ALTHEA'S POV
The first thing I became aware of was warmth. A solid, steady heat beneath my cheek, rising and falling in a slow, deep rhythm. The second was scent grape wine and beneath it, the unmistakable, uniquely comforting musk of Haven. My Haven.
I blinked my eyes open. Soft afternoon light filtered through the gaps in the blackout curtains, painting stripes of gold across the rumpled sheets and the smooth skin of the chest I was using as a pillow. I tilted my head just enough to see the clock on her nightstand.
11:07 AM. Sunday.
A slow, lazy smile spread across my face. We'd slept the morning away, tangled together like vines. And yesterday… oh, yesterday and the other night at the mall.
A full-body blush ignited from my toes to the roots of my hair. The pet festival. Sushi's… diplomatic mission with Marshmallow. Laughing until my sides hurt with Cassara and Thalia. Coming home sun-kissed and happy, ordering takeout, and then… the couch. Or rather, on the couch. Then against the wall in the hallway. Then, eventually, making it to this bed.
Where did I get all that audacity? The old Althea the one whose memories were a complete memories must have been a secret hellion. Or maybe this was the new Althea. The one who woke up in a hospital with nothing and found this. Found her.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake her. She looked younger in sleep, the usual razor-sharp intensity of her features softened. Her full lips were slightly parted, her long lashes fanned against her cheeks. Beautiful. Terrifying. Mine.
My thoughts tumbled over each other, a happy, chaotic mess. I'm glad we talked about the manipulation and the cage. She assured me she's not caging me. She gave me freedom… in her own possessive way. I snorted softly into her skin. That was the understatement of the century. It might be scary to an outsider. Maybe I did have Stockholm Syndrome.
Hopefully I don't, I mused, tracing a faint scar on her collarbone with my eyes. I mean, I do have amnesia, and I have nowhere else to go. Is it really that wrong to love the person who is your entire world?
But it wasn't just that. She didn't just provide safety; she was safety. She was the unwavering ground beneath my feet when my own mind was quicksand. And the lyrics I'd found, the songs "I" had written in middle school and high school… most of them were for "my heaven." For Haven. Even my teenage, angsty, poetic self had seen her as a celestial event.
She might be a controlling freak, but she had her reasons. The past me was probably really awful to her. The divorce papers, the coldness Emara had hinted at… I'd hurt her. Deeply. And now, as a new person a blank slate with a heart that beat only for her I wanted to know her. Not the her from the past me's memories, but the her that existed right now with the clueless, amnesiac me.
And I wanted… more. The thought was a quiet, sure pulse in my veins. I really do want to have babies with her. Not out of some dynastic duty to Arthur Hartwell, but because I wanted to. I wanted to build a family. The past me lost her family. If when my memories ever returned, I wanted to have a home, a family, to come back to. A reason to stay in the present.
I'd already confirmed in my own mind that Haven wasn't involved in my accident. The attacker in my dreams… Haven didn't have those wounds. She'd been frantic, not guilty, from the moment I woke up. And if, by some horrific twist, she was involved… I didn't know I don't wanna know. But still.
I love her.
The thought was simple, immense, and absolute.
Overwhelmed by a surge of tenderness so fierce it felt like heartburn, I slowly pushed myself up on one elbow. Haven slept on, deeply under. I reached out, my fingers hovering for a second before I gently cupped her cheeks. Her skin was warm, smooth. My beautiful, dangerous guardian.
The words started in my head, a jumble of feelings, and then they just spilled out of me in a whispered confession to her sleeping form.
"My love for you, Haven, isn't a beautiful coincidence stitched together by amnesia," I began, my voice soft but clear in the quiet room. "It's not a temporary glitch in my damaged brain, desperately grasping for the nearest anchor. It's not the default setting because the hard drive of my past was wiped clean."
I took a shaky breath, my thumbs stroking her cheekbones. "No. I love you because as I get to know you, day by terrifying, beautiful day, you are the only thing that proves I still have a soul worth keeping."
I leaned closer, my lips almost brushing her ear. "I don't remember the woman who married you. I don't remember the woman who signed the divorce papers. I don't remember the songs I wrote, or the pain that made me write them. The past is a gaping, black wound, and every attempt to touch it sends me spiraling into terror."
