The Unforgiving Nature of Mornings

There are mornings you wake refreshed, sunlight warm, sheets perfect, and the world offering itself like a gourmet breakfast. Then there are mornings when your phone screams bloody murder at seven a.m., ripping you from the best sleep you've ever known.

Guess which kind today was?

The phone wailed again, vibrating so hard it nearly fell off the nightstand. My hand shot out, blindly groping the screen. I cracked open one eye, groaning into the receiver. "This better be life-or-death, Jordan, or it's going to be yours."

Jordan's voice surged through, high-pitched and panicky. "Miss Ryvenhart, the Glenbourne Corporate Gala is in two days!"

I dragged the pillow over my face, muffling a sigh. "It's called a calendar, Jordan. They invented them precisely so we wouldn't panic over scheduled events."

"No, you don't understand!" He sounded moments from hyperventilation. "We've prepared nothing no charity pledge, no media kits, no confirmed guests. Miss, we're officially in PR hell!"

"Jordan," I said, my tone deliberately calm, "deep breaths. It's a gala, not nuclear launch codes. Go have a coffee and chill. We'll sort this out when I arrive."

"But "

"Goodbye, Jordan."

I hung up, rolling back into the heavenly warmth of my duvet. Problem deferred, I snuggled deeper, eyes drifting shut. Blissful unconsciousness beckoned, whispering promises of oblivion : 

[Wake up, Host.]

I groaned. "Oh no, don't you dare "

[You have a long day ahead.]

"I have ten minutes of sleep ahead. Give me that, at least."

[Negative. Time is money, and currently you're squandering company assets on a mattress.]

"Fine," I hissed, tossing the blankets aside. "I hate you."

[Noted. Affection remains irrelevant.]

Dragging myself into the bathroom felt like trudging through quicksand. Cold water, hot coffee, tailored suits—the holy trinity of corporate mornings. Exactly thirty minutes later, I emerged from my quarters impeccably dressed and barely sentient, my alpha scent safely muted beneath a fresh blocker patch.

In the corridor, two beta maids dusted antiques and straightened portraits. They no longer flinched at my footsteps progress.

"Good morning, Miss Ryvenhart," they greeted in tandem, polite smiles but relaxed eyes. Another small win.

"Morning," I replied with an amiable nod, noting how odd genuine politeness still felt on my tongue.

Breakfast was waiting in the dining hall poached eggs, avocado toast sprinkled with smoked paprika, fresh fruit arranged like tiny edible sculptures. Luxury on porcelain, delivered daily by a chef who probably dreamed of opening his own café but settled instead for fueling the wealthy and jaded. I savored every bite, a calm before the PR storm that awaited.

At the entrance, my chauffeur stood ready. "Good morning, Miss Ryvenhart," he said, bowing his head slightly, opening the car door like a gateway into corporate purgatory.

"Morning, Theo," I replied, sliding into leather seats that hugged me better than most relationships.

The car hummed through the city streets, skyscrapers blurred into metallic streaks by tinted windows. I rested my head against cool glass, mentally cataloging everything awaiting me at the office. Jordan's panic. Unscheduled gala dramas. Whatever fresh hell tabloids might've conjured overnight.

And Sera, who had witnessed last night's embarrassing omega ambush. Remembering that scene flooded my chest with irritation. Of course, she had to be there to see it, one step forward, two giant leaps back into reputation purgatory.

Twenty minutes later, the car rolled to a smooth stop in front of corporate headquarters. I stepped out, buttoning my jacket. The city air was sharp, bracing, my exhaustion momentarily chased by cold reality.

Then I saw her.

Sera stood near the entrance, headphones around her neck, fingers tucked into the sleeves of a jacket several sizes too big. Her gaze met mine, expression guarded but significantly less hostile than usual.

"Morning," she said quietly, before turning toward the lobby doors.

"Morning," I replied, surprised my voice didn't crack under the sheer weight of awkwardness. A tiny shift—no warmth, but at least the absence of frostbite.

I watched her disappear inside, then muttered a curse aimed squarely at the pheromone-slinging omega who'd nearly ruined my attempt at a fresh start. I straightened my spine and strode into the building, pushing away lingering annoyance.

