Althea woke to the gentle, persistent throb of a headache behind her eyes and a distinct, unpleasant rasp in her throat. She tried to croak out a "good morning" to the empty room and produced a sound like a frog being stepped on.
Well, she thought, wincing, I guess that's the price for a live, two-song comeback concert on a recovering respiratory system. Worth it.
She shuffled out into the main living area of the suite, finding Haven already at the table, impeccably dressed in a light summer suit, sipping coffee and scrolling through a tablet. The sight of the pristine, modern couch sent a fresh wave of petty annoyance through Althea's sleep-fogged brain. She'd tried, last night after the emotional high of the performance had worn off, to suggest in her most charming, non-threatening way that they share the massive king-sized bed.
"It's structurally sound," she'd argued. "And efficient! One bed to clean instead of two surfaces!"
Haven had looked at her as if she'd suggested they set the resort on fire for insurance money. "The sleeping arrangements are not up for renegotiation, Althea. I will take the couch."
That brothel war, Althea grumbled internally now, her voice a husky wreck. "Gooood morniiing, Haven," she rasped, collapsing into the chair opposite her. "How did the couch treat you? Offer you a complimentary neck ache? A complimentary dose of emotional distance?"
Haven didn't look up from her tablet. "It was adequate. Your voice sounds strained."
"A small sacrifice for the art of public romantic humiliation," Althea croaked, pouring herself a large glass of water. "So, are we hitting the beach today? I need to baptize my new swimsuits in the holy waters of the ocean."
"Yes," Haven said, finally glancing up. "But later this afternoon. I have a board meeting to attend first. A direct consequence of your… public initiative yesterday. There are branding and PR ramifications to discuss."
Althea gave a thumbs-up, her voice failing her for a proper retort. "I hope it's good news. Break a leg. Or, you know, don't. We need those legs for beach walks."
Haven offered a noncommittal hum and excused herself, leaving Althea alone with her hoarse voice and a plate of fruit.
No sooner had the door clicked shut than Althea's phone, which she'd finally managed to get full access to, buzzed with an insistent fury. It was Dana.
"Althea! Oh my god, have you seen the feeds? You're trending! Number one, two, and seven! Your surprise performance, your 'confession,' the new sound it's a media blitz! And the pictures of you and the CEO! You're bringing in so much positive press and engagement, the money is practically printing itself! I might not get fired after all!" Dana chuckled, breathless. "And get this CEO Miss Angel wants you to renew your contract ASAP and get you re-labeled. She's thrilled."
Althea's brow furrowed, the name sticking out. "Angel?"
"Ah, right! Angel Hartwell. Your wife's younger sister. Your sister-in-law! She runs Hartwell Entertainment, your label. You've always had a… spirited working relationship."
"Wait, what?" Althea croaked, but Dana had already hung up, presumably to ride the wave of this unexpected success.
Bewildered, Althea navigated to her social media apps. The sheer volume of notifications was overwhelming. Feeling a strange sense of performance, she took a quick picture of her breakfast plate with the ocean view in the background and posted it with the caption: Morning breakfast~ 🍍
Then, she dove into the deep end.
It was a whirlwind. There were dozens of videos of her singing "Where It Hurts" and "Catch Me," the angles shaky but the audio clear. Her favorite was a clip that ended with her dropping the mic and sprinting into Haven's arms. The comments were a tidal wave of adoration.
Sample Comments:
"This is literally a fairytale. The pop star heir and the CEO wife finding their way back to each other after a tragedy? I'm so invested!"
"Look at the way they look at each other in that dinner photo! That's not a business arrangement, that's LOVE!"
"It's like a movie! Amnesia, secret love songs, a public declaration... my heart can't take this!"
"The way CEO Hartwell blushed when Althea pointed her out! This is the pure content we need!"
"Forget the rumors of a cold marriage. This is the real, messy, beautiful story. A modern fairytale."
A warm, gooey feeling spread through Althea's chest. It was nice, being a symbol of hope instead of a "tyrant."
But then she saw the articles. One headline in particular made her choke on her water: "Althea Vale: From Notorious Player to Devoted Wife? A Lover's Era Dawns with Stunning New Ballads."
Player? Althea's internal monologue screeched to a halt. Who, me?
She clicked on the article. It was filled with archival photos of her, pre-amnesia, in her early twenties. There she was, draped over the arm of a stunning, sharp-featured Omega at a film premiere. Another photo showed her laughing, her arm around a different woman, a Beta, as they left a trendy club. Another, and another. All women. All looking at her with varying degrees of adoration and intensity.
What the fuck? Who are these people? Her mind reeled. The images felt like looking at a stranger's photo album. But all of them are women, though? What?
A cold dread began to pool in her stomach, clashing violently with the warm fuzzies from moments before. Her head started to spin. Why can't I remember anything? Fuck! Remember something, brain! Who are these people?
The narrative was crumbling. Weren't she and Haven supposed to be the star-crossed childhood sweethearts? The "Heaven and Sky"? Why was there a whole roster of other women in between?
