The rest of the dinner was a study in agonizing silence, broken only by the precise click of silverware on fine china. Haven B. Hartwell ate with the quiet, devastating efficiency of someone who viewed sustenance as a necessary corporate function, her gaze fixed on some middle distance far beyond the walls of the dining room. Althea mostly watched her, occasionally humming a few bars of her own old hit, "You think this collar means I'm owned?" just to maintain a low level, psychic disturbance.

Despite the silence, Althea felt a thrum of victory. She had breached Haven's defensive perimeter not once, but twice first with the flustered blush, and now by forcing a shared meal and confronting her with the photographic evidence of her own suppressed devotion. This slow burn tension is giving enemies to lovers, but the 'enemies' part is just me being a memory less menace and her being a financially responsible tsundere.

After Mrs. Li had quietly cleared the plates, Haven finally broke the silence, her voice reverting to its default setting: flat and formal.

"Althea. I need to document your physical progress for the trustees' quarterly review."

"Oh, another required formality, right?" Althea chirped, leaning heavily on her crutches and exaggerating a wince. "Should I perform a monologue about my excellent healing factor? Maybe a song?"

"No," Haven replied, already standing and pulling out her sleek, professional work phone the one Althea had never been allowed to touch. "I require a brief video record of your current ambulatory capacity without severe reliance on external aids. Stand in the center of the room and walk toward the camera."

A video? This isn't a briefing; it's performance review footage for the Vale family board! Althea's Dominant Omega pride, a thing she was still getting acquainted with, was instantly offended by the clinical, dehumanizing nature of the request. She let her crutches clatter to the floor, balancing perfectly well without them, and gave a deep, theatrical sigh.

"Fine," Althea agreed, a plan already crystallizing in her mind. "But if this ends up on the Vale Hotels' internal 'Motivational Monday' newsletter, I'm suing my own estate for emotional damages."

Haven ignored the sarcasm, holding the phone steady, the cold, unblinking eye of the camera focused solely on Althea. "Begin. Walk toward the lens. Demonstrate stability and control."

Althea began to walk. Her injured left leg, while still tender, felt strong and responsive, a testament to her dominant Omega biology and Ms. Evelyn's relentless drills. She moved with a natural, confident grace she didn't know she possessed, the vast living room feeling like her personal runway.

"That's sufficient," Haven stated, her voice cutting through the space as Althea reached the midway point. She stopped the recording. "Adequate progress documented. You may stop now."

But Althea didn't stop. Oh, honey, the show isn't over until the Dominant Omega says it is, she thought, a wicked, daring idea taking full hold. She decided to raise the stakes from a simple briefing to a full blown corporate liability incident.

She continued her walk, putting one foot carefully in front of the other, her gaze locked on Haven. When she was a mere three steps away, Althea executed her move with an actress's impeccable, finessed clumsiness. She let her left foot "catch" on the perfectly smooth, priceless rug, gasping with manufactured panic as she threw her arms out and stumbled dramatically toward the only solid, secure object in the room her Alpha wife.

"Whoa! Oh my god I'm falling!" Althea cried out, plunging directly into Haven's personal space.

Haven's reaction was instantaneous, her dominant Alpha protective instincts violently overriding years of cultivated corporate cool. She dropped the phone with a clatter to catch her wife, her strong arms closing like steel bands around Althea's waist. But the combination of Althea's momentum and the suddenness of the move was too much, even for the powerful CEO. They stumbled backward, landing on the thick, luxurious rug with a muffled, undignified thud.

Althea landed squarely on top of Haven, their bodies colliding in a tangled heap.

For a single, suspended moment, the world narrowed to warmth, solid muscle, and an overwhelming wave of pheromones. Althea found herself tangled in Haven's embrace, her face buried in the junction of Haven's neck and shoulder. Her hands, thrown out instinctively to brace the fall, had landed squarely on Haven's chest, her fingers sinking into the unexpected, yielding softness of the Alpha's breasts, cushioned only by the thin layer of silk and what felt like a surprisingly smooth, lace trimmed bra.

*F**k!* Althea's internal monologue short circuited, all thoughts of amnesia and contracts obliterated by sheer, tactile shock. That was some Oscar worthy shit I just pulled! OMG! And… oh. Oh, wow. They fit my hands. They fit my hands perfectly. And they're so… smooth. AAAAA!

The immediate shock was followed by a deluge of sensory input. Her face was pressed flush against the column of Haven's neck, and with every frantic, shared breath, she inhaled the Alpha's signature scent directly from the source. It was no longer a faint trace in the air; it was an immersive experience.

Fuck, she smells good. Really good. For an Alpha. It's deep… like… Her Omega instincts, long suppressed and confused, surged to the forefront, analyzing, responding. It's… grapes. Dark, rich, ripened grapes. And oak. It's grape old wine. Complex, intoxicating, and nothing like the cold, sterile air of this house. It was a scent that spoke of depth, age, and hidden complexities, and Althea's body hummed in response, a confusing, potent cocktail of primal relief and sharp, undeniable desire.