Inside, Jordan hovered anxiously like a caffeinated hummingbird, dark circles highlighting sleepless panic.

"Good morning, Miss Ryvenhart," he babbled, thrusting a tablet into my hands, screen flashing with neon urgency. "I compiled everything we missed charity choices, guest invitations, press "

"Breathe," I said, stepping toward the elevator. "We'll fix it."

Jordan darted inside with me, jabbed the button for my floor, and resumed his breakdown. "If we don't make a strong showing, the board will murder us, metaphorically. Possibly literally."

The elevator doors dinged open. "Metaphorical murder I can handle. Come on."

Inside my office, I dropped into the high-backed chair, tapping fingers impatiently on the polished mahogany desk. "First things first, charity. What's our theme this year?"

"Health or education, preferably," Jordan said, scrambling for notes. "Both poll well with the shareholders."

I considered. "Mental health awareness. Practical, personal, necessary. Prepare a substantial pledge. That'll impress the board and public alike."

Jordan nodded rapidly, scribbling notes with manic energy. "Next guests. We need at least three notable attendees. Influencers, musicians, someone fresh "

The system chimed in privately, a floating holographic box nudging my peripheral vision.

[Recommendation: invite Sera Lin. Event exposure will bolster public perception ahead of her single release, increasing projected streaming numbers by approximately 11.4%. Mutual benefit.]

I hesitated. "Invite Sera Lin," I said aloud, making Jordan's pen freeze mid-stroke.

He stared at me wide-eyed. "Miss Lin? Are you sure that's wise given… everything?"

"Wise, maybe not," I admitted, "but effective. She has talent, and the gala will put her in front of influential eyes. Good for her career, good for us. Add her to the guest list."

Jordan scribbled faster. "Understood. Anyone else?"

"Include Director Nakamura she's got credibility and someone popular yet safe from A&R. Nova Alden, for example. People love her charm."

Jordan nodded emphatically. "Perfect."

I exhaled. "Good. Now, arrange a quick meeting with all three of them today. Clear communication avoids surprises."

"Right away," Jordan said, dashing from the room like a human whirlwind.

Alone again, I leaned back in the chair, massaging my temples. Inviting Sera was strategically sound, but emotionally precarious. If she misunderstood my intent, or if another omega ambush unfolded, I'd be lucky if she ever spoke to me again.

[You're nervous, Host.]

"Observant as always," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. "This is delicate. Sera already distrusts me."

[Precisely why you invited her. Trust is built slowly, through consistent beneficial actions.]

"I just hope she sees it that way."

[Statistically, the probability of successful trust-building through positive exposure stands at 74%. The odds favor you.]

"Comforting." I glanced at the clock, dread rising slightly. Any minute, the trio would arrive Sera among them and I'd have to convince her this wasn't some elaborate setup or manipulation.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes later, Jordan returned, ushering them in. Director Nakamura nodded respectfully, Nova Alden's gaze sparkled with easy friendliness, and finally, Sera her posture defensive but cautiously curious.

"Thank you all for coming," I began, voice professional and measured. "As you know, the Glenbourne Corporate Gala is in two days. Ryvenhart Entertainment is making a substantial pledge toward mental health initiatives this year."

I turned my gaze toward Sera. "Miss Lin, your upcoming release aligns perfectly with the gala's messaging. This is an excellent opportunity to showcase your work to influential industry leaders. Would you join us as one of our honored guests?"

Sera blinked slowly, absorbing my offer. She glanced subtly at Nova, who gave her a slight, encouraging nod.

"I'm… honored," she said at last, cautious but accepting. "Thank you for the opportunity."

Something loosened in my chest, tension draining fractionally. "Excellent."

Nova beamed brightly, adding, "Sounds like a fun night."

Director Nakamura gave a pleased hum of approval. "Good choices. Fresh, meaningful, relevant."

Jordan visibly exhaled, panic melting from his expression.

"Perfect," I said firmly. "We'll prepare everything necessary wardrobe, logistics, media. Any questions?"

Heads shook collectively Sera's hesitantly, but without hostility. A tiny, tentative win.

"Good," I concluded. "Let's make this gala memorable."