Hellen slipped quietly into her bedroom, the door easing shut behind her with a soft, muffled click that seemed to swallow itself in the stillness of the upper hall.
Moonlight poured through the tall sash windows like liquid silver, bathing the room in a pale, ethereal glow. It traced the edges of her four-poster bed, where the creamy brown duvet lay smooth and untouched, rumpled only slightly at the pillows from earlier restlessness.
Long shadows stretched across the thick rug, its intricate patterns of magenta and indigo fading into darkness near the walls lined with built-in bookshelves—volumes of fashion ledgers, old family journals, and a few dog-eared novels her mother had loved.
The air carried the faint, comforting scent of aged wood and lavender from the linens, mingled with the distant whisper of wind through the oaks outside.
Before retreating fully, she paused at the guest room door just down the corridor, the one she'd assigned to Emily.
The door stood slightly ajar, as Emily preferred, and in the sliver of light from the hallway, Hellen could make out the steady rise and fall of her chest, raven hair fanned wild across the pillow in the deep surrender of sleep. A smile appeared on her face unconsciously at the sight.
Emily's face was relaxed, lips parted soft, one arm thrown above her head—vulnerable, trusting.
Satisfied she was safe, Hellen turned away, her own footsteps light on the creaking floorboards as she crossed back to her own room.
She moved to the full-length mirror by the vanity, its ornate gilded frame catching the warm amber glow of the lamp she flicked on with her good hand. The light bloomed soft, illuminating her reflection like a portrait come alive.
Blonde waves fell tousled around her shoulders, framing a face sharpened by high cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. But it was her eyes that held her—ice-blue, stormy now, swirling with a dangerous cocktail of paranoia and raw, unfiltered possessiveness.
They narrowed at her own gaze, pupils dilated just enough to betray the turmoil beneath. The bandaged hand throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, the white wrap bulky and stark against the sleeve of her gray sweater, rolled up earlier to expose the damage.
A few flecks of dried blood stained the wool faintly, a reminder of the evening's chaos. She flexed her fingers gingerly, wincing at the pull of the closures, the memory of porcelain shards embedding deep flashing vivid.
She hadn't seen this coming. Not like this. Emily was supposed to be a means to an end—a business partner, nothing more.
That was the plan from the start—calculated, professional, arms-length. Keep it clean. Leverage her brains, her grit, and move on. She wanted to use Viktor's own daughter to take revenge against him. That was all she had in mind—she thought Emily would just be a partner... nothing more.
Hellen traced the line of her own collarbone in the mirror.
It had begun as strategy pure and simple. Emily—Viktor's daughter, the black sheep with a trail of bad rumours clinging like smoke—whispers of instability, reckless decisions, that viral cat video, painting her as soft-hearted.
Hellen had approached her with eyes wide open, seeing opportunity in the chaos. A talented woman, yes—eyes sharp with hustle, ideas flowing from her mind constantly. Emily proved it all.
She was a partner material, undeniably. But somewhere along the line, the lines blurred. Emily hooked her deeper than strategy allowed, seeping in like a drug you swore you'd quit.
The more Hellen resisted—told herself no, focus on business—the stronger the pull grew. Cravings sharpened—the memory of Emily's curves nestling soft in her arms that day, ankle twisted, body light and yielding as silk against her chest during the bridal carry up from the storeroom.
Raven hair spilling cool over her hand, breath puffing warm at her collarbone. That scent clinging, unique, intoxicating—not some borrowed omega trace, but Emily's own, stirring instincts Hellen had buried deep.
How could an alpha smell this good?
Maybe it started right there, in that dusty fall—the weightlessness of her, the trust immediate, no questions, pride cracking open like an egg for Hellen to see the soft yolk inside. Emily leaning in, vulnerable, letting Hellen tend the swelling... and ultimately her.
Would she run if she knew the truth? The raw instincts howling under Hellen's skin: to pin Emily down on those floors, mark her nape deep with teeth until she gasped claimed, knot her senseless in a nest of tangled sheets till purrs vibrated chest-deep, body swelling round with their babies. Scare the fire right out of those eyes? Turn partner to prey?
Hellen lifted her injured palm closer to the mirror, turning it slowly in the light. The bandage felt tight, a prison for the rage that had surged unchecked. Emily's voice replayed clear—painting her dream omega so vivid—male, hazel eyes crinkling shy in laughter, lithe muscles under sun-kissed skin, scent of fresh rain and honey begging to be chased, claimed, knotted.
Each word a spark on dry tinder. Control snapped like a dry twig under boot—possessive black flooding veins, mug pulverized in her fist accidental, shards drawing blood.
Anger at the image, the want Emily described for someone else. Worth it? God, yes. Emily's worry creasing her smooth brow, hands gentle plucking shards, pressing napkins to stem the flow, calling the doctor sharp-voiced.
Then feeding her spoon by spoon—soup, cheese stretching gooey strings, apples crisp—shared metal brushing lips intimate. It melted something long frozen inside, walls crumbling under care so casual, so pure.
Since Mother's death years back—cancer stealing her slow, leaving Hellen's world a hollow shell—no one had touched her phone. Walls built sky-high, trust rationed like air.
But when Emily snatched it playful from her fingers that evening, no flinch, no demand; Hellen gave the password easy, screens blooming open like nests offered free. First in years. Emily's touch on tech, on life—unlocking doors Hellen bolted shut.
But alphas couldn't court alphas. Society's iron rule, biology's bitter laugh—pheromones repelled, instincts clashing like storm fronts. Yet the ache gnawed relentless—to knot Emily raw and thorough, swell her belly with their children, heirs to carry on.
Nest mornings tangled in sheets, purrs rumbling shared, Emily's raven hair haloed on pillows, emerald eyes soft post-claim.
No. She couldn't cross that line. Partners first—business binding them tight, Emily seeing her as friend, emerald trust pure and unaware of the storm brewing.
Hellen turned from the mirror at last, shoulders slumping as she sank to the bed's edge, bandaged hand cradling a pillow to her chest like fragile hope. Business held the line, firm as factory steel. Even if the heart rebelled quiet, insistent.
Moonlight watched patient through the windows; trees whispered outside. Emily slept safe down the hall; Hellen guarded the night, instincts simmering low, wanting the forbidden with every guarded breath.