Driven by a frantic, gnawing need for context, she opened a search engine. Her fingers trembled as she typed: Vale family accident 12 years ago.
The results loaded. News articles from over a decade ago. "Vale Hotel Heirs Perish in Tragic Accident Following Hartwell Charity Gala." Her parents. Her little brother. The article mentioned the driver of the other vehicle also died. It was a horrific, high-society tragedy.
Hartwell Gala. The name echoed. Her family passed, and the Hartwells were involved. A vague, sick feeling settled in her gut.
And then, like a bolt from the blue, a memory shattered through the blank wall in her mind.
She was on a rooftop. The wind was whipping her hair, stinging her eyes or were those tears? The city sprawled below, a dizzying mosaic of lights. She was standing on the ledge, the cold concrete rough under her hands. A voice, frantic, was calling her name from behind. A figure was pulling her back, strong arms wrapping around her, dragging her from the edge. The face was a blur, but the feeling the bone-deep, soul-crushing despair was so visceral it stole the air from her lungs in the present.
"I don't know what I'm saying!" her past self was sobbing, the words ripped from a place of utter agony. "I don't know anything anymore!"
The memory was a physical blow. Althea gasped, her hand flying to her chest. Did I really mourn something? Maybe for my family that day? The grief in that memory was a black hole, threatening to suck her in.
---BLANK.
A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through her temples, so intense she cried out, dropping her phone. She stumbled from her chair, knees hitting the cool tile floor as she clutched her head.
Fuck, my head! It hurts!
Panic, cold and absolute, seized her. She fumbled for her phone, her vision blurring, and hit Haven's speed dial.
The line picked up after two rings. Althea could hear the muffled, formal tones of a board meeting in the background. "quarterly projections clearly indicate"
"Haven" Althea's voice was a broken, shaky whisper. "help me. My head hurts. Please."
There was a beat of silence on the other end. Then, Haven's voice, clear and absolute, cut through the corporate chatter. "Let's stop this meeting. We can reconvene at a later time. My wife, Althea, requires my attention. You are all dismissed."
Althea heard the sounds of chairs scraping and confused murmurs before Haven's voice returned, soft and focused solely on her. "Wait for me, Althea. I'm coming."
It felt like both an eternity and a single second before the suite door opened. Haven's grape old wine scent, usually so controlled, was spiked with a sharp, protective urgency. Before she'd even left the meeting, she must have sensed Althea's distress through their bond. Althea, kneeling on the floor, saw Haven had a small first-aid kit in one hand. In the other, she held two small, clear patches suppressant patches to calm overactive pheromones and soothe stress. Haven quickly pressed one to the skin of her own neck before rushing to Althea's side.
"Althea?" Haven's voice was low and steady as she knelt, her expensive suit trousers be damned. Her hands were gentle but sure as she brushed Althea's hair aside and pressed the cool, calming patch to the nape of her neck.
The effect wasn't instantaneous, but the sharp edge of the pain began to recede, replaced by a dull, throbbing ache and the overwhelming urge to cry.
"I'm here," Haven murmured, her hand moving in slow, firm circles on Althea's back. "What happened?"
Tears streamed down Althea's face as she looked up, her vision swimming. "I tried… I was researching. About my family. The accident. And I remembered something. Me. Grieving. On a rooftop. I was… I was going to… to jump. Haven, what happened? Was I really that devastated when I lost them?"
Haven's face, usually a mask of composure, was etched with a deep, old pain. Her circling hand stilled, pressing more firmly against Althea's spine, a solid anchor. She didn't offer empty platitudes. She just met Althea's desperate gaze and gave a single, solemn nod. "Yes."
The confirmation was a final, devastating weight. Althea broke, sobs wracking her body. "I don't know! I don't feel sad or grieving about it now! I don't know, Haven! I'm such a mess! I'm so confused! I tried to take my own life! What kind of person does that? What kind of monster am I that I can't even feel the loss that almost killed me?"
"You are not a monster," Haven's voice was fierce, a low Alpha rumble that vibrated through Althea. "You are a survivor. The mind protects itself in ways we cannot always understand. The grief was… cataclysmic. It reshaped you. It is not a failure that you cannot access it now. It means you are still healing. The person on that rooftop was in unimaginable pain. You do not have to be her right now."
Haven's words were a lifeline thrown into a stormy sea. They didn't erase the horror of the memory, but they gave her something to hold onto. She wasn't a fraud for not feeling the grief; she was protected from it.
After several long minutes, Althea's sobs subsided into shaky, hiccupping breaths. The suppressant patch and Haven's steady presence had done their work. She felt hollowed out, but the paralyzing panic was gone.
She looked up at Haven, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. "Haven," she whispered, her voice raw. "I wanna get some air. I wanna go to the beach. Please? I need to… I need to feel something that isn't this."
Haven searched her face, her stormy eyes soft with an emotion Althea couldn't quite name. She didn't hesitate.
"Okay."