I woke up to the most perfect sight in the world: Althea, asleep in my arms. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, painting her face in soft gold and shadow. Her lips were slightly parted, her dark lashes fanning against her cheeks. She was so devastatingly pretty it stole the breath from my lungs.
I don't want to go to work. The thought was a petulant, powerful scream inside my head. I wanted to freeze this moment. To stay here forever, with her warmth against me, her Vanilla Strawberry scent a sweet fog in the sheets. I want to be here with her! The CEO, the monster, the architect all of them were in unanimous, rebellious agreement.
Unable to resist, I gently carressed her cheek with the back of my fingers, tracing the soft curve. I just stared, committing every detail to a memory that felt more precious than any corporate secret. My gaze drifted to the marks on her neck—the faint bruises from my lips, the more pronounced ones from my teeth. A slow, possessive smile spread across my face, one that held no guilt, only a dark, triumphant joy. She's mine. All mine.
Reluctantly, I extricated myself, the loss of her warmth an immediate chill. I took a quick, bracing shower, the water failing to wash away the sense of her. I dressed in a sharp, navy suit—armor for the world outside our sanctuary. In the kitchen, I filled Sushi's bowl with his premium kibble, scratching behind his ears as he wagged his entire body.
"I'm sorry about yesterday, Sushi," I murmured, crouching to his level. "Will you forgive mommy? It was… a necessary conversation." He licked my chin, absolving me with simple, canine grace. The loyalty of this creature, another being whose world revolved around Althea, felt like a blessing.
I cooked a simple breakfast: fluffy scrambled eggs with chives, avocado toast, a bowl of mixed berries. Brain food. Healing food. For her tea, I brewed a pot of fragrant Earl Grey. I didn't put anything in it. No sedatives, no relaxants. Just tea. The act felt monumental. A dismantling of the first brick.
The door to the bedroom opened, and there she was, rubbing her eyes with a sleepy fist, her hair a glorious, tangled mess. She shuffled over, still half-asleep, leaned up, and pressed a soft, morning-breath kiss to my lips before collapsing into a chair at the island.
"Good morning," she mumbled, reaching for the tea I'd already poured for her.
We ate in peaceful quiet. Then, she stretched, a small grimace crossing her face. "My muscles are aching," she announced, giving me a pointed, playful look. "Massage me, Haven."
I didn't need to be asked twice. I came around behind her, my hands finding the knotted tension in her shoulders through the thin fabric of her sleep shirt. I worked the muscles with firm, practiced pressure, feeling her gradually melt under my touch.
"Mmm… right there… oh, that tickles!" she giggled as my thumb grazed a sensitive spot near her spine. I continued, charting the geography of her body, relearning it not as a territory to control, but as a landscape to cherish. I felt the exact moment she fully relaxed, a boneless surrender that filled me with a profound sense of purpose. This. This was my real work.
I finished and sat beside her, my hand finding hers on the table. We talked about nothing the strange dream she'd had about singing fish, the new leaf on her prized orchid. It was blissful. Domestic. Mine.
Then, my phone vibrated on the countertop. The specific, insistent pattern of my work alarm. A leaden weight dropped into my stomach. My blissful morning is done. I couldn't hide the flicker of pure sadness that crossed my face.
Althea saw it. She leaned over and gave me a slow, thorough goodbye kiss, her hand cupping my jaw. "Take care," she whispered. Then, a mischievous glint entered her eyes. "And keep your lines open, okay?"
Hmm. What is she scheming this time? The thought was accompanied not by suspicion, but by a thrill of anticipation. My scheming songbird.
I got in my car, the ghost of her kiss still on my lips. As I drove, I sent a quick, encrypted transfer to Mrs. Li's account, with a note: Bonus. For operational discretion and positive outcome facilitation. Logically, I should have been furious with her for confessing to Althea. But the result… the raw, trusting intimacy it had unlocked… Mrs. Li hadn't betrayed me. She had, in her own way, advanced my primary objective: Althea's happiness and bonding. She deserved compensation.
The office felt different today. My assistants efficiently updated me; the usual pile of crises seemed manageable. Then, a piece of truly divine news: "Emara Vale Sinclair is not in today, Mrs. Hartwell. She's still on business trip to Singapore. Was Extended."
A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over me. Thankfully. With her more gone, the air in the building seemed cleaner.
I had just settled at my desk, the city sprawling beneath me in a carpet of steel and glass, when my personal phone vibrated. Althea. I answered immediately.
"Hello, Haven??" Her voice was bright, slightly echoey.
"What's up, Althea? Is there a problem?" I asked, a thread of Alpha concern instinctively tightening my voice.
"Nooo," she drawled, and then my screen lit up with a video call request. I pressed accept without a second thought.
Her face filled my screen, so close I could see the individual flecks of gold in her amber eyes. She was in the greenhouse, the vibrant green blur of plants behind her. She turned the phone, and I saw Sushi sniffing at a fern. "Okay, so, I have a suggestion! For you not to get lonely there!"
My heart did a strange, painful flip. She thinks I'm lonely.
