The boardroom smelled like money.
Polished wood.
Old leather.
Cold air-conditioning that erased warmth on contact.
Hilary stood just outside the glass doors, fingers brushing the red ribbon on her wrist again and again. Inside, silhouettes moved—people who once applauded her, toasted her victories, praised her "vision."
Tonight, they were deciding whether she still existed.
Gerard stood beside her, one careful step away.
"I'll walk behind you," he said quietly. "Two steps. Close enough if you need me."
She nodded.
"Don't speak unless you want to," he added.
She turned toward him.
"I'm not here to be quiet."
His jaw tightened—not in anger, but in something closer to fear.
"Then I'll listen," he said.
The doors opened.
Conversation died instantly.
Hilary felt it—the collective pause, the recalibration. She lifted her chin and stepped inside, counting her steps, grounding herself in the texture of the carpet beneath her heels.
The long table stretched endlessly.
She couldn't see faces.
But she could hear judgment.
"Mrs. Laurent," Chairman Laurent said smoothly. "Thank you for coming."
Hilary stopped at the head of the table.
"Thank you for inviting me," she replied.
A flicker of surprise rippled through the room.
She hadn't waited for Gerard to speak.
Good.
"Let's begin," Vice Director Chen said. "This is a closed session."
Bianca sat three seats down from Gerard's usual position.
Too close.
Too intentional.
She smiled when Hilary turned toward her voice.
Hilary ignored her.
Chairman Laurent folded his hands. "We're here to discuss recent concerns regarding operational continuity."
Hilary nodded. "I assumed so."
"Your condition," Morris said bluntly, "has raised questions."
Hilary inhaled slowly.
"My condition," she repeated, "has not stopped me from cooking, creating, or leading."
"That remains to be proven," Morris replied.
Gerard shifted forward. "She—"
Hilary raised a hand.
He stopped.
The room noticed.
She spoke calmly. "If this meeting is about whether I'm still competent, I'd like to answer for myself."
A murmur followed.
Chairman Laurent studied her. "Very well."
Vice Director Chen leaned back. "Mrs. Laurent, are you aware that your husband has been making executive decisions on your behalf?"
The words landed exactly where Bianca intended.
Hilary turned slightly toward Gerard.
"I'm aware," she said. "And I'm aware of why."
Morris pressed, "Did you authorize it?"
Hilary paused.
Every instinct screamed *defend him*.
Instead, she told the truth.
"No," she said.
The room inhaled sharply.
Gerard went very still.
"But," Hilary continued, "I understand it."
Bianca tilted her head, intrigued.
"You understand having your autonomy overridden?" Morris asked.
Hilary smiled faintly. "I understand being protected when the world sharpens its knives."
"That's not an answer," Chen said.
"It is," Hilary replied. "Just not the one you wanted."
Silence fell.
Chairman Laurent cleared his throat. "Mrs. Laurent, we must consider risk."
"Risk to what?" Hilary asked softly.
"The brand," Morris said.
"The stock," Chen added.
"The public image," Bianca finished gently.
Hilary turned toward Bianca.
Her voice hardened.
"My illness is not a scandal."
Bianca's smile didn't waver. "Illness becomes scandal when it affects consent."
Hilary felt Gerard tense behind her.
"Explain," Hilary said.
Bianca clasped her hands. "The concern is whether you are still able to give informed consent—to contracts, appearances, decisions."
Hilary's chest burned.
"So this is about erasing me politely," she said.
"No one is erasing you," Chairman Laurent said quickly. "We're discussing temporary guardianship."
The word echoed.
Guardianship.
Over her.
Gerard stepped forward. "That's not happening."
Chairman Laurent raised a brow. "Mr. Laurent, you are conflicted."
Hilary laughed softly.
"That's rich," she said. "You're worried my husband loves me too much."
"This isn't personal," Morris said.
"It always is," Hilary replied.
She reached into her bag and placed something on the table.
A knife.
Her chef's knife.
Perfectly balanced.
The room stiffened.
"I can't recognize faces," Hilary said evenly. "That's true."
She placed her hand on the knife.
"But I recognize precision."
She sliced an apple placed nearby—thin, flawless cuts, each identical.
"I recognize balance."
She rearranged the slices without looking.
"And I recognize intention."
She turned toward the table.
"If you think my illness makes me less dangerous," she said calmly, "you've never watched someone survive without sight."
Bianca's eyes narrowed.
Vice Director Chen exhaled. "Impressive. But symbolic demonstrations don't answer legal concerns."
Hilary nodded. "Then let me answer clearly."
She squared her shoulders.
"I do not consent to guardianship."
Murmurs erupted.
"I do not consent to my voice being borrowed," she continued, gaze fixed forward. "And I do not consent to being treated as an asset instead of a person."
Chairman Laurent's voice hardened. "You may not have a choice."
Hilary felt Gerard step closer.
She didn't stop him this time.
"You always have a choice," Hilary said quietly. "You're just not used to women taking it."
Silence slammed down.
Bianca leaned forward. "And if your condition worsens?"
Hilary turned sharply.
"Then I adapt," she said. "Or I fall. But I fall as myself."
Bianca smiled thinly. "Brave. But bravery doesn't protect shareholders."
"No," Hilary agreed. "But loyalty does."
She turned her head slightly toward Gerard.
"I choose him," she said. "As my partner. Not my guardian."
Gerard's breath caught.
Chairman Laurent exchanged looks with the others.
"We'll need time," he said.
Hilary nodded. "Take it."
She picked up her knife.
"And while you do," she added, "remember this."
She paused at the door.
"If you try to erase me quietly," she said, voice steady, "I will make noise."
The doors closed behind her.
In the hallway, her legs finally shook.
Gerard caught her—careful, announced, steady.
"You were incredible," he whispered.
She leaned into him, exhausted.
"I was terrified."
He pressed his forehead to her hair. "They didn't win."
"Not yet," she said.
From inside the boardroom, Bianca watched through the glass.
Her smile returned.
This was better.
Resistance always was.