"Althea?" Haven's voice was a low, strained question, breathy and warm against Althea's ear. The vibration traveled straight through her. "Are you injured?"

Haven's hands were still locked tightly around Althea's waist, holding her securely against the length of her body. The Alpha was clearly performing a rapid threat assessment, looking for broken bones, not offering affection.

Althea's mind snapped back to the present, yanking her focus away from the intoxicating scent and the feel of soft silk under her palms. She scrambled to deliver her lines.

"I... I... I'm fine, haha!" Althea cut in quickly, trying to roll off Haven's chest but finding the Alpha's grip frustratingly, wonderfully secure. "Sorry! My bad! I guess I need more training!"

"More training in what?" Haven asked, her tone dangerously flat, though her voice still carried a betraying breathlessness. "The fundamental mechanics of walking on a non obstructed, level surface?"

"No, silly!" Althea scoffed, pushing herself up on her hands so she could look Haven directly in the eye, forcing their faces to be mere inches apart. She dropped the facade of fragility and embraced her role as the teasing, chaotic Omega. "More training in avoiding falling directly onto the CEO. My apologies, Mrs. Hartwell. I suppose my Dominant Omega nature just instinctively reaches for the most valuable and stable asset in the room."

Haven's eyes narrowed, a storm brewing in their grey depths, but her Alpha scent remained a tight, focused coil of grape old wine, refusing to spiral into the panic Althea was hoping for. "If you are medically unharmed, remove yourself. You are causing unnecessary physical and procedural instability."

"Aww, is the big, bad CEO scared of a little accidental physical contact?" Althea teased, letting her hand linger for a heartbeat too long on the soft curve of Haven's breast before finally, reluctantly, pushing herself off and onto the rug beside her. "Don't worry. I didn't see or feel anything I didn't thoroughly enjoy."

Before Haven could formulate a response, a soft, warm weight landed on Althea's back. Sushi, having assessed the situation from his post by the sofa, decided this was clearly a new and excellent floor game and had joined them with a happy, booming wuff.

"Thank you for the assist, Sushi," Althea giggled, reaching back to pet the dog. "Your other owner, however, seems to be experiencing a critical malfunction in her emotional processing unit."

Haven sat up with a fluid, sharp motion, pushing her now hopelessly wrinkled silk shirt back into place with frantic, precise tugs. She first retrieved Althea's discarded crutches, then offered a cold, impersonal hand.

"Get up, Althea. This pantomime is beneath even your current diminished capacity."

Althea took the offered hand. Haven hauled her to her feet with an effortless, jarring strength that never failed to startle her. The moment Althea was stable, Haven dropped her hand as if it were contaminated.

"Return to your room," Haven commanded, her voice leaving no room for argument. "And remain there. I have actual work to complete."

"But I need upsies now," Althea insisted, nudging the crutches away with her foot. "My leg is feeling ever so faint after all that excitement."

Haven glared, a flash of pure, unadulterated exasperation in her eyes. She refused to engage in the verbal negotiation this time. Instead, with a grunt of professional ire, she simply bent down, scooped Althea up, and tossed her over her shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"Absolutely not," Haven stated flatly, striding out of the living room. "And I refuse to grant you the satisfaction of a debate."

Althea, dangling upside down over Haven's shoulder, found her face pressed against the small of the Alpha's back, her nose filled once again with the deep, comforting, now slightly musky scent of grape old wine. Okay, she's definitely giving 'flustered tsundere' vibes. And this is… objectively kind of hot. Past Me, you were an idiot. This woman is a goddess.

Haven marched into the bedroom and deposited Althea unceremoniously onto the center of the large bed, with slightly less care than she had the previous nights. She placed the crutches within reach like a warden delivering tools.

"Stay," Haven ordered, her voice laced with a finality that could end worlds, and turned to make her escape.

But she froze. Her entire Dominant Alpha body locked up, every muscle going rigid. Her eyes, performing a final sweep of the room for threats, landed on the giant, black framed corkboard that now dominated the far wall.

The Conspiracy Pinboard was a glorious, unhinged masterpiece of forensic obsession. The central wedding photo was a sun around which all other planets orbited. Arrows of red string connected it to the Sushi Christmas photo, the "Untouchable Celebrity" magazine cover, and a printed screenshot of her own scathing lyrics. But it was the handwritten notes, scrawled in Althea's loopy handwriting, that made Haven's blood run cold:

Alpha Wife Smells Like Ripe Wine (V. Important Data)
PAST ME: Was I the Villain? (See: Lyrical Evidence)
GREENHOUSE = SECRET HEART?
CONTRACT ONLY? (Counter evidence: BLUSHING & XMAS DOG)
LATE ARRIVAL TIMELINE (Pattern of Avoidance?)