Sleep was a foreign country Kaelen could not enter. She spent the hours until dawn pacing the cold expanse of her suite, the Dominion gel's artificial energy making her thoughts spin in frantic, dizzying circles. Each time she glanced at Sera's still form on the sofa, the phantom 100% hovered in her mind's eye, a shackle around her conscience.
The System remained silent, its judgment rendered. It was now a waiting warden, observing to see if its prisoner would break further or finally learn the rules of her confinement.
As the first grey light of dawn bled into the penthouse, painting the metropolis in muted tones, the apartment's AI smoothly increased the lighting. The transition was seamless, inhumanly perfect. A notification glowed in her periphery.
Morning Briefing: 08:00. Executive Suite. Agenda: Quarterly Projections. Attire: Formal Corporate.
Right. The performance had to continue. She moved to a wardrobe that was less a closet and more a automated inventory system. At her approach, a panel slid open, presenting a selection of severe, impeccably tailored suits in black, navy, and charcoal grey. She chose the black, its fabric a high tech weave that felt cool and weightless against her skin.
As she dressed, her eyes kept straying to Sera. The Omega was still deeply under, her breathing slow and even. A low, pained whimper escaped her even in sleep. Kaelen's hands, buttoning her jacket, faltered.
Warning: Proximity to target without hostile intent.
A sharp, localized pain, like a bee sting, hit her just below her ribs. She sucked in a breath, her fingers finishing the buttons with jerky movements. The message was clear: concern was a punishable offense.
She turned her back on the living room and approached the master bathroom. The smart mirror activated as she neared.
Pheromone Levels: Stabilizing (Dominion Assisted). Stress Markers: High. Bio readiness: Acceptable. Recommended: Hydration, Nutrient Supplement.
She ignored the recommendations. Instead, she focused on her reflection. The woman staring back was a stranger sculpted from ice and sharp angles. The suit was armor. The Dominion gel was a war mask. She practiced a look of cold indifference, letting the chemical induced dominance hollow out her eyes. She had to be Kaelen Blackwood, heir apparent, for her father. She had to be the monster for Sera. She was a woman divided, and each half was a lie.
A soft chime from the main room was not the breakfast delivery, but a different alert.
Nursery Cam 2 Motion Detected.
The hidden door to the servant's passage slid open. Iris stood there, clutching her glowing teddy bear. She was still in her pajamas, her small face pale with a fear that had become a default setting. Her eyes darted first to her sleeping aunt, then to Kaelen. She froze, a rabbit caught in a spotlight.
Kaelen's breath hitched. This was different. Sera's hatred was a known, quantifiable entity. This child's fear was a raw, open wound. She expected the System to flare, to warn her away.
Instead, something else flickered in her vision, translucent and faint.
Iris Vesper. Approximate Approval: 0%.
Zero. Not negative. A neutral void. After the crushing weight of Sera's -100%, it felt like a reprieve. The child didn't hate her yet; she was just terrified. It was a tiny, fragile foothold.
"Hey," Kaelen said, her voice softer than she intended. It sounded strange to her own ears, stripped of the Dominion fueled edge she'd been practicing.
Iris didn't respond. She just stared, her knuckles white around the teddy bear.
Warning: Interaction may be perceived as inconsistent.
A minor throb behind her eyes. She was being too gentle. The original Kaelen would have barked at the child to go away. But the zero percent held her steady. She couldn't shatter this one, fragile thing.
She looked around, her gaze landing on the lavish fruit bowl a server bot had delivered moments earlier. Among the perfect, glossy apples and exotic starfruit was a small cluster of sugar dusted donuts, a bizarre, childish indulgence in the otherwise severe penthouse. A concession, perhaps, from a staff member who knew of the hidden child.
Slowly, moving as if disarming a bomb, Kaelen picked up one of the donuts. She held it out, not stepping closer, her expression carefully neutral.
"Here," she said, her tone flat, but not unkind. "You should eat."
Iris's eyes widened. She looked from the donut to Kaelen's face, her confusion mirroring her aunt's from the night before. This was not the script she knew. After a long, hesitant moment, she took a tiny, shuffling step forward, then another, before snatching the donut and retreating quickly to the safety of the passageway. She didn't say a word. She just disappeared, the door sliding shut behind her.
