Haven stiffened, her movements becoming even more rigid and controlled. She angled the phone away, shielding the screen from Althea's view. "I will input the network key. It is not necessary for you to know it. Security is paramount."

"And the Face ID," Althea pressed, seeing her opening. She playfully tilted her head closer to Haven's, trying to get her face into the phone's frontal scanning view. "I'm sure it's much easier if I just look at the screen now, don't you think? Get it over with?"

Althea's face was now mere inches from Haven's. The sudden, forced proximity caused an immediate, visceral reaction in the Alpha.

Haven's eyes widened a fraction, and she inhaled a sharp, quiet breath, her grape old wine scent spiking with a sudden, volatile intensity. But more revealingly, a faint, undeniable flush spread rapidly from the column of her neck, creeping upwards to warm the tips of her ears, which turned a soft, unmistakable pink.

Haven did not could not look at Althea. She quickly snatched the phone back entirely, retreating two full, swift steps with a jerky motion that shattered her usual liquid composure.

"I will handle the biometric enrollment in my suite," Haven stated abruptly, her voice tighter, a half octave higher than its usual controlled alto. "It requires a secure, controlled environment. I will return the device when it is fully operational."

And with that, before Althea could even form a word of protest, Haven turned on her heel and practically fled into her adjoining suite, the door closing with a firm, definitive click that was one step short of a slam.

Althea was left alone in the sudden silence, staring at the blank, white door. A slow, bewildered, and utterly triumphant smile spread across her face.

(Internal Monologue) Wait. Althea touched her own cheek, feeling the cool air where Haven's warmth had been. Did I just make the stone cold Alpha CEO, the unflappable Mrs. Hartwell, actually blush? She's shy? The untouchable, ruthless CEO is flustered by my face being too close to hers? That's... that's actually adorable. This is better than the whole greenhouse mystery combined. This is a weakness I can exploit.

"Well, Sushi," Althea whispered as the dog wandered over to the adjoining door and sniffed at the base, his tail giving a curious wag. "It looks like my contract wife might be a massive, flustered nerd who has a secret crush on the ghost of me. And I think I just found my new favorite hobby: Operation: Embarrass the Alpha."

The large, cold house suddenly felt a tiny bit less lonely, and the future felt a lot more interesting.

The door to the adjoining suite remained a silent, imposing barrier for the next hour, a stark white monolith against the dark wood of the wall. Althea didn't mind the wait; the anticipation was a delicious, simmering feeling in her chest, a stark contrast to the cold dread that usually resided there. She spent the time leaning carefully against her crutches, happily petting Sushi, who had taken up a loyal guard duty near the mysterious entryway, his tail giving the occasional soft thump against the floor.

The CEO is definitely in there, Althea theorized, a wide, slightly mischievous smile playing on her lips. Probably installing military grade firewalls on my phone and frantically Googling "how to manage a spouse who weaponizes proximity." She had managed to put a hairline crack in Haven's pristine corporate shell, and the satisfaction was a potent, warming draught. It gave her a sense of agency and power that the hollow title of "Dominant Omega" had failed to provide.

At 12:15 AM, the door finally unlocked with a barely audible, yet deafeningly significant, snick. Haven B. Hartwell emerged. Her silk shirt was now perfectly smoothed, every hint of the earlier disarray erased, her demeanor reset to its default state of cold, controlled professionalism. She held the silver smartphone, its screen glowing faintly with a few pre installed, sterile looking applications.

Haven walked directly to Althea, her gaze fixed on a point somewhere over her shoulder, avoiding eye contact entirely. "The device is secure and fully operational. All necessary home automation, security, and medical access applications are installed. The Face ID is registered to your biometric data." She offered the phone back to Althea as if it were a classified document. "Do not misuse this device for non essential communication. The purpose is safety and necessity."

Althea took the phone, savoring the cool, smooth glass in her palm. Finally. A tether, however thin, to the outside world.

Then, emboldened by her previous success and the late hour, she decided to push the boundary into outright absurdity. She let her crutches clatter harmlessly to the floor and held her arms up to Haven in a clear, childlike, utterly ridiculous gesture.