My voice dropped to a hushed, fervent tone. "But you. You are the wall that stops the spiral. I see the control in your eyes, Haven. I see the darkness the raw, consuming need that isn't just love, but absolute, terrifying possession. I know the Alpha scent you wrap around me isn't just affection; it's a claim, a warning sign to the world that I am territory. When your hand grips mine, I know that if I tried to pull away, you would break my fingers before letting me go."
A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek. "And yet... that is precisely why I love you. Because that darkness, that intense, terrifying fire in your gut, is pointed solely at the universe that might harm me. You don't just love me; you fortify me. You make the world simple. You eliminate the chaotic noise that almost broke the woman I was."
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "You didn't just give me a new life; you built a fortress around the one I have left. You are my beautiful, terrible cage, and I have never felt so safe in my life. My love for you isn't blind, Haven. It's fully sighted. It sees the monster, the warden, the powerful woman who would burn down a city just to keep me from sneezing. And it chooses that monster, because when you hold me, I know that nothing not my past, not my memory, not the cruel, chaotic world can ever touch me again."
I finished, my breath coming in shallow puffs against her skin. "I love you, not despite your possession, but because of it. You are the only person who loves me enough to never let me go. You are my ground, my security, and the fierce, consuming love I choose, every single day, over the uncertainty of the truth. This love is not a memory. It's a conviction. It's my future. And it's yours."
For a long moment, there was only silence and the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my chest. Then, the body beneath me shifted. A strong hand came up to cover mine where it still cupped her face. Dark brown eyes, not cloudy with sleep but clear and deep as a midnight forest, opened and looked directly into mine.
"Thank you, Althea," she said, her voice a sleep-roughened rasp that vibrated through my entire being. "I love you too. More than you could ever fathom."
I squeaked, a sound of pure mortification, and tried to jerk back. "Ohmygod! You were awake! I'm sorry, did I wake you up? Sorry, I was just muttering a lot of… stuff… crazy rambling, ignore me"
Her hand tightened, holding me in place. "No. Thank you. I appreciate it." She brought my hand to her lips and kissed my knuckles, her gaze never leaving mine. "I love listening to you. Especially when you're telling me I'm a beautiful, terrible monster you've chosen as your future. It's… the best good morning I've ever had."
My blush was now nuclear. I buried my face in the pillow next to her head. "I can't believe I said all that out loud."
"I can," she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. She wrapped both arms around me and rolled, so I was pinned comfortably beneath her. She looked down at me, her hair forming a dark curtain around us. "Every word was true. And every word is tattooed on my soul now. You own me, Althea Vale Hartwell. Your conviction is my command."
The way she said it, with such solemn intensity, made my insides melt into a gooey, happy puddle. To distract from the overwhelming emotion, I poked her side. "Well, your commander is hungry. From earlier's… activities. And last night's… activities. Can you cook us lunch? I want some healthy stuff. Like vegetables. And rice. Please?"
She arched a perfect eyebrow. "Vegetables. After that speech, you want vegetables?"
"Balance!" I insisted, laughing. "We need nutritional balance! You can't live on passion and pancakes alone!"
"I'd certainly try," she muttered, but she was smiling. She kissed me, slow and deep, until I was dizzy again. "Alright. Vegetables and rice for my tyrant." She rolled off me and stood in one fluid motion. "I'll start. You can wash up."
"I'll be fast!" I promised, scrambling out of bed. But as I passed her on my way to the bathroom, she snagged my wrist and pulled me into a quick, hard hug, burying her face in my hair.
"Thank you," she whispered again, and the raw gratitude in her voice made my eyes sting.
"You're welcome, you big sap," I whispered back, squeezing her tight before darting away.
The half-bath was less about washing and more about splashing cold water on my flaming cheeks and giggling hysterically at my own boldness. I threw on a pair of soft shorts and one of Haven's old, worn-out college clothes that swallowed me whole. It smelled like her. I practically floated to the kitchen.
