.
She was so lost in this archaeological dig into her own cringey, romantic past that she jumped when a knock came at the door.
Swiftly, she grabbed the printed music sheets for the two "For My Heaven" songs and the hard drive, shoving them into her tote bag.
"Yes! I'm coming!"
A young Beta staff member bowed. "Hello, Mrs. Vale. Dinner is being served, and the performance will begin shortly in the main pavilion. If you'll follow me?"
The main pavilion was a vibrant, open space where the buffet aromas mingled with the salty ocean air. It was packed with guests, the atmosphere buzzing with vacation joy. Althea was being led to a reserved table when she overheard a panicked conversation near the small, elegantly lit stage.
"The singer called in sick? Now? Ma'am, this is a catastrophe! The CEO and the heir are both here! We're screwed!" a manager was whispering frantically to a woman who looked like the events director.
"What are we going to do? Is there anyone on staff who can sing? A guest? Anything?"
Althea felt a familiar, reckless impulse surge within her. It was the same impulse that had made her grab Haven's tie. Before she could second-guess it, she stepped forward, tapping the manager on the shoulder.
"I can sing."
The manager and director spun around, their faces morphing from panic to pure, unadulterated terror.
"Mrs. Vale!" the manager squeaked, bowing repeatedly. "We could never ask that of you! We heard you're recovering! It's far too much of an imposition!"
Althea waved a dismissive hand, her Dominant Omega persona snapping into place like a well-worn costume. "Oh, nonsense. It's just a few songs. Besides," she said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, "I need to road-test some new material, don't I? Wouldn't this be a perfect, controlled environment? You want to save your event, and I want to... reconnect with my audience. You'd be helping me. So, really, you'd be saving your jobs and aiding in the recovery of your boss. It's a win-win."
The staff looked at each other, hesitation warring with desperation. A young Omega waiter, starry-eyed, blurted out, "Yes! Please, Mrs. Vale, save us!"
That sealed it. The manager bowed deeply. "We would be eternally grateful, Madam Vale."
Althea grinned. "Well then, show me to the stage."
Backstage, her heart was a frantic drum solo. Where did I get the sheer audacity to do this? I haven't performed in front of anyone since the accident! I can't even read sheet music! I'm going to humiliate myself and get these poor people fired!
The host, a charming man in a sequined jacket, was just as shocked when she appeared. "Mrs. Vale! What a wonderful surprise! Are you here to watch the performance?"
Althea took a steadying breath. "No. I'm here to perform. The singer bailed. Can you introduce me?"
The host's face lit up. "With the greatest of pleasure!"
Althea waited in the wings, her palms sweating, as the host took the stage.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! A little birdie told us the scheduled entertainment had a case of the sniffles! But never fear! Sometimes, when you're at the Coastal Sapphire, a little magic happens! We have a very, very special guest who has graciously agreed to step in for us tonight. Please put your hands together for the owner of this beautiful resort, the one and only... ALTHEA VALE!"
The crowd, which had been murmuring with disappointment, fell silent for a beat, then erupted into thunderous applause and gasps.
Crowd Comments:
"No way! Althea Vale?! I thought she was still in recovery!"
"Oh my god, we're dining ten feet away from Althea Vale! This is insane!"
"Honey, get your phone! We are so lucky!"
"Is this a PR stunt? Who cares, it's amazing!"
"I can't believe I get to see her perform live in such an intimate setting! This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing!"
Althea walked onto the stage, giving a shy, little wave that sent another wave of cheers through the audience. The spotlight was terrifying and exhilarating.
"Hello, everyone," she said into the microphone, her voice slightly shaky. "So, uh, surprise! I'm here to sing a little something. Sorry, I won't be playing guitar tonight—doctor's orders, you see. So I'm just going to play some instrumentals and sing along." She gestured to her laptop, which a technician had already plugged in.
More Crowd Comments:
"New songs?! She said new songs! We're getting a world premiere!"
"She's so pretty in person! And she looks nervous, it's adorable!"
"I wonder what style it'll be? Like her last album?"
"This is so much better than the cover band we were supposed to get."
"Shhh! Everyone, be quiet! I want to hear this!"
Her fingers flew across the laptop's trackpad, pulling up the MIDI file for the beautiful, melancholic instrumental she'd just found. The one labeled For My Heaven.
The first, haunting notes filled the pavilion, quieting the crowd instantly.
"This one... this one is still untitled," Althea said, her voice gaining strength as the music wrapped around her. "It's for someone I... I really care about."
She closed her eyes, letting the melody guide her. As the first words left her lips, her mind was racing, the lyrics taking on a new, profound meaning in the context of the photo, the nickname, the lifetime of shared history she'd just uncovered.
What is that sad look in your eyes?
(Heaven. Haven. The girl in the photo. She always looked a little sad, even when she was smiling.)
Why are you crying? Tell me now, tell me now...
(Did I see you cry, Haven? Even back then? Was I the only one who noticed?)
Tell me, why you're feelin' this way?
(This isn't a pop song. This is a question. A plea. I wrote this for you.)
The chorus swelled, and Althea poured every ounce of her confused, amnesiac heart into it.
Why don't you tell me where it hurts now, baby?
(Where does it hurt, Haven? Is it from me? From what I became? From the contract?)
And I'll do my best to make it better...
(The old me promised. The old me, the one who called you 'Heaven,' swore she could fix your pain.)
Yes, I'll do my best to make those tears all go away...
(But I didn't, did I? I became the reason for them.)
She sang the second verse, the words about a broken heart and putting back the pieces feeling like a prophecy. She was singing a ghost's promise to the woman the ghost had wounded.
Just tell me where it hurts now, tell me...
(Tell me, Haven. Please. I'm listening now.)
And I love you with a love so tender...
(Did I? Did I love you? This song says I did. This corny, heartfelt, teenage love song screams that I adored you.)
Oh, and if you let me stay, I'll love all of the hurt away.
As she held the final, trembling note, the song fading into the stunned silence of the pavilion, she felt raw and exposed. She had just publicly dissected her own forgotten heart.
She opened her eyes, blinking in the spotlight.
And that's when she saw her.
Standing at the very back of the pavilion, having just entered, still in her board meeting suit, was Haven. Her arms were crossed, her posture rigid. But her face... her face was utterly unguarded. Her stormy eyes were wide, shimmering with a pain and a wonder so intense it was like a physical force across the room. She was staring at Althea as if she'd just seen a ghost the ghost of the girl who wrote love songs for her "Heaven."
Their eyes met.
The world shrank to the space between them.
The roaring applause of the crowd became a distant, muffled sound. Althea could only see Haven. And Haven could only see the woman on stage, who had just unearthed their deepest, most buried secret and held it up for the light to see.