"Upsies," Althea announced, her voice soft but firm, an exaggerated, theatrical pout on her face.

Haven stopped dead, her hand frozen mid air after releasing the phone. Her face, usually so readable in its lack of expression, was suddenly a perfect blank canvas of complete and utter incomprehension. The sheer, unprofessional illogic of the request seemed to have short circuited her CEO programming.

"What are you doing?" Haven asked, her tone dangerously flat, stripped of all inflection by pure bewilderment.

"Upsies!" Althea repeated, wiggling her fingers playfully, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I waited the whole night for you. I'm a broken Omega, and I'm afraid I can't make it to my bed all by myself now that I've so carelessly discarded my walking sticks. Aren't you my wife? Duty of care, Mrs. Hartwell. It's in the fine print, I'm sure of it."

Althea knew this was pure, unadulterated entitlement a move the old Althea would have doubtless weaponized without a second thought. But the mental image of forcing the impeccably dressed, exhausted CEO to physically carry her to bed was a temptation too delicious to resist. It was a test, a probe into the depths of Haven's supposedly duty bound commitment.

Haven's Alpha scent flared momentarily a sudden, sharp spike of grape old wine that tasted of tart annoyance, quickly suppressed into a low, rumbling undertone. She seemed to be running a rapid, internal risk assessment matrix: Is physical acquiescence worse than a prolonged confrontation? Does this fall under the umbrella of 'managing trauma induced regression'?

"Althea, you are perfectly capable of using the crutches," Haven protested, her voice tight as she gestured toward the fallen aids. "Your physical therapist confirmed your mobility. This is an unnecessary theatric."

"But I don't want to," Althea argued with devastating, simple logic. "I want my wife. I'm scared. It's a huge, dark, new house, and I'm a fragile little Dominant Omega with amnesia. I need my Alpha to tuck me in. Come on, Haven. Lift."

Haven's jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along her perfect jawline. She stood there for a full, tense minute, a statue of conflicted duty, utterly defeated by the combination of Althea's brazen entitlement and the unassailable legal and medical mandate of her care.

Finally, with a sigh that seemed to carry the accumulated weight of the entire Vale inheritance, Haven relented. She stepped closer, the air shifting with her scent, and bent down with a fluid, powerful grace that was breathtaking to witness. She slipped one strong arm behind Althea's back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her from the ground with an effortless strength that stole the air from Althea's lungs.

Althea let out a small, involuntary gasp. Haven was immensely strong. She was cradled securely against Haven's chest, her head nestled near the Alpha's collarbone. The rich, complex aroma of grape old wine enveloped her, no longer just a scent in the air but a tangible warmth, a comforting, steady presence that made her Omega instincts purr with a deep, unsettling satisfaction.

Wait, she actually did it! Althea thought, her mischievous plan evaporating into stunned realization. I was just kidding! I was going to let her protest for five more minutes and then grudgingly pick up the crutches! But now I'm here, and she smells really, really good. And she feels... solid.

Haven carried her effortlessly through the shadowed living room, her steps silent and sure on the polished floor. The journey to the master suite was ridiculously, profoundly intimate. Held so securely in the arms of the woman who was her legal spouse yet a complete stranger, Althea felt a confusing rush of safety and a thrilling undercurrent of something else entirely. She was being treated like a fragile, precious treasure a stark, ironic contrast to the cold business arrangement that defined them.

They reached the sprawling, cold bed in the minimalist master suite. Haven gently lowered Althea onto the pristine white sheets, her movements careful and precise as she maneuvered the injured leg into a comfortable position.

The moment Althea was settled, Haven pulled back as if burned, putting physical and emotional distance between them in one swift motion. She straightened the front of her silk shirt with a quick, nervous tug, a tell that screamed her discomfort, and turned immediately for the sanctuary of the adjoining suite.

Panic, sharp and sudden, lanced through Althea's brief contentment. She reached out, her fingers closing around a handful of the expensive, rumpled silk at Haven's sleeve before the Alpha could fully escape.