Haven was already in motion. She'd thrown on leggings and a tank top, her hair in a messy bun. She moved with a lethal efficiency that was mesmerizing, chopping bell peppers, broccoli, and carrots into perfect, uniform pieces with a terrifyingly large chef's knife.
"So," I said, hopping up to sit on the counter next to the cutting board (a move that would have gotten anyone else's hand severed). "Do I get to help?"
"You can supervise," she said, not looking up from her precise knife work. "And talk to me. Tell me more about this future you're planning. The one with me as your monster-cage."
I swung my legs, my heels thumping gently against the cabinet doors. "Well, it involves less stalking and more… couple's activities. Like yesterday. That was fun."
"It was," she agreed, a note of genuine surprise in her voice as she scraped the vegetables into a sizzling wok. "Your cousin is… a lot."
"She's great! And Thalia is cool. They balanced each other out. Like us." I watched her strong hands shake the wok, the muscles in her arms flexing. "Do you think… we could do that again? Normal people stuff?"
She glanced at me, her expression softening. "For you, my love, I will attend every pet festival, farmers market, and community yard sale in the tri-state area. I will make small talk about the weather. I will even wear a… what do they call them? A 'fun' shirt."
The image of Haven Hartwell in a graphic tee that said something like "I'm With The Commander" or "Dog Mom" was so absurd I burst out laughing. "I'd pay to see that. But maybe we start with just… having them over for dinner sometime?"
She nodded, adding cooked rice to the wok and beginning to toss everything together with a flick of her wrist. "I'll have security run full backgrounds first."
"Haven!"
"What? I'm a cautious monster. It's part of my charm." She shot me a smirk that was all white teeth and dark promise. The rice dish came together beautifully a colorful, fragrant stir-fry. She plated it with a grace that made the simple meal look like it belonged in a five-star restaurant.
We ate at the sunlit kitchen island, shoulders touching. It was delicious the veggies still crisp, the rice perfectly seasoned.
"You know," I said around a mouthful of broccoli, "the amnesiac me is a vegetarian. Did you know that? The old me?"
Haven paused, her chopsticks hovering. "No. You… you ate everything. You loved steak."
"Huh." I pondered this. "Maybe the accident changed my taste buds. Or maybe this is the real me, finally getting a vote." I nudged her with my elbow. "Do you mind? Cooking veggie stuff sometimes?"
She looked at me as if I'd asked if she minded breathing. "Althea, I would cook you dirt on toast if it made you happy. Vegetables are a delight in comparison."
I grinned, my heart doing a silly little flip. After lunch, we migrated to the massive, plush sectional in the living room. Sushi, who had been napping in a sunbeam, immediately trotted over and laid his heavy head in my lap, demanding pets.
"What should we do?" I asked, scrolling through the streaming services. "A movie? A show?"
"You choose."
I found a comedy special by a female comedian I thought I might have liked before. We settled in, Haven stretching her arm along the back of the couch behind me. At first, she watched with her usual analytical stillness. But as the comedian launched into a particularly ridiculous story about dating disasters, I felt a rumble against my side.
I looked over. Haven's shoulders were shaking silently. Then a snort escaped her. Then a full, rich, beautiful laugh. It was a rare, unguarded sound, and it was the best thing I'd heard all day. I found myself laughing less at the screen and more at her reactions, at the way her nose crinkled and she'd shake her head.
During a lull, Sushi decided mere pets were not enough. He launched himself into the space between us, rolling onto his back, all four legs in the air, presenting his fluffy white belly.
"The prince demands tribute," I announced.
Haven sighed with mock exasperation but obliged, rubbing his belly with her socked foot. "You're spoiled."
"He's perfect," I corrected, scratching behind his ears. We devolved into a gentle playfight with the dog, trying to avoid his enthusiastic, slobbery kisses. Haven, the fierce ceo leader, was giggling as she fended off Sushi's tongue with a couch pillow. The sight was so wonderfully bizarre and perfect it made my chest ache.
When the comedy special ended, the late afternoon sun was streaming through the windows. "Come on," I said, jumping up. "I want to show you something."
"I live here. I've seen everything," she said dryly, but she followed me to the glass doors that led to the back garden beside the greenhouse.
