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."