"Wait!" The word was out before she could stop it, the feigned fragility in her voice dissolving into genuine, plaintive confusion. "Where are you going? Aren't you… are we not going to sleep together?"

Haven stopped, her body rigid as marble, a portrait of exasperated endurance. She slowly turned back, her eyes shadowed in the dim light.

"Althea," she stated, her voice strained, stretched thin over a wire of patience. "I told you last night. We have not shared a room for over a year. And long before the accident, you specifically requested and enforced separate bedrooms. This adjoining suite is mine. You are in your designated bed. I am going to mine." The words 'requested' and 'enforced' were delivered with a particular, weighted precision.

"But that wasn't me anymore!" Althea protested, her grip tightening slightly on the silk. "The old me was a nightmare, clearly! But this me is scared! It's not the same as the hospital where there were people and noise. This house is huge, cold, and empty. I'm an Omega. I'm hurt. My instincts are screaming for my Alpha to be nearby. Isn't that part of the biology you keep referencing?"

Haven pulled her sleeve free from Althea's grasp with a firm, controlled force that brooked no argument. She took another step back toward the door, a retreating general, and pointed a deliberate, unwavering finger toward the foot of Althea's bed where Sushi now sat, watching them with worried, liquid eyes.

"You are not alone, Althea," Haven stated, her eyes as hard and cold as chips of flint. "Sushi is here. He is extensively trained. He will remain in this room with you. He is perfectly adequate companionship and protection. You will be fine."

With that final, cold, and utterly dismissive verdict, Haven B. Hartwell, CEO and most reluctant wife, disappeared into her own room. The door clicked shut, not with a slam, but with a quiet, profound finality that felt more absolute than any lock.

Althea stared at the blank, white door, her shoulders slumping as all the playful bravado drained from her, leaving behind the deep, aching hollow of her loneliness. The childish surge of hurt was immediate and sharp she felt abandoned by the one person in the world who was supposed to know her, the one person who held all the keys.

Sushi, sensing the sudden shift in the room's emotional atmosphere, the souring of her pheromones, padded silently over and rested his massive, heavy head gently on the edge of the mattress, his soulful eyes fixed on her face.

Althea reached out and buried her fingers in the dog's soft, golden fur, seeking anchor. She didn't want the cold, perfect Alpha on the other side of the wall to hear her, so she whispered her frustrations, her confessions, into the safe, fuzzy sanctuary of Sushi's ear.

"Did you see that, Sushi?" Althea grumbled, stroking his velvety ears in a rhythmic, soothing motion. "She said I enforced separate bedrooms. The old me was a monster! A absolute tyrant who married a goddess and then banished her to the room next door! And then I try to be cute and vulnerable, and she literally points to you and says, 'He's adequate.' No offense, buddy, you're the best thing in my life, but you're not the one who makes my heart do that weird stuttery thing when you get flustered."

Sushi responded with a deep, sympathetic sigh that seemed to come from his very soul and a warm, sloppy kiss on her hand.

"And the blushing, Sushi! She absolutely turned pink! She's playing this whole icy CEO role, but deep down, she's a giant, professional marshmallow with a secret crush on the person who apparently tormented her. It's tragic! It's ridiculous! It's the most slow burn coded mess I've ever been in, and I have no context for the first two acts of this play!"

Althea sank deeper into the mountain of pillows, pulling Sushi's warm, solid weight as close as she could. "She's so good at the contract, Sushi. So cold, so duty bound. But I'm going to break that wall down. I need answers, and the only key I have is to annoy her into vulnerability. I just need to figure out if she ran away because she truly hates the ghost of Past Me, or if she ran away because the ghost of a feeling for Current Me is just as terrifying."

She hugged the dog tighter, the emotional whiplash of the evening finally pulling her under a wave of exhaustion. She drifted off to sleep, feeling marginally safer with the warm, heavy weight of the golden Alpha retriever pressed against her leg, a loyal sentinel in the quiet dark, even as her actual, human Alpha wife remained firmly, resolutely locked away.