"You've seen it. But have you experienced it with the Amnesiac Althea Tour?" I asked, pushing the door open.
The garden was less of a "garden" outside the Greenhouse and more of a private park. Manicured lawns gave way to wilder, more natural areas with winding paths, a koi pond, and a stunning variety of flowers and trees.
I took her hand. "Welcome to the tour! Over here," I said, dragging her to a rose arbor, "we have the 'Pretty but Pointy' section. Symbolic, I think." I bent to sniff a deep red bloom. "These smell like… grandma and regret."
Haven's lips twitched. "That's a very specific scent profile."
"I have a refined nose!" I led her to the koi pond. "And here is the 'Fish That Cost More Than My Old Car' exhibit. Look at that big orange one! He looks judgy. I've decided his name is Reginaldo."
"Reginaldo the koi," Haven repeated, as if committing it to memory.
"He runs the pond syndicate. The little black and white one is his enforcer, Tony." I pointed dramatically.
"Naturally."
We walked along the winding stone path. I chattered about everything I saw, making up ridiculous backstories for the plants and insects. "This patch of lavender is clearly gossiping about the hydrangeas. And see that squirrel? That's Stevey. He's planning a heist on the bird feeder. It's a whole operation."
Haven listened, her hand warm in mine, a soft smile playing on her lips. She didn't interrupt, just let me fill the peaceful air with my nonsense. When we reached a secluded bench under a weeping willow tree, I pulled her down to sit.
The dappled light played across her face. It was so quiet, just the rustle of leaves and distant birdsong.
"This is my favorite spot," I said quietly, the goofiness fading into something more tender. "I found it last week when you were on a call. It feels… secret. Safe."
She put her arm around me, pulling me close. "It is safe. Every inch of this place is safe for you. It's yours."
I leaned my head on her shoulder. "You know, the old me the one who lived here with you before she probably saw all this as just property. Just stuff. But to me… it's a wonderland. It's the setting for my new life. With you." I tilted my head to look up at her. "Do you think she'd be jealous? The old me?"
Haven was silent for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the pond in the distance. "The old you was in pain," she said finally, her voice low. "She was running from things, hiding in music and silence. She built walls so high even I couldn't always climb them. She saw this garden, and she saw a gilded cage." She looked down at me, her eyes burning with intensity. "So yes. I think she would be desperately, bitterly jealous of the woman sitting here now. The woman who sees it as a playground. The woman who looks at the warden and sees… a guardian."
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I wish I could tell her it gets better. That she finds her way back to you."
"You are telling her," Haven whispered, kissing my hair. "Every time you smile, every time you laugh, every time you choose to love me in this fearless, open way… you are healing a wound for both of us. The past her, and the past me who failed to reach her."
We sat like that until the sun began to dip below the tree line, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple. Sushi, who had been patiently exploring within a strict radius, came and laid his head on Haven's foot.
"The prince is tired," I observed.
"The prince is spoiled," she countered, but she reached down to scratch his head.
As we walked hand in hand back to the house, the first stars beginning to prick the darkening blue, I felt a contentment so deep it was like a physical warmth in my bones. The day had been a perfect, silly, wholesome mosaic: whispered confessions, stir fried vegetables, dumb comedy, a garden tour for an audience of one.
Back inside, as Haven locked the garden doors and set the alarm, I wrapped my arms around her from behind, resting my cheek against her strong back.
"Today was a good day," I mumbled into her shirt.
She turned in my arms, her hands coming up to frame my face. "It was a perfect day. Because it was a day with you." She searched my eyes, her own dark and serious. "You know, when you were talking this morning… you said your love wasn't a coincidence of amnesia. But my love for you now… it feels new, too. It's not just the obsession with the woman I married. It's a daily, staggering wonder at the person you are choosing to become. Right in front of me."
I stood on my tiptoes and kissed her, slow and sweet. "So let's keep choosing," I murmured against her lips. "Every day."
"Every single day," she vowed.
