HAVEN'S POV
The Vale Tower boardroom was a temple of cold, calculating light. The morning sun that had bullied my songbird at home was here harnessed, polished by floor-to-ceiling glass into a weapon that illuminated spreadsheets and highlighted the subtle tells of nervous investors. I presided at the head of the obsidian table, my voice a calibrated instrument dissecting quarterly projections for a new alpine resort acquisition. Grandfather sat to my right, a pleased vulture in a cashmere coat, nodding as I outlined the hostile leverage we'd use on the Swiss holding company.
My mind was a dual-core processor. One core parsed financials, calculated asset-stripping potential, and formulated legal threats. The other, the more vital one, was tuned to a silent, encrypted feed on my laptop—a minimized window showing the live CCTV from our home.
As I debated the merit of gutting the resort's staff versus retaining a skeleton crew for continuity, my eyes flicked down. The library camera. Althea was sprawled on the oversized chaise, Sushi a golden loaf at her feet. The large screen before them was alive with bright, animated colors. A children's cartoon. She had the volume low, but I could see her lips moving, talking to the dog.
I tapped a key, activating the audio from Sushi's collar.
"…see, Sushi? That's the big sister. She's looking after the little one." Althea's voice was a soft, dreamy murmur. She scratched behind Sushi's ears. "You know, Sushi… me and your mommy Haven have been trying to make babies for you to guard. And to have someone else to give you pets when we're busy. Would you like that? A tiny human to follow around? You'd be the best furry big brother."
The words, innocent and full of domestic fantasy, sent a surge of such violent, possessive warmth through me that I had to tighten my grip on my pen to keep my hand steady. Trying to make babies. She said it so casually, as if it were a joint project like planning a garden. She had no idea of the charts, the tracked cycles, the precise biological window I was orchestrating. To her, it was love and hope and Sushi getting more attention. To me, it was the ultimate strategic objective: the creation of a permanent, biological tether. A living legacy of my control. The thought of her rounding with my child, of a new life woven from our combined DNA that would bind her to me irrevocably, was a dark, saccharine narcotic.
"The environmental impact assessment is, of course, a negligible concern," I heard myself say to the table, my voice never faltering. "We'll bury any objections in committee. Proceed to the next slide."
My phone, on the table beside my laptop, vibrated with a specific, programmed pattern. Not Chen. My personal assistant, Liam. A calendar alert.
Subject: Althea Vale-Hartwell. 2-Month Post-Accident Neurological & General Check-up.
Time: Tomorrow, 10:00 AM.
Location: Hartwell-Clairmont Medical Center.
A cold spike of frustration, sharp as a scalpel, lanced through the warm fantasy. Tomorrow. The day of the final, critical board vote on the Swiss acquisition. The meeting Grandfather had explicitly demanded I chair, a test of my focus and commitment to the empire. A meeting I could not delegate, could not miss.
Fuck.
The internal curse was a silent, furious scream. My fingers itched to sweep the entire proposal off the table. This check-up was a non-negotiable data point. I needed to be there. I needed to hear the doctor's words firsthand, to control the narrative, to ensure no inconvenient questions were asked about her medication, her sleep, her memory flashes. Mrs. Li was loyal, but she was not me. She could not wield the Hartwell name like a scalpel to carve out the truths I wished to hide.
I'm not free tomorrow. Shit.
"The cultural integration of the local staff presents a unique opportunity for positive PR," I continued, the words automatic, as my mind raced. Could I reschedule the check-up? Too suspicious. Althea had been looking forward to it, chatting about "getting the all-clear." Canceling would worry her, might trigger anxiety. Unacceptable.
Ugh. Whatever. I'll just have Mrs. Li accompany her. The decision tasted like ash. A failure of vigilance. I would have to debrief Mrs. Li extensively tonight, arm her with scripted responses, threaten her with consequences for any deviation. It was a risk. A variable.
My gaze returned to the CCTV feed, seeking solace in my living touchstone. Althea was now at the front door, intercepted by a uniformed delivery person. A box was handed over. My internal alarm gave a soft ping.
A package? I didn't recall authorizing any deliveries today. My system flagged all incoming items. This one had slipped through. Or she'd ordered it herself, with the credit card I'd given her for "frivolities."
I watched, my attention fully divorcing from the billion-dollar discussion on skiing infrastructure. Althea tore into the box with the glee of a child. She pulled out a mass of fabric… black and white… with lace. She held it up, grinning, then did a little, bouncing victory dance in the foyer, causing Sushi to bark and spin in circles.
It was a maid outfit. A cheap, cosplay version. Ridiculous. Provocative.
A slow, predatory smile touched my lips, unseen by the board members discussing profit margins. What is she planning? A private, goofy performance? Playing housekeeper for Mrs. Li? Or… the heat in my veins intensified… was it for me? A game for tonight? The thought was an effective antidote to the frustration of the missed check-up. She's adorable. Can't wait to go home tonight.
But first, I had other business. The ledger needed balancing.
The board meeting adjourned with a vote in my favor. Grandfather clapped me on the shoulder, his eyes gleaming with avaricious pride. "Nasty bit of work, that takeover. Your father would be impressed." He meant my Blackwood father, the one who understood nasty work. I gave him a thin, satisfactory smile.
In the sanctum of my office, I sent the detailed instructions to Mrs. Li regarding tomorrow's check-up, each bullet point a potential landmine to be avoided. The message was layered with unspoken threat. She would perform adequately.
Then, I changed. The power suit was exchanged for dark, flexible tactical wear that absorbed light. My hair was pulled back severely. I removed my jewelry, leaving only the wedding band—a cold, platinum circlet that was both a vow and a brand. From my private safe, I took a pair of worn leather gloves. They fit like a second skin.
The drive to Warehouse 7 was a meditation. The city's glitter fell away, replaced by the industrial decay that housed my darker utilities. The frustration of the day—the relentless sun that had hurt her, the inconvenient check-up, the simmering rage from Chen's blackmail revelations—coalesced into a cold, focused energy. I needed to vent steam. The warehouse provided the perfect release valve.
Chen greeted me with a nod. "They're prepped in Bay Three. Conscious and… apprehensive."
"Good."
Bay Three was a sterile, concrete space, hosed down regularly. The five individuals—Derek Dale, Silas Thorne, Jenna Volkov, Leo Finch, Kai Sato—were secured to heavy metal chairs, bolted to the floor in a semi-circle. Duct tape covered their mouths. Their eyes, above the tape, were wide with a fear that had curdled into exhausted dread. They'd been here for days, fed enough to keep them alive, subjected to the psychological torment of uncertainty and the distant sounds of each other's distress.
Marcus Riggs was in a separate cell, listening. His family' safety was still the dangling sword.
I didn't speak at first. I walked a slow circle around them, my boots echoing in the space. I let them see me—not the CEO, but the Blackwood heir. The predator in her natural habitat. I stopped behind Jenna Volkov, the one whose blood Althea had drawn with a crystal shard. I leaned close, my voice a whisper near her ear.
"She fought you, didn't she?" I murmured. Jenna flinched. "My wife. She's small. An Omega. An artist. And she made you bleed." I straightened. "I admire that. More than you can know."
I moved to Kai Sato, the lead driver. "You rammed her car. In the rain. You tried to crush her." My gloved hand came up and gripped his jaw, forcing his terrified eyes to meet mine. "You failed."
I walked to the center of the semi-circle, facing them. The need to expel the day's toxins was a physical pressure in my knuckles.
"I had a difficult day," I announced, my voice conversational. "I couldn't be where I most wanted to be. Because of you. Because of the consequences of your… employment."
I started with Silas Thorne, the surveillance man. A precise, snapping jab to his solar plexus. The air left his lungs with a choked wheeze behind the tape. He sagged in his restraints.
"You watched her. You listened to her pain. You helped corner her." My voice remained calm, almost clinical. A hook to the ribs. A crack.
I moved to Leo Finch, logistics. "You arranged the cars. The safe houses." A backhand across his face, the leather splitting his lip against the tape. "You built the maze she was chased through."
Derek Vance, demolitions. "You would have made her disappearance look like an accident. A tragedy." A brutal kick to his shin, feeling the bone protest. "Neat. Tidy."
Jenna Volkov again. I didn't hit her. I leaned in, my nose almost touching hers. "You put your hands on her. You tried to take her." I let the promise of singular, focused attention hang in the air between us. Her eyes streamed with tears. I'd deal with her later, separately. Her fate would be more creative.
Finally, Kai Sato. The driver. My main focus. The embodiment of the final, violent push.
The frustration, the protectiveness, the fury at the stolen tomorrow, all channeled into my fists. I didn't hold back. It was not about interrogation. It was about punishment. About balance. Each thud of my gloved fist against his flesh was a counterweight to a moment of Althea's fear, a correction in the universe's ledger.
This is for the sun being too bright because her nerves are still raw from your chase.
This is for the doctor's appointment I have to miss.
This is for the songs she wrote me that were born of the grief you exploited.
This is for the trust you shattered, which I now have to painstakingly rebuild every single day.
I was breathing heavily when I finally stopped, my knuckles aching dully through the leather. Sato was a bleeding, broken mess in the chair, barely conscious. The others watched in frozen terror.
I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and meticulously wiped a speck of blood from my glove. The silence was thick, broken only by ragged, muffled sobs.
"You took something from me," I said, my voice now low and lethally calm. "You took the woman she was. The fierce, furious, grieving woman. You broke her. You shattered her mind." I paused, letting the accusation settle. "And for that… I should thank you."
I saw the confusion in their swollen, bloodshot eyes.
"You see," I continued, walking slowly before them again, "the woman you gave back to me… is perfect. She is sweet. She is happy. She trusts me. She depends on me. She loves me without the poison of the past you helped create. You tried to take her away, and in your incompetence, you delivered her to me… remade. As mine. Utterly."
I stopped, looking at each of them in turn. "So, your suffering has a purpose. It is my gratitude. Every bruise, every broken bone, every moment of terror you feel here is a thank you note. For your service as unwitting sculptors of my paradise."
The perverse logic hung in the air, more frightening than simple rage.
"Your fates will be tailored," I announced. "The ones who merely facilitated will lose what they used to facilitate. Silas," I nodded to the surveillance man, "you will never work with electronics again. Your fingers will see to that. Leo, your logistics genius will be devoted to navigating a prison library for the next twenty years. Derek… your understanding of structural weakness will be experienced firsthand."
I turned to Jenna and Kai. "But you two. You who touched, you who chased… you will serve as a more permanent reminder. You will disappear into the foundation of the new Swiss resort. A literal cornerstone of my empire. A private joke between me and the earth."
I didn't wait for reactions. I nodded to Chen, who had been a silent shadow by the door. "Proceed as outlined. I have a prior engagement at home."
The drive back was a reverse metamorphosis. In a private washroom at a Blackwood-owned facility, I scrubbed away the warehouse—the scent of fear, the microscopic spatter. I changed back into the crisp, clean lines of a CEO. I reapplied a subtle scent of Grape Old Wine over the sterile soap.
When I walked through the front door of our home, the transformation was complete. The monster was back in the vault, its hunger temporarily sated. The architect, the doting wife, was home.
The smell of garlic and herbs greeted me. Mrs. Li was finishing dinner. And there, at the top of the stairs, was my songbird.
She was wearing the maid outfit. It was as ridiculous and alluring as I'd imagined. The cheap lace, the too-short skirt. She posed with a feather duster, a brilliant, mischievous smile on her face. "Welcome home, Madam! Your castle is… moderately dust-free! I have been… inefficient!"
The violence of the warehouse, the cold calculations of the boardroom, the frustration of the day it all dissolved, replaced by a wave of pure, possessive adoration. This. This was the reason for it all. This living, breathing, goofy heart of my world.
I climbed the stairs, my eyes never leaving hers. "I see the service has declined in my absence," I said, my voice a low purr.
She giggled, dropping the duster. "I was distracted! Thinking about… how to properly serve Madam."
I reached her, my hands settling on her waist, the flimsy fabric of the costume under my fingers. I leaned in, inhaling her Vanilla Strawberry scent, now underscored with the clean, cheap perfume of the new outfit. "And what," I whispered against her lips, "did you conclude?"
Her arms wound around my neck. "That I need… very thorough instructions."
I kissed her then, deep and claiming, a seal over the ledger of the day. The debt of violence had been paid in the warehouse. Here, in the warm light of our home, with her in my arms wearing a laughable costume, I collected my dividend. It was a perfect, closed loop. Every shadow I embraced in the darkness made the light she embodied shine all the brighter for me.
And I would walk through a thousand more warehouses, break a thousand more bones, and tell a thousand more lies, to keep coming home to this.