The late afternoon sun filtered through Willowbrook Manor's bay windows, casting a warm, golden glow across the kitchen island where Emily sat, her black hoodie slightly oversized and green shorts rumpled from a morning of sketching.
A month of isolation had softened her edges—raven hair loose in gentle waves, emerald eyes brighter but wary. The knock at the door had come sharp at 5 PM, right on time.
Now, Hellen Jacksen sat across from her on a high stool, legs crossed with effortless poise, her tailored navy suit hugging a frame that screamed power—tall and lean, blonde hair pulled into a sleek chignon, sharp cheekbones framing ice-blue eyes that scanned the room like a predator assessing territory.
Diamonds glinted subtle at her ears, heels polished to mirror shine. Emily shifted self-conscious, tugging her hoodie's hem down over bare thighs—petite curves soft in casual wear, no match for this woman's polished elegance.
Jealousy flickered unbidden; Hellen looked like she owned boardrooms, while Emily felt like a barista playing dress-up.
'It's not fair! I am an alpha too! Look at her, then at me—I look like an idiot! And why does she tower over me too?!'
Hellen's gaze settled cool on Emily, no warmth in her eyes, just clinical appraisal. News reports painted Emily as the stalker—tabloid 'villain' chasing Lily Warren—but Hellen knew better.
Whispers in investor circles buzzed of her genius ideas. The petite woman before her looked harmless, almost fragile—small frame swallowed by hoodie, hesitant posture screaming vulnerability despite alpha status.
Hellen's expression thawed a fraction, noting Emily's fidgeting hands, the vigilant emerald stare peeking from under dark lashes.
Talented, yes. Threat? Hardly.
The news reports weren't true. Looking at her, she could say that the woman in front of her couldn't even lift a dumbbell if she wanted.
Emily broke the silence first, voice soft but steady. She asked, "So, you're really here for business?"
"Yes." Hellen leaned forward, elbows on granite, suit jacket unbuttoned to reveal a crisp white blouse. "Legitimate offer, Ms. Leonhart. But let's cut all the pretence. Are you scared of me?"
Emily flinched, cheeks flushing pink under porcelain skin, eyes darting to the wildflowers on the console table—valley lilies nodding innocent. "W-who...? I-I'm not s-scared... I mean, no, I'm not."
The stutter escaped traitorously, old barista nerves bubbling up. Alphas like Hellen towered intimidating, all sharp lines and command presence. Emily's shorter frame curled instinctive, chest rising quick with anxious breaths, thighs pressing together under her gaze.
Hellen's lips quirked faint, almost amused. "Look at me then, Ms. Emily. We have much to discuss. And don't worry, I don't bite." Her voice was velvet over steel, brooking no evasion.
Emily nodded quick, forcing emerald eyes up, vigilant now—predatory glint sharpening despite the flinch. "Are you an alpha?" The question hung bold, testing waters.
Hellen arched a perfect brow, crossing her legs tighter, suit pants whispering silk. "Yes. Dominant designation, full of pheromones. You?"
Emily's smile bloomed tentative, a flash of white teeth against full lips. "Me too." Pride edged her tone, her 'alpha' fire peeking through fear.
"So, what?" Hellen's response—blank stare, unreadable mask. No nod, no smirk—just cool assessment.
Emily pushed on, grin widening awkward-charming. "Sisterhood... or brotherhood? Alphahood, maybe?" The word tumbled silly, earnest olive branch from a woman starved for allies.
Hellen sighed deep, shaking her head slow, blonde strands catching light like spun gold. News painted a monster; reality delivered harmless 'pixie'—petite, soft-featured, raven waves framing a face that begged protection. If not for alpha registry, anyone would peg her omega—doe-like hesitance, curves plush under casual clothes. Besides, she looked utterly beautiful—a beauty above gender, that's what she was.
"Commendable attempt at rapport, but focus. I have a question—do you truly stalk actress Lily Warren? Tabloids scream obsession, and I need to know about you a bit more before I propose my idea to you."
Emily's eyes flashed fire, standing abrupt—hoodie riding up thighs, shorts hugging hips bold. "No! I don't!" Denial rang fierce, cheeks burning. "She's the one who iced me first. I'm done with that drama. Also, I don't like women!"
Hellen's gaze softened fraction more, appraising the spark. "Fair enough. You don't seem the type."
Relief flooded Emily warm, tension uncoiling like spring. Habit kicked in; she bolted to kitchen proper, bare feet padding cool granite.
Cabinets yielded treasures—fresh-baked cakes from morning—lemon drizzle golden-crumbed, chocolate fudge dense-decadent, dusted sugar fine. Coffee pot gurgled rich dark roast, jasmine notes wafting homey. Tray laden careful—porcelain plates, silver forks, cream pitcher frothy, sugar cubes tonged neat—she returned beaming, setting it front of Hellen with barista flourish.
"Here you go. Enjoy your order." Words slipped automatic, muscle memory from coffee shop counters.
Hellen blinked, fork pausing mid-air, ice-blue eyes widening fraction. "Order?"
Emily froze, heat crawling neck—curse inward sharp. Not barista Emily anymore, CEO-fallen or not. Awkward smile crooked her lips, raven strand falling forward.
"Sorry, old habits. Before I became the CEO... or, ex-CEO, I was a waitress... barista, actually. Long shifts slinging lattes, cakes like these. Kept me sane." Vulnerability spilled honest, emerald eyes dropping shy to tray.
"So, you did a part-time job before you entered the line of fashion?"
Emily nodded, "Yes!"
Hellen paused, fork spearing lemon drizzle deliberate. First bite: crumb melting soft, tang bright on tongue.
"Exceptional," she murmured genuine, alpha reserve cracking. "Undercurrent of almond, perfect crust." Coffee sip followed—bold, jasmine-kissed, no bitterness. "This rivals Paris patisseries. You have a talent, Ms. Leonhart."
Emily's cheeks warmed pleasure, perching back on stool, shorts riding higher unconscious. "Thanks. Baking clears my head."
"Shall we talk about business now?"
"Of course, that's what I was waiting for."
Hellen nodded slow, setting fork down, napkin dabbing lips precise. "Precisely why I'm here. Let me be clear—my luxury line needs your everyday edge—bias infusions for high-end without stiff price. But before that—I will make one thing clear to you. My company is in decline."
"How?"
"Your father has destroyed my market before he let you become the CEO of his company. Then again, he has removed you from your position a month ago."
"Then what do you need me for?"
"I need you for a lot of things. Look, Ms. Leonhart— 'Herlos' is in decline... on the verge of bankruptcy. But you can help me."
Emily leaned in, emerald vigilance melting intrigue. "How? Consulting? Patterns? Fits?" What was she going to do with a company which would bankrupt soon? Why did she even come to her?
'What should I do?! Hellen is overestimating me, isn't she?'
"I want you to join me."
"Join you?" Emily was a bit confused by her words. "I don't understand."
"Ms. Leonhart, I want you to be my partner. I will sell you half of my shares at a very low cost. You will own the company alongside me."