The rumor started before dawn.
It always did.
By the time Hilary woke up, the damage had already spread through whispers, side glances, and carefully worded concern.
"She looked unwell last night."
"She disappeared for quite a while."
"Did you see Gerard escort her out?"
"What if she can't handle public pressure anymore?"
Hilary lay still in bed, staring at the ceiling she could no longer trust.
The voices weren't in the room.
They were worse.
They lived in her head.
She didn't need to see faces to feel judgment.
She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, breath shallow.
Gerard stood near the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice low and precise.
"Yes," he said. "I understand."
Pause.
"No. That won't be necessary."
Another pause—longer.
"If you proceed without my approval," he continued calmly, "you will be terminating your own position."
Silence.
Then—
"Good. We're aligned."
He ended the call and turned.
Hilary didn't look at him.
She didn't need to.
She felt him cross the room, felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat beside her.
"They're saying things," she whispered before he could speak.
"Yes," he replied. "They are."
Her fingers clenched the sheets.
"I didn't mean to cause trouble."
"You didn't," he said immediately.
"But—"
"I did."
She turned her head sharply.
"What?"
"I pulled you out," he said. "I canceled the rest of the event. I cleared the room."
Her chest tightened.
"That's not—Gerard, the board—"
"Is my responsibility."
She swallowed.
"They'll think I'm weak."
"They already tried," he said calmly. "They failed."
She frowned.
"How?"
He reached for her hand, grounding her before answering.
"Because I didn't explain," he said. "I declared."
Her heart skipped.
"What did you say?"
He hesitated—not because he was unsure, but because he was choosing the least painful version of the truth.
"I said," Gerard began evenly, "that my wife experienced a medical episode due to exhaustion, and that any speculation beyond that would be treated as defamation."
Hilary's breath caught.
"That's it?"
"That's all they deserve."
She shook her head slowly.
"But rumors don't die that easily."
"No," he agreed. "So I buried them."
Her brow furrowed.
He continued, tone still calm.
"I called an emergency executive briefing at nine."
Her eyes widened.
"You did what?"
"I made it very clear," he said, "that anyone who discussed your health outside authorized channels would be immediately removed from this company."
Her lips parted.
"You can't just—"
"I can," he interrupted gently. "And I did."
She sat up abruptly.
"Gerard, you're risking everything."
"Yes."
The word landed solidly between them.
She stared at him, heart pounding.
"For me?" she whispered.
"For us," he corrected.
Her throat tightened.
"What if they push back?"
"They won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
He finally looked directly at her.
"Because power only works when people believe you're willing to use it."
She exhaled shakily.
"And are you?"
He didn't answer with words.
He squeezed her hand instead—steady, unflinching.
The silence said everything.
Tears welled in her eyes.
"I don't want to be the reason you lose respect," she said softly.
Gerard leaned closer.
"You are the reason I have it."
Her breath hitched.
"You shouldn't have to fight the world because of me."
"I'm not fighting," he said quietly. "I'm standing."
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed.
"Last night," she admitted, voice trembling, "I thought I was dying."
He brushed his thumb gently over her knuckles.
"And this morning," he replied, "the world learned that touching you has consequences."
A knock sounded at the door.
Soft.
Careful.
"Mr. Vale?" Jessica's voice came through.
"Yes," Gerard answered.
She entered slowly, carrying a tablet.
"I… um," Jessica began, glancing at Hilary, "there's been a development."
Gerard nodded. "Tell me."
Jessica took a breath.
"The board meeting has been… tense."
Hilary stiffened.
Jