The discharge from the hospital was as swift and sterile as her entire recovery had been. Dr. Liu, the kind Beta physician, handed Althea a thick binder outlining a rigorous physical therapy schedule and reiterated his caution about stress with a significant glance that seemed to encompass not just her injury, but her entire life. The moment he left, the door to the adjoining suite clicked open, and Haven B. Hartwell emerged, a harbinger of the new, confined reality that awaited.
Haven was not in one of her razor sharp suits, but her attire was no less formidable: crisp, black trousers that held a perfect crease, a heavy silk blouse the color of fresh snow that seemed to defy the very concept of wrinkles, and a tailored wool coat draped over her arm. Even in semi casual clothes, she looked like she was en route to dismantle a corporate board or conquer a small nation or perhaps both. In the daylight, her Alpha scent was more distinct, the rich, complex aroma of grape old wine filling the space around her with a low, constant hum of dominance that made Althea feel both unnervingly subservient and, to her own confusion, paradoxically safe.
"Your transport is ready," Haven stated, her sharp gaze doing a quick, efficient assessment of the wheelchair's positioning, the bags by the door, everything but Althea herself. Her tone was the same clinical, measured alto Althea had come to expect.
Observing the military precision and the emotional dismissal, a flicker of the old, dominant entitlement the doctor had mentioned sparked within Althea. Her leg throbbed with a genuine, deep ache, but the thought of the tedious, painful rehab ahead suddenly seemed like an unnecessary chore imposed by a world she couldn't remember.
(Internal Monologue) Okay, plan change, Althea's newly amnesiac brain decided, a sly thought taking root. I'm a Dominant Omega heir with a broken leg and a blank slate. The old me was a demanding tyrant, apparently. Why rush recovery? I'm supposed to be fragile, and honestly, I'm too mentally exhausted to learn to walk right now. Let's see how far this 'duty of care' extends.
She settled deeper into the wheelchair, giving a theatrical, pained sigh.
(Internal Monologue) Hehehe, I'll have this perfect, cold wife of mine push the wheelchair for me. She's obligated, after all. Let the CEO earn her keep. After two weeks of sleeping in a glorified lawn chair for my sake, the least she can do is provide luxury transportation. Plus, I bet this woman has never pushed a single piece of office equipment in her life. This is cultural enrichment.
Althea offered a faint, martyr like grimace as Haven took the handles. The heat of her Alpha hand was immediately palpable through the material, and the grape old wine scent intensified as she bent slightly to maneuver the chair.
"We are not delaying the convoy, Althea," Haven stated, her voice clipped and professional. "Hold your fractured leg steady."
"Yes, ma'am," Althea drawled, leaning back contentedly.
The journey was conducted in the hushed, insulated cabin of a black luxury SUV with tinted windows so dark Althea couldn't tell if they were driving through a bustling city center or a secluded forest. It was a moving prison of polished leather and silence. Haven sat beside her, a silent statue, responding to emails on a secure looking phone with quick, efficient taps. Althea found herself staring, trying to mentally overlay the image of a doting spouse onto this corporate automaton. It was an impossible task.
(Internal Monologue) She's stunning, though. Like a warrior goddess who personally audits the heavens. It's almost a shame I'm going to use her as my personal chauffeur for the foreseeable future. I bet her quarterly reports are visually arresting.
"So," Althea finally said, her voice cutting through the quiet like a shard of glass. She enjoyed the sound, the small act of rebellion. "Where exactly is this 'secure, private residence' you're carting me off to?"
Haven didn't look up from her phone. "Home. It is located within the Northwood Estates. It offers the seclusion and security the medical team insisted upon."
"Northwood Estates," Althea murmured, testing the name. "Sounds... prohibitively expensive."
"It is appropriate for the Vale profile and the requisite privacy," Haven replied, her tone making it clear the exorbitant cost was merely a line item in a budget, a necessary business expense for asset protection.
The Fortress and the Secret Garden
The gates to the Northwood Estates were immense and ornate, flanked by two stone lions that looked ready to pounce on any uninvited guest. A uniformed guard in a pristine booth nodded solemnly as they passed. They drove for another minute down a winding, perfectly manicured road lined with ancient oaks, a deliberate buffer of nature between the monstrous homes, until the vehicle glided to a smooth stop.
Althea couldn't suppress a gasp. It wasn't a house; it was an architectural statement of power and isolation. The residence was a masterpiece of sleek, modern design, all sharp angles, dark stained wood, and vast panels of immaculate glass, nestled behind a high wall shrouded in centuries old ivy. It looked less like a home and more like a private museum or a fortress designed for someone too important to ever be seen living.
(Internal Monologue) Okay, Past Me. You definitely had severe trust issues. This isn't a house; it's a Bond villain lair. Do I have a trap door leading to sharks? I should probably check for that later.
But it was the structure to the side that truly captured her breath. Contrasting sharply with the main house's cold minimalism was a huge, sprawling greenhouse a vast, dome like palace built of antique glass and intricate ironwork. Even from a distance, it glowed with a faint, verdant light, a promise of warmth and teeming, secret life.
Althea mumbled, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "What kind of life was I living? This looks like a dream, not gonna lie. Did I win the lottery or something? Wait, I'm a famous singer and a hotel heiress. This tracks. My life is basically a Pinterest board designed by a millionaire with severe trust issues."
Haven finally glanced over, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch near the corner of her mouth that might have been a phantom of a smile or a muscle spasm of irritation. She exited the vehicle, opened Althea's door with efficient grace, then moved to the back to retrieve the collapsible wheelchair.
The Alpha unfolded the chair with powerful, precise movements, each click of the metal sounding definitive. Althea, committed to her role, leaned heavily into Haven as she transferred her weight, deliberately making the Alpha manage all of her dead weight. Haven's grape old wine scent spiked slightly not in anger, but in focused, physical concentration. She secured Althea gently into the chair, her hands firm and professional, then took her position behind the handles. Excellent. Full service.
Haven pushed her toward the imposing entrance.
"The greenhouse is stunning," Althea said, the compliment genuine. It was the first thing that had felt alive since she woke up. "I never thought you, of all people, would be a plant lover, Haven. With your schedule, I'm surprised you have time to even water a cactus."
Haven paused, her fingers hovering over the sleek security panel by the door. Her expression remained neutral, but her gaze grew distant, fixed on the glowing glass structure.
"They are not mine," Haven stated, her voice flat. "They are yours. I merely ensure they are watered and maintained by a service, as part of the overall property management duties outlined in our arrangement."
Althea was genuinely taken aback. "Huh? I never thought the old me would be into plants? That's so... wholesome. I figured the old me was only into, like, performance reviews, designer bags, and writing lyrics about emotional evisceration. I mean, look at those songs! Past Me, you were full of surprises, mostly toxic red flags, but occasionally... green."
The Abandonment and the Anchor
They entered the house, and Althea was met with a wave of cool, conditioned air. Soaring ceilings, floors of polished dark wood, and floor to ceiling windows offering views of a perfectly landscaped but utterly impersonal garden. The decor was minimal, brutally expensive, and completely devoid of warmth a perfect, three dimensional reflection of the marriage Haven had described. She felt intensely out of place, a chaotic, broken stain on the pristine, curated landscape.
Haven pushed her through the stark hallway and into a vast, sunlit living area that felt more like a gallery than a place for living. "The housekeeper, Mrs. Li, will introduce herself in the morning. Your physical therapist is scheduled for ten. I must return to the office."
Althea blinked, adopting a dramatic pout she hoped was suitably irritating. "Huh? You're my wife, aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, taking care of me? Like, signing FMLA papers and making me soup? You're leaving me here? Alone? What about the 'duty of care' you were so adamant about at the hospital?"
Haven stopped the wheelchair abruptly, turning her full attention and the full weight of her potent Alpha scent directly toward Althea. Her face was a mask of perfect composure, but the air in the room grew heavy, charged with unspoken tension.
"My primary duties lie with stabilizing the Vale corporate structure, which currently requires my physical presence," Haven said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "If the business stability falters, the trustees have the authority to intervene in ways that would benefit neither of us, Althea. You are medically stable. Your recovery is now best managed by a team of professionals. My role is to ensure that team is funded and that this environment remains secure."
She moved away, heading toward a small, built in communication panel set into the wall. Althea watched her, a knot of frustration and a surprising, almost giddy rush of adrenaline mixing in her chest. She is literally ditching me on day one. But damn, that focus! That sheer, unapologetic Alpha energy! She could stare down a hurricane. And I, in my past life, somehow made this force of nature my... business partner? Nice.
Haven returned, holding a slim, pristine silver smartphone, as sterile and impersonal as the house.
"Your previous device was destroyed in the incident," Haven explained, placing the cool, impersonal object into Althea's hands. "This is a replacement. My number is the only contact currently programmed. Use it only in the event of a severe medical or security emergency. All other communication should be directed through Dana or your medical team."
The finality of the statement was a dismissal as physical as a closed door. Althea stared at the phone. It was a blank slate, just like her mind, save for one single point of contact: Haven B. Hartwell. A lifeline that was also a leash.
"Okay. Noted. 'Don't interrupt the Alpha unless a limb falls off,'" Althea muttered under her breath, the sarcasm a thin shield for her hurt.
"Precisely," Haven responded, either missing the jab or choosing to ignore it. She strode toward the main entrance, her posture rigid. "Mrs. Li will arrive at 9 AM. I will return after business hours."
And then, she was gone. The heavy door clicked shut with a sound of absolute finality, sealing Althea inside the silent, intimidating vastness of her own supposed home.
Left stranded in the center of the cavernous living room, Althea was swallowed by a terrifying mix of relief and profound abandonment. Her immediate priority, aside from maintaining her façade of helplessness, was to find evidence real evidence of the life she was supposed to have lived.
(Internal Monologue) Where are the photos? Althea thought, her eyes frantically scanning the minimalist walls and sleek shelves. Where are the wedding pictures? The blurry, happy vacation shots? The "look how cute we are" Alpha/Omega social media shrine that should exist, even in a marriage of convenience?
There was nothing. Every surface was dominated by abstract metal sculptures, expensive art that evoked no feeling, or vast, empty spaces. The house was a temple to status and anonymity, a showroom for a life that had never been lived.
Driven by a rising panic and a desperate curiosity about this 'wholesome' secret self the plant lover Althea navigated her wheelchair back toward the grand greenhouse. She found the door unlocked and pushed herself inside, instantly enveloped by a wave of warm, humid air, rich with the scent of damp earth, chlorophyll, and the sweet perfume of blooming flowers.
She wheeled herself slowly down the central aisle. The space was a horticultural wonderland, breathtaking in its scale and meticulous organization. Lush ferns brushed her shoulders, orchids bloomed in impossible colors, and tiered shelves overflowed with hundreds of plants, all thriving under the glass ceiling. Past Me, you were hiding something beautiful in this glass bubble. Something that doesn't fit the narrative.
As she turned a corner, a flash of golden movement caught her eye. Something low to the ground was barreling toward her from between the ferns, its passage a rustle of happy destruction.
It was a dog. A magnificent, floppy eared Golden Retriever, bounding through the greenery with an expression of pure, unadulterated joy.
Althea let out a small, startled shriek. She instinctively tried to lean back, the wheelchair rocking precariously.
The dog reached her in seconds, giving a sharp, ecstatic woof! and immediately plopped its large, heavy head right onto Althea's lap, its entire body wiggling, its tail wagging with the force of a tiny earthquake. Althea stiffened, utterly surprised by the sudden, warm, living weight.
"Whoa! Hey there, buddy," Althea managed, her voice shaky. She tentatively reached out and petted the dog's soft, sun warmed head. The dog responded by covering her hand with a series of happy, sloppy kisses, its eyes full of unwavering devotion.
Althea looked down at the dog's neck, searching for a collar. A thick, well worn leather strap was adorned with a single, polished brass ID tag.
Her heart pounding with a strange mix of hope and fear, she leaned in, her breath fogging the metal slightly as she read the name engraved there.
It simply read: SUSHI.
Althea stared at the name, then back at the incredibly happy, very large dog now actively trying to climb into her lap and lick her entire face.
(Internal Monologue) "Eh?" Althea blinked rapidly, a disbelieved laugh bubbling in her chest. "Sushi? Seriously? Don't tell me I named this dog? Sushi? That's... that's definitely a name for a dog. The dissonance is strong with this one. I am apparently a multi millionaire Omega tyrant who secretly loves rare ferns and names her Golden Retriever after raw fish. Okay, Past Me, maybe you weren't completely devoid of a soul."
The dog, Sushi, simply wagged harder, thumping against the wheelchair, clearly overjoyed to be reunited with his person. In that moment, Althea felt a sudden, profound connection the first she'd felt since waking up. Here was a living, breathing being that seemed to genuinely recognize and love her, regardless of her amnesia, her weakness, or the cruel persona of her past. It was an uncomplicated, unconditional comfort.
Okay, Althea Vale, she thought, scratching Sushi's velvety ears as a genuine, unforced smile finally broke through her confusion. You might have been a monster who entered a cold marriage with a stunning Alpha, but at least you had a sweet golden retriever named Sushi.
She looked back through the glass walls toward the main house, where Haven B. Hartwell was presumably back to dominating quarterly reports and actively ignoring her inconvenient wife.
"Well, Sushi," Althea whispered, burying her fingers in his soft fur, "it looks like we're a team now. Let's find out exactly what kind of chaotic, flower loving, pop singing tyrant I used to be. And maybe, just maybe, we can figure out why your other owner looks at me like I'm a ghost she's desperately trying to forget."