The interaction was over in seconds. A silent transaction of sugar and fear.
Kaelen's comms device buzzed. A message from her father's executive assistant. CEO is awaiting your arrival.
Time was up. She turned and walked toward the private elevator that would take her directly to the executive floors of Blackwood Corporation. The doors slid open, revealing a mirrored interior.
As the elevator descended, she watched her reflection. The ice cold Alpha in the sharp black suit. The perfect heir. The woman who had just, for a moment, fed a frightened child.
The elevator doors opened not onto a public lobby, but directly into a plush, soundproofed antechamber outside her father's office. The air here was different older. It smelled of old money, polished wood, and the faint, oppressive scent of Dominant Alpha, Magnus's signature scent of frost and iron.
His assistant, a severe Beta woman, nodded her toward the double oak doors. "He's waiting for you, Miss Blackwood."
Kaelen took a steadying breath, the Dominion gel humming under her skin, and pushed the doors open.
Magnus Blackwood's office was a testament to power. One entire wall was a single pane of smart glass, overlooking the city his corporation owned in all but name. The other walls were lined with real, printed books and antique artifacts. He sat behind a vast desk carved from a single piece of dark heartwood, his back to the door, watching the morning traffic flow like blood through the city's veins.
He did not turn around.
"The quarterly reports from Bio Synth are disappointing," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through the room. "The yield on the new pheromone enhancers is below projections."
Kaelen stood stiffly in the center of the room, her hands clenched at her sides. This was it. The first test.
"The synthesis process is unstable," she said, parroting a line she'd read in the original's memories. "The molecular bonds…"
"I am aware of the science," he interrupted, his tone cutting. He still didn't turn. "I am not interested in excuses. I am interested in results. Your mother did not sacrifice her legacy for you to bring me excuses."
The words were a precisely aimed dagger, twisted with a practiced cruelty. Kaelen felt them physically, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. This was how he wielded his grief. As a weapon. As a leash.
Warning: Emotional response detected. Maintain character.
She locked her knees, forcing her expression into one of cold acceptance. "The yield will be improved. I'll oversee the process personally."
Finally, he turned. Magnus Blackwood was a man in his late fifties, with the same sharp, elegant features as his children, but on him, they were carved from granite. His eyes, the same frost grey as Kaelen's, held no warmth, only a calculating sharpness.
"See that you do." His gaze swept over her, dissecting. "Lilith informed me you had… difficulties last night. With the Vesper girl."
Kaelen's blood ran cold. She kept her face a mask. "It was handled. A necessary reminder of her place."
"Her place," Magnus repeated slowly, steepling his fingers. "Her place is a courtesy extended by this family. A courtesy that hangs by a thread. Do not forget why she is here. Do not forget what her family cost us." He leaned forward slightly, and the pressure of his Dominant aura filled the room, a suffocating weight. "Your sentimentality is a weakness, Kaelen. One I will not tolerate. Your mother's memory deserves a stronger heir."
The threat was clear. Her position was conditional. Her value was tied directly to her ability to be as ruthless as he was.
"There is no sentiment," she forced out, the lie tasting like ash. "Only utility."
He held her gaze for a long, terrifying moment, and she felt laid bare. Could he see the stranger screaming inside his daughter's body?
"Good," he said finally, dismissing her by turning back to the window. "Do not be late for the review. And ensure your… fiancée… is presentable. The press will be there. The world expects a certain image from us."
The mention of the press sent a new chill through her. Sera, the former darling of the Vesper family, now a reclusive, rarely seen figure. An actress forced off the world's stage and into a gilded cage. Her uncle, the current head of the crumbling Vesper Pharmaceuticals, would be there too, a puppet dancing on Blackwood's strings.
Dismissed, Kaelen turned and walked out, her legs trembling with the effort of maintaining her composure. The oak doors shut behind her, and she leaned against the cool wall of the antechamber, her heart hammering.
She had survived the encounter. But as she stood there, the echo of her father's words "Your mother's memory deserves a stronger heir" mingling with the memory of a silent child accepting a donut, she understood the true shape of her cage.
The bars were not made of titanium or glass. They were made of grief, guilt, and expectation. And her father held the key.