And as she led me upstairs, the ghost of laughter and the scent of garden flowers trailing behind us, I knew with every fiber of my being that I was exactly where I was meant to be. Not as a prisoner of my past, but as the architect of my future. A future that, for the first time, wasn't a terrifying blank space, but a canvas waiting to be filled with the vibrant, goofy, profound colors of a love built not on memory, but on choice.
Later that night, after a simple dinner of soup and sandwiches, after more silly TV and Sushi cuddles, we found ourselves back in bed. The room was dark, lit only by the soft glow of a salt lamp in the corner. I was curled into Haven's side, my head on her shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my arm.
The peace of the day, the rightness of it all, gave me a sudden, clear burst of courage. It was time to add another color to our canvas.
"Haven?" I said, my voice quiet in the dim room.
"Hmm?" Her hand stilled on my arm.
"I've been thinking about something."
"Always a dangerous prospect," she murmured, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
I propped myself up on one elbow to look at her. "I want to make music again."
The words hung in the air. The relaxed expression on her face froze, then slowly melted into something more guarded, more tense. She didn't pull away, but the energy around her shifted, becoming alert, watchful. "Music," she repeated, her voice neutral.
"Yeah. My manager, Dana she's been emailing me. Gently. Just checking in. The old me's contract with the agency is in a holding pattern because of… well, because of me being dead-ish and then amnesiac." I took a breath, rushing on before I lost my nerve. "I want to reactivate it. I want to sign again, officially, with her. Next week."
Haven was silent for a long beat. Her eyes searched mine in the low light. "The same agency," she stated. "Celestial Entertainment. Where my half-sister, Angel Hartwell, is the CEO. The agency that handled all the old you's affairs and when I was working there?"
"Yes," I said, my heart beginning to beat a little faster. "That's the one. You were never a director there, but you were always… in the shadows. Handling things for the past me, right? Is that… okay?"
She sat up slowly, leaning back against the headboard. The movement broke our contact, and I immediately felt the chill. "Althea," she said, her voice careful, measured. "My love. You can rest. You should rest. You don't need to do this. You have everything you could ever want right here. There is no pressure, from me or anyone, for you to return to that world."
I knew that tone. It was the voice she used when she was trying to control a situation without appearing to control it. The voice that masked a thousand fears and a will of iron.
"I know I can rest," I said, scooting closer to her, but not touching her yet. "And I know I don't need to. But I want to." I reached for her hand, lacing our fingers together. Her grip was firm, almost too firm. "I'm not talking about a world tour, Haven. I'm not talking about red carpets and paparazzi chasing us. I just… I want to re-record my old songs. The teenage ones. The ones about you."
Her eyes flashed. "The ones about the pain I caused?"
"The ones about the heaven you were," I corrected softly. "I've read the lyrics. I've hummed the melodies. They're beautiful. And they're mine. Or, they were. I want to make them mine again. In this new voice. With this new heart." I squeezed her hand. "I just want to be in a studio. To create something. To take this one thing from the past that was pure and good my love for you, even then and give it a new life. That's all. Maybe release them. I don't even know if I want to perform live. That… scares the daylights out of the current me. But the recording part… it calls to me."
"Haven," I whispered, shifting to kneel in front of her, taking both her hands in mine. Her expression was a fortress, but I saw the turmoil in her dark eyes fear, protectiveness, a possessiveness so deep it was a chasm. "Trust me. I want to make the world know that I choose you. This time. Publicly. Not as the Althea who ran from you, but as the Althea who runs to you. Let me do this. For me. For us."
The silence that followed was thick enough to swim in. I could practically hear the arguments warring inside her: the need to keep me safe, sequestered, versus the need to give me what I wanted.
"It's a vulnerable industry," she said finally, her voice low and rough. "Even with the best contracts. Dana is good, but she answers to Angel, and Angel answers to shareholders. There will be expectations. Press. Curiosity. 'The Songstress Returns.' They'll pick apart every word, every note, looking for clues about your past, about us. They'll be a spotlight on you. On us."
"I know," I said.
"You don't," she countered, her grip tightening. "You remember none of it. The insatiable hunger of it. The way they twist things. One photo, one misinterpreted lyric, and they can build a narrative that can hurt you. I won't let them hurt you."