"We can do some video calls instead!" she announced, as if presenting a brilliant business plan. "I mean, you don't have to talk to me all the time. Just, you know… see my presence. Not through the CCTV or whatever you have planted here in the house." She said it so casually, acknowledging my surveillance without an ounce of fear, just stating a fact. "We can do this instead! So you can hear me too! And you know, we get to talk time to time. And of course," she added, waggling her eyebrows, "I get to see you work!"
The obsessive thoughts came in a torrential, euphoric rush. She wants to be with me. She's offering me a voluntary, living feed. She wants to watch me. She's inserting herself into my world, not as an intrusion, but as an invited guest. This is better than any hidden camera. This is consent. This is her choosing to be mine, in real time, all day long.
"You're very considerate, Althea," I said, my voice warmer than I'd ever heard it in this office. "Alright. I would love to."
And so began the most surreal and perfect workday of my life. I propped my phone up on a stand beside my monitor. On one screen, financial reports, merger proposals, logistical charts. On the other, my wife.
I watched her tend to the garden, her hands carefully pruning dead leaves. She wasn't just talking to Sushi anymore. She was explaining it to me.
"See this one, Haven? This is a Monstera Deliciosa. It's being a diva because I overwatered it last week. We're in a fight, but I think we'll make up."
She'd move the phone to give me a "tour," showing me the new bloom on an orchid, the progress of the rehabilitated lavender patch. She played fetch with Sushi, her laughter ringing through my speakers, and I had to mute my end so my quiet chuckles wouldn't confuse her.
I spent my morning signing documents that shifted millions of dollars, my eyes constantly flicking to the little window where my heart resided. During lunch, she called again. We ate "together." She pointed her camera at her plate of leftovers from last night. I showed her my own lunch a lean turkey sandwich on whole wheat.
"Haven! You're just eating a sandwich?" she said, her nose scrunching adorably.
"I have to take care of my diet too," I replied, smiling.
"Then I should learn to cook properly!" she declared. "So I can pack you lunches! Real lunches! With love!"
My heart didn't just swell; it felt like it might rupture with the sheer, impossible force of her. "I would like that very much," I managed to say.
We talked until my assistant quietly knocked, signaling my next meeting. "I have to go, my love. Board meeting."
"Ooh! Can I watch?" Her eyes were wide with excitement. "I'll be super quiet! I just want to see you in your element! Please?"
The request was outrageous. Unprecedented. "You cannot be serious," the ghost of the old Althea sneered from the corner of my office. "Letting her into the boardroom? This is a new level of pathetic indulgence."
I ignored her. The old Althea was dead. This was my wife, asking to be part of my life. "Alright," I said. "But I'll have to put you on mute and lower the volume."
"Deal!"
I walked into the boardroom, my phone in hand. The long, polished table was already filled with the stern faces of executives and directors. I took my seat at the head and, without ceremony, placed my phone upright in the center of the table, Althea's smiling, curious face clearly visible on the screen.
A ripple of stunned silence went through the room. Eyes darted from me to the phone and back. I didn't care. My wife wants to see me perform. Then I will.
"Proceed," I said, my voice its usual, cool command, giving no explanation.
The meeting began. Reports were given. When it was my turn to deliver the quarterly strategy and address concerns, I stood. I glanced at my assistant and gave a slight nod towards my phone. Understanding instantly, he picked it up and, with a perfectly neutral expression, pointed the camera at me, following me as I moved to the head of the presentation screen.
She's watching me. She's listening. The obsessive thought was a drug. I wasn't just speaking to the board; I was performing for her. My presentation was sharper, more compelling, my answers to challenges more devastatingly precise. I was the Alpha, the CEO, the predator, and I was being witnessed by my mate. It fueled me. Every graph, every statistic, every confident gesture was for her. To show her the power that was hers to command. To make her proud.
The ghost of the old Althea paced behind the board members, a scowl on her face. "Showing off. Like a peacock. She doesn't understand any of this. She's just amused by the spectacle. You're making a fool of yourself for her entertainment."
But when the meeting adjourned and I retrieved my phone, her face was alight with pure, unfeigned admiration.
"Haven! That was… wow!" she gushed, her voice filling my private office as I closed the door. "You're like one of those bosses I read about in books! Or what I've seen on the web! But way, way cooler than them! You just… owned that room!"
Her praise was a sunburst inside my chest. I chuckled, the sound genuine and light. "It's just business, Althea."
"No! It's not! It's art! Strategic art!" she insisted. Then, her expression turned mischievously thoughtful. "Okay, new suggestion. For our date tonight I'm taking you to a date tonight! We need to buy matching tablets. Bigger screens. So I can see wider! And you can see wider too! This phone screen is too small for your… majestic boardroom presence."
I laughed again, the sound foreign and wonderful in this sterile space. "Matching tablets. Noted."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of productive efficiency, her silent, smiling presence in the corner of my desk a constant, motivating beacon. When I finally reviewed the last document, the sun was beginning to dip towards the horizon. Friday. Date night. Home.
I drove with a lightness I hadn't felt in years. The fortress walls were strong. The songbird wasn't just singing in her cage; she was building a nest in the CEO's office, and she had asked for a better view. And I, her devoted, obsessive, eternally grateful warden, would give her the whole world.