The dream was a carousel of horrors, spinning in a downpour of cold, relentless rain.
Althea was holding a knife. Its handle was slick in her grip, not with water, but with something warm and sticky. Blood. Her hands were painted crimson. Before her, a figure was hunched over, a hand, a right hand, clamped over a series of brutal, weeping stab wounds on their abdomen. A straight, cruel line of them. The figure's other hand was gripping the blade itself, stopping her from driving it in further, their own blood welling between their fingers.
"Stay away from me!" Althea's own voice, shrill and terrified, echoed in the nightmarescape.
She fled. The world was a smear of wet asphalt and neon reflections. She stumbled into a car, fumbling with a phone. The screen was cracked, the numbers blurring. Who was I calling? The rain hammered the roof like a drumbeat of panic.
Then, headlights. Not just one pair. Multiple. They swarmed her from all sides, blinding her, boxing her in. Intentional. Malicious. A symphony of screeching tires and the sickening, final crunch of metal meeting metal.
BAM.
Darkness. Then, a flicker. Someone was at the driver's side door, wrenching it open. Hands, gentle but firm, trying to drag her out. A voice, strained but urgent, calling out into the night. "Stay with me! An ambulance is coming!"
Blank.
Althea woke with a gasp that tore at her throat, her body jolting upright as if electrocuted. Her heart was a wild, frantic bird beating against her ribs. The phantom scent of blood and rain clung to her sinuses. She scrambled against the headboard, her eyes darting around the room, seeking anchor in reality.
Her laptop was on the bed beside her, closed. And there, in a plush armchair she'd dragged from the corner of the room, was Haven. She was asleep, her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle against the wingback, still wearing the same trousers and a simple, sleep-rumpled white shirt from the day before. She looked, young. And exhausted.
The dream's vivid imagery clawed at her mind. The right hand. The deep wounds on the palm and fingers from grabbing the blade.
Her breath hitched. Was it her? Did I… stab Haven?
Her eyes, wide with a fresh wave of panic, scanned Haven's form, zeroing in on her hands, which were resting loosely in her lap. They were strong, capable hands, with long fingers and neatly trimmed nails. Wouldn't there be scars? Wounds that deep, from a knife she'd apparently held with desperate, self-preserving strength, would have left marks. Permanent ones.
A desperate, morbid curiosity overrode her fear. She had to know.
The Breakfast Interrogation
Althea's sleep-addled, panic-fried brain, now running on a bizarre cocktail of adrenaline and post-nightmare logic, formulated a plan. She took a few steadying breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. Then, she swung her legs out of bed and padded softly over to Haven.
"Haven?" she whispered, her voice raspy.
Haven's eyes snapped open instantly. The transition from asleep to fully alert was so seamless it was almost unnerving. Her dark eyes focused on Althea, filled with immediate concern. "Althea? Are you unwell? Another headache?"
"No, I'm… I'm okay," Althea lied, her voice still shaky. She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'm… hungry. Could you… cook me something? And… we have something to discuss."
It was a bold, almost brazen move, ordering the CEO of a multi-billion dollar empire to make her breakfast. But Haven simply blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes and nodded slowly. "Okay."
Relief, sharp and sweet, flooded through her. "You can go to the kitchen and prepare. I just need to, uh… gather my thoughts. And some things. So we can discuss it over breakfast."
The sleepy Alpha just nodded again, rising from the chair with a soft grunt, her body stiff from a night spent in a non-ergonomic position. She gave Althea one more lingering, searching look before heading out of the room, her footsteps quiet on the stairs.
The moment the door closed, Althea collapsed against it, letting out a huge breath. She spent the next thirty minutes pacing the length of her room, gathering the damning divorce papers and her laptop, and preparing her chaotic line of defense. How did one smoothly transition from 'I accused you of being impotent' to 'so, wanna give it another shot?'
The moment she pushed the kitchen door open, her senses were ambushed. The air was rich with the sweet, buttery scent of pancakes and sizzling bacon. And there was Haven, her back to Althea, a simple apron tied over her shirt and trousers, expertly flipping a golden-brown pancake onto a towering stack.
Haven turned, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flickered to the papers and laptop in Althea's arms, then back to her face. "We should eat first," she said, her voice quiet but firm.
Althea could only nod, placing her burdens on a clear corner of the large kitchen table, which was already set with two plates, a bowl of fresh mixed berries, and small pitcher of maple syrup.
They sat. They ate. Althea drowned her pancakes in syrup, seeking comfort in sugar, while Haven ate with a precise, economical grace, her gaze distant. Althea's eyes kept darting to Haven's hands, but from across the table, she still couldn't see any scars.
Finally, the last bite was eaten. Haven placed her fork down with a soft, definitive click, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and leaned back, her gaze settling on the papers.
Haven took a slow breath. "So," she began, her voice low. "You saw the papers."
Althea met her gaze, forcing herself to be brave. "Yeah. And it says you're… impotent." The word felt clunky and cruel on her tongue. "But I want to hear it directly from you. How? I tried to research your biology. I found your exams. You seemed… fine. More than fine. How did I come to that conclusion?"
Haven's jaw tightened slightly. She looked not at Althea, but at the wall behind her, as if reading a script from a painful memory. "The term is… reductive. And clinical. But in the context of what we needed, it was… accurate." She finally brought her dark eyes back to Althea's. "I couldn't satisfy you in bed. Whenever we… did it… it was either I… finished… first, or you didn't… finish… at all."
Althea's cheeks flushed. "In order for you to bear a child," Haven continued, her voice dropping even lower, "we need to knot. I couldn't. You couldn't make me. It's… rare for my shaft to manifest fully outside of a compatible Omega's heat. And if it did… it wouldn't stand. If it did… it was mere minutes. Not enough. Not for you. Not for… conception."
The confession hung in the air, heavy with shame and frustration. Althea could feel the ghost of her past self's disappointment, a sharp, critical blade that had clearly cut Haven to the bone.
"I see," Althea whispered. "Did I… pressure you?"
Haven's smile was a bitter, thin line. "You did."
"Did I… commit adultery? You know, seeking it… outside our marriage?"
A flicker of something dark, jealousy, crossed Haven's features. "Not that I know of."
"You did have a lot of relationships before our marriage, and the chaotic publicity surrounding them was significant," Haven stated, shifting the context firmly to the past. "My grandfather, Arthur, as the leading investor and a major board member, needed stability, a strong face, and a clear line of succession for the trust. Following your family's tragic death, the board needed immediate and absolute stability."
Haven nodded, confirming the corporate origins. "The Vale Corporation was left entirely to you, Althea. My focus was always on the corporate structure. It was essential that we avoid an internal power struggle between the Hartwell sisters for control of the overall family assets. Arthur suggested that you should be married to me, since I am a Dominant Alpha who was already proficient in corporate law and management, and known for my stability. The marriage secured your spot as the head of the Vale empire and me as your Partner have the position as the CEO, stabilized the board, and was also intended to fix the reputation issues and rumors you created by tying you to a solid, powerful, and permanent marriage."
Althea absorbed this. The marriage wasn't just not love; it was a complex economic weapon, and her past self's instability was a key factor. The old Althea had been cruel, but apparently not unfaithful after the marriage. She'd chosen to weaponize Haven's vulnerability rather than seek solace elsewhere. It was a strange, twisted form of loyalty.
She took a deep breath. This was it. The leap. Her heart was hammering so hard she was sure Haven could hear it.
"Haven," she said, leaning forward, her voice gaining a new, determined strength. "About this… impotent thing." She gestured vaguely between them. "How about… let me, the new me, be the new judge for that?"
Haven's brows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Althea's courage nearly failed her. She felt a goofy, nervous smile twitch at her lips. "I mean… we can do it. I want to do it. With you. Please."
The silence that followed was deafening. Haven stared at her as if she'd just suggested they flap their arms and fly to the moon. A myriad of emotions flashed in her eyes: shock, disbelief, a flicker of raw, unguarded hope, and then a swift, defensive wall of skepticism.
"Althea," she said, her voice carefully controlled. "You are recovering from a traumatic brain injury. You are operating on fragmented memories and a sense of obligation. This is… not a good idea."
"Why not?" Althea pressed, her goofy confidence growing in the face of Haven's resistance. "I'm not the woman who said those terrible things. I'm not the woman who filed those papers. I'm me! And the current me finds you… ridiculously attractive. And I want to know what it's like. With you. Without the pressure. Without the demand for a baby. Just… us. Seeing if it works."
Haven stood up abruptly, turning her back to Althea as she started to collect the plates, her movements stiff. "It is not that simple. My biology… it's not a switch I can flip on for your scientific curiosity."
"It's not curiosity!" Althea insisted, standing up too and following her to the sink. "It's… it's me wanting to connect with my wife! Is that so crazy? Look, the old Althea was a performance-based evaluator. The new one is more of a… vibe-checker."
Haven turned, her arms crossed over her chest, a classic defensive posture. "A 'vibe check'?" she repeated, her tone dripping with incredulous disbelief.
"Yes! A vibe check!" Althea said, throwing her hands up. "We'll just… see what the vibe is! No expectations. No pressure. If your… equipment… doesn't want to cooperate, that's fine! We'll just cuddle! But what if it does? What if the vibe is… good?"
"You don't know what you're asking," Haven said, her voice tight. "The last time we were together in that way, it ended in frustration and anger. For both of us. I will not subject you to that again. I will not subject myself to that."
"But it's different now!" Althea pleaded, stepping closer. She was now near enough to see the faint pulse in Haven's neck, to smell the grape and oakwood scent that was growing sharper with her agitation. "I'm not going to get angry! I promise! I'm probably the most understanding, least judgmental person on the planet right now! I can't even remember what a 'normal' sex life is supposed to be like! We can write the rules ourselves!"
Haven shook her head, but the resolve in her eyes was wavering. Althea could see the conflict warring within her—the deep-seated fear of failure and humiliation battling against the undeniable, magnetic pull between them.
"Althea, please," she said, a note of desperation in her voice. "Be reasonable."
"I don't want to be reasonable!" Althea declared, her goofy determination reaching its peak. She placed her hands on her hips. "Haven Hartwell, I am your wife. And I am formally requesting that you take me to bed and attempt to have your way with me. For science! For vibes! For… for closure!"
The sheer absurdity of the demand, delivered with Althea's wide, earnest eyes, finally seemed to crack Haven's formidable composure. A strangled sound, halfway between a sigh and a laugh, escaped her lips. She ran a hand through her disheveled hair.
"You are… impossible," she breathed, but the words held no heat. Only a bewildered, exhausted fondness.
"So is that a yes?" Althea asked, her voice hopeful.
Haven looked at her—really looked at her. She saw the nervous hope, the genuine desire, the complete lack of the old, critical judgment. She saw the woman who built nests in her closet and researched her biology with frantic, endearing curiosity. The woman who was trying, in her own chaotic way, to fix what was broken.
She let out a long, slow breath, the last of her resistance crumbling.
"Okay," Haven whispered, the word so soft it was almost inaudible.
Althea's face broke into a brilliant, triumphant smile. "Okay?"
Haven gave a single, slow nod, her dark eyes now holding a storm of nervous, anticipatory energy. "Okay. But we do this… slowly. On your terms. You say stop, we stop. No questions."
"Deal," Althea said, her heart soaring. She had done it. She had convinced the mighty Haven Hartwell to give them, and her own body, a second chance.
Now, all they had to do was actually go through with it. And as Haven stepped forward, her expression a mixture of terror and blazing intensity, Althea realized the easy part was officially over.
The single, whispered "Okay" from Haven seemed to hang in the air, a fragile bubble of consent that could pop at the slightest disturbance. The kitchen, once filled with the comforting aroma of breakfast, now felt charged with a new, electric energy. The air was thick with the scent of Grape Old Wine, a richer, deeper fragrance than Althea had ever noticed, underscored by the sharp, metallic tang of nervousness.
Haven's "okay" hadn't been one of eager agreement, but one of profound, terrified surrender. It was the sound of a fortress lowering its drawbridge, not for an invading army, but for a single, unpredictable, and potentially devastating visitor.
Althea's triumphant smile softened as she saw the raw vulnerability in Haven's eyes. This wasn't a conquest. This was an excavation.
"Slowly," Haven repeated, as if reminding herself more than Althea. "On your terms."
"My terms are... be with me," Althea said, her own bravado melting into a genuine, gentle need. She reached out, her fingers gently brushing against Haven's. The contact was simple, but it sent a jolt through both of them. Haven's hand flinched, then stilled, her fingers slowly, hesitantly, intertwining with Althea's.
"Not here," Haven murmured, her gaze flicking towards the sunlit kitchen window.
But Althea's eyes suddenly widened, a new, chaotic thought striking her. "Wait!" she exclaimed, dropping Haven's hand and spinning around. She snatched the divorce papers from the kitchen island, the pages crinkling in her grip. "First, we need to deal with this."
Haven watched, bewildered, as Althea marched to the large, modern stove. With a decisive flick, she turned one of the gas burners on high. A blue flame roared to life.
"Althea, what are you—" Haven began, but it was too late.
With a flourish that was part ceremonial, part pyromaniacal glee, Althea held the corner of the petition over the flame. The high-quality paper caught immediately, a hungry orange tongue licking up the legalese that had sought to tear them apart.
WHOOP! WHOOP! WHOOP!
The fire alarm directly above the stove erupted in a deafening, shrieking chorus. Sushi, who had been snoozing peacefully in the corner, shot to his feet with a startled bark.
In a flash, Haven was at Althea's side, her own anxiety forgotten in the face of immediate danger. She grabbed Althea's wrist, pulling her and the now-fully-engulfed papers away from the stove. "Althea! Be careful! What the hell are you doing?" she shouted over the blaring alarm.
"Burning the evidence!" Althea yelled back, her eyes shining with a mad, triumphant light as she dropped the burning pages into the stainless-steel sink. They curled into black, flaky ash. "In case someone sees it! It's irradiated! I mean, eradicated!" The paper was gone. The legal tether of their past animosity was now a small pile of smoldering cinders.
As the last ember died, the shrieking alarm finally registered in Althea's brain. She looked up at it, then at a very flustered, wide-eyed Haven, then down at a very concerned Sushi. A slow, goofy grin spread across her face.
Haven, using a dish towel, swiftly waved away the residual smoke, and the alarm blessedly ceased its screeching. A ringing silence descended.
In the quiet, Althea stepped close again. She reached up, looping her arms around Haven's neck, ignoring the faint scent of smoke that clung to them. Haven stood rigid, her hands hovering uncertainly at her sides.
"I don't want to divorce you, Haven," Althea said, her voice soft but firm, her smirk gentle. "I like you, no, I mean I'm starting to love you. And I'm going to make you fall for me all over and over again. I want to start anew."
A blush, swift and vivid, spread across Haven's cheeks. She looked utterly disarmed, her CEO persona completely dismantled. She was just a woman, being boldly claimed by another. "You still have to be careful," she mumbled, her gaze dropping to Althea's lips before darting away shyly. "You alarmed the fire detectors. Now Sushi is worried."
As if on cue, Sushi whined and nudged Althea's leg with his wet nose.
Althea laughed, a sound of pure, unburdened joy. She broke away from Haven to kneel and ruffle the dog's golden fur. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sushi, my good boy! Your mommy just had a very important talk with your grumpy mommy here." She peered up at Haven, her eyes twinkling. "Hey, Haven! Give Sushi more snacks! It's trauma compensation!"
A small, genuine smile finally touched Haven's lips. She shook her head in bewilderment but moved to the pantry, retrieving the bag of kibble and pouring a generous, rattling portion into Sushi's bowl. The dog immediately forgot his worry, his tail wagging furiously as he buried his snout in the food.
(Internal Monologue)Success! Crisis averted, papers destroyed, dog appeased. Now, back to the main event: seducing my flustered, adorable wife. Nailed it.
"Now," Althea said, standing up and brushing off her knees. "Shall we?"
But Haven was already pulling her phone from her pocket. Her brow was furrowed, not in rejection, but in intense concentration.
Althea's confidence faltered. "What are you doing?"
Haven didn't look up, her thumbs flying across the screen. "I'm filing a leave of absence. For today." She put the phone to her ear, her voice shifting into that cool, authoritative CEO tone that made Althea's knees feel a little weak. "Miriam? It's Haven. Clear my schedule for the day. All of it. No, it's not an emergency. It's a... personal matter. Yes, effective immediately. Forward anything urgent to Stevens. I am unreachable."
She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket. She met Althea's stunned gaze.
Althea felt a blush of her own creep up her neck. She was being prioritized. Over a multi-billion dollar empire. "Ah," she squeaked. "Hehe. Yay."
The two women stood there for a moment, the reality of the situation settling around them. The path was clear. The day was theirs.
"So," Althea said, her voice a little breathy. "Which room, though?"
Haven cleared her throat. "Yours?"
Althea shook her head, a new idea taking hold. She wanted to be in Haven's space, to replace any lingering bad memories with new, better ones. "No, Haven. I wanna do it in your room."
Haven's eyes widened a fraction, but she nodded. "Okay."
The walk to Haven's bedroom was a silent, tense procession. Althea's heart was doing a tap dance against her ribs. Haven's room was, like the woman herself, minimalist and impeccably clean. Shades of grey, navy, and charcoal dominated. A large, low platform bed was the centerpiece, made with military precision. It felt like stepping into a sanctuary of calm, and Althea was about to introduce a hurricane.
The door clicked shut behind them.
Althea took a deep breath. Okay, go-time. Be cool. Be sexy. Be a vibe-checker. She turned, and before her courage could fail her, she closed the distance between them, rose onto her toes, and pressed her lips to Haven's.
It wasn't a gentle, exploratory kiss. It was a statement. A reclaiming.
For a heart-stopping second, Haven was frozen. Then, with a soft, shuddering sigh, she kissed her back. Her hands came up to cradle Althea's face, her touch initially hesitant, then growing more sure. The kiss deepened, fueled by years of pent-up frustration, longing, and the terrifying hope of a new beginning.
Althea, emboldened, walked them backward, her lips never leaving Haven's, until the backs of Haven's knees hit the edge of the bed and she stumbled, sitting down hard with a soft "oomph." Althea climbed into her lap, straddling her, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of Haven's simple white shirt.
(Internal Monologue)Yes! This is it! I am a seductress! A goddess of—okay, these buttons are stupidly small. Why are they so small? Is this a rich person thing?
She grunted in frustration, her fingers tangling. Haven broke the kiss, her breath coming in short pants. She looked down at Althea's struggling hands, and a low, genuine chuckle rumbled in her chest. The sound was so rare, so warm, it made Althea's stomach flip.
"No," Haven murmured, her voice husky. "Let me. Let me do you first."
Her hands, so much more capable and sure, came up to cover Althea's, stilling them. The intensity of the moment, the sheer reality of what they were about to do, suddenly crashed over Althea. The bravado evaporated, leaving pure, unadulterated panic.
She scrambled off Haven's lap, her face burning. "Aaaa! I don't know how to do this!" she wailed, throwing her hands up. "I mean, I theoretically know, but the amnesia! It's like the files are there, but the program to run them is corrupted! Uhm, can we... can we watch something first? For visual aid? You know, this amnesia needs some visuals!! Haha!" She finished with a high-pitched, nervous laugh that echoed in the quiet room.
Haven stared at her, a cascade of emotions crossing her face: confusion, amusement, and undeniable relief. The pressure valve had been released. She chuckled again, a soft, breathy sound. "Fine."
She reached for a remote on her nightstand and pressed a button. A large, sleek screen, hidden within the wall opposite the bed, silently descended. Another press of a button, and she had mirrored her phone to the screen. She handed the phone to Althea. "Here. You can search for whatever you want, and it will play on the TV."
(Internal Monologue)Oh god. Oh no. What have I done? I have to actually PICK the porn. This is a trap. This is my own personal hell. What do I even search? 'Lesbian werewolf stuff'? No! 'Alpha Omega tutorial for dummies'?
Her hands were shaking as she took the phone. She opened a private browser, some habits die hard, and typed with trembling fingers. She landed on a video titled "Alpha's Passion: Claiming Her Omega."
(Internal Monologue)This looks... professional. And terrifying.
She hit play and practically threw the phone back to Haven as if it were a hot potato.
The video started with a dramatic, synth-heavy score. Two very attractive, very serious women were in a room that looked like a billionaire's penthouse. The Alpha, a tall woman with intense eyes, was prowling around the Omega, who was doing a lot of breathing and looking submissively at the floor.
Althea wanted to die of embarrassment. She peeked at Haven from the corner of her eye. Haven was sitting perfectly straight on the edge of the bed, her hands on her knees, watching the screen with the focused, analytical intensity of a scientist studying a new species of beetle. She wasn't turned on; she was... learning.
(Internal Monologue)AHHH! I can't believe I'm watching porn with someone! And she's seriously watching it! And me, the one who suggested it, is dying of shyness! What nerve did I have two minutes ago?! It's all gone! Vanished! Sucked into the void by a poorly scored synth track!
On screen, the Alpha grabbed the Omega by the waist and pulled her close, growling something about "pheromones."
"Wow," Althea blurted out, desperate to break the tense silence. "She's really... direct, huh? Not a lot of small talk. 'Hello, how was your day? By the way, your scent is driving me wild.' You know, the usual."
Haven didn't look away from the screen. "Inefficient communication," she stated clinically. "But the directness avoids misunderstandings."
Althea's jaw dropped. "Inefficient communication? Haven, it's porn, not a corporate merger!"
"Principles of clear intent still apply," Haven replied, her eyes still glued to the TV where the Alpha was now tearing the Omega's blouse off with a dramatic rip.
"Okay, but look at that!" Althea pointed, giggling nervously. "That blouse looked expensive! Is she going to reimburse her? That's not very considerate. A true Alpha provides, and that includes a clothing allowance for garments destroyed in the throes of passion."
This finally made Haven glance at her, a tiny smile playing on her lips. "A valid point. Noted."
Emboldened, Althea kept up a running commentary. "Ooh, she's carrying her to the bedroom. Classic. Strong Alpha move. You ever tried that?"
Haven's cheeks pinked. "Once. You complained I was jostling you."
"See? The old me was so ungrateful! I think it's romantic! Though maybe not the fireman's carry she's doing... that seems a bit... logistical."
They watched as the scene progressed, becoming more explicit. The Alpha's anatomy, the one Althea had researched, was now on full, high-definition display. Althea felt her own face was on fire. Haven's breathing had become slightly more audible.
"So, that's, uh... that's the... shaft?" Althea whispered, as if they were in a library.
Haven gave a tight, single nod. "Yes."
"And the... knotting thing... is that... comfortable? For the Omega? It looks... intense."
"The biology is designed for mutual pleasure and bonding," Haven explained, her voice strained. "It can be... overwhelming. For both parties."
On screen, it certainly looked overwhelming. The Omega was crying out, a mix of pleasure and pain.
Althea hugged a pillow to her chest. "Yikes. It's like... a biological lock and key. A very... enthusiastic lock."
"The metaphor is accurate," Haven managed to say, her voice strained. "It is a biologically absolute binding mechanism."
The video reached its climax, and the screen faded to black. The room was silent again, save for the sound of their breathing. The "visual aid" was over. It had been simultaneously the most awkward and funniest experience of Althea's new life.
She looked at Haven, who was still resolutely staring at the blank screen, her ears bright red.
"So," Althea said softly, letting the pillow drop. "Any... takeaways from the instructional video?"
Haven finally turned to look at her. The analytical mask was gone, replaced by a vulnerable, open nervousness. "It... seems I have a lot to live up to," she said quietly. "That Alpha was... very proficient."
Althea crawled across the bed towards her until they were knee-to-knee. She took Haven's hands in hers, finally getting a close look at them. No scars. No marks. The relief was a tidal wave, but she filed it away for later.
"Hey," Althea said, squeezing her hands. "Forget her. I don't want 'Proficient Alpha from TV.' I want you. Grumpy, shy, leaves-of-absence-for-her-wife, gives-the-dog-extra-snacks you. We don't need a script. We just need us."
She leaned in slowly this time, giving Haven every opportunity to pull away.