"Then protect me!" I said, my own voice rising with passion. "That's what you do! You're Haven Hartwell, CEO of Vale Hotels & Resorts! You're not just some scared Alpha; you're a force of nature. Be my force of nature in the shadows. Don't be a director—be my second manager. The one with ultimate access to my schedule, my contracts, my every move. The one Dana and Angel both know they have to answer to. Make the agency, make the whole industry, remember who I belong to. Who protects me. Do it from the inside, with me, not from the outside, against me."
Her eyes widened slightly. I could see the idea taking root, appealing to the strategic, controlling part of her soul. Turning a threat into a controlled operation. A shadow position with real power. It was perfect for her.
"It would mean you'd be out in the world more," she said, but the resistance was softening, turning into calculation. "Studios, meetings at Celestial Sound…"
"And you'll be with me," I said firmly. "As my second manager. You'll have every schedule, every guest list, every security report. Or your people will. Sushi can be my therapy dog in the studio. You can soundproof a whole wing of the house and build me a studio here for all I care! But let me do this. Let me have this piece of myself back. It's not the career that I want. It's the… the sound. The way the words and the notes fit together to say what I feel. I need to see if I still have that. And I want to use it to sing about you."
A long, shuddering breath escaped her. She pulled one hand from mine and brought it to my face, her thumb stroking my cheek. "You are terrifying," she whispered, a strange awe in her voice. "You lay my own darkness bare, call it your safety, and then ask me to arm you and open the gates. You ask me to fight my most fundamental instinct to hide you away because you trust that instinct to guard you in the open field. And you offer me the perfect position to do it from the shadows. My own little ghost in the machine of your career."
I leaned into her touch. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm asking."
"You want to tell the world you choose me," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
"I do."
"Even though the world will say you're confused, traumatized, suffering from Stockhol—"
I cut her off with a kiss. It was fierce and full of my own conviction. When I pulled back, I was breathless. "Let them talk. I'll have the music to prove them wrong. And I'll have you… and my very scary, very thorough second manager."
The last of the tension bled from her shoulders. The fortress walls didn't crumble, but they developed a gate, and I held the key. A slow, predatory, deeply possessive smile touched her lips. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
"Alright," she said, the word a solemn decree. "We'll do it. But on my terms. Our terms. I'll call Angel tomorrow. I'll have my lawyers draft an addendum to your contract, naming me as your secondary manager with full oversight and access. Dana will report to me on all security and logistical matters. Every piece of media, every interview request, every collaborator it all goes through me. You will have a security detail with you anytime you leave this house for work purposes. And the first single…" Her eyes glinted in the lamplight. "The first single will be one of the ones you wrote for me. And the video will be shot here. In our home. In our garden. So the world sees exactly where you belong while I watch from just off-camera."
A giddy, triumphant laugh bubbled out of me. It was the most over-the-top, controlling, ridiculously perfect agreement imaginable. It was so Haven. And it was everything I wanted.
"Yes," I breathed, throwing my arms around her neck. "Yes to all of it! My shadow manager. My guardian ghost. I love it."
She caught me, holding me tight, her face buried in my hair. "You are going to be the death of me, Althea Vale Hartwell," she mumbled, but she was laughing, a low, relieved, joyous sound. "My brave, brilliant, insane love. Using my own obsession as a blueprint for your freedom, and giving me a new title to feed it."
I pulled back just enough to grin at her. "You love it."
"I love you," she corrected, sealing the deal with a kiss that tasted of surrender and victory and a future filled with music. "Now," she said, her voice dropping to a playful growl as she rolled us over, "since you've just negotiated a major business deal and hired new management, I think your second manager deserves her… signing bonus."
I giggled, wrapping my legs around her waist. "And what form does this bonus take, Ms. Hartwell?"
"This," she said, and proceeded to show me, in exquisite, joyful detail, that sometimes the most profound choices are celebrated not with words or contracts, but with the silent, perfect language of a love that needed no memories to be completely, wildly, goofily true. And as I lost myself in her, I thought about studio microphones and garden music videos, and the beautiful, terrifying, wonderful shadow that would always be there, just behind my shoulder, making sure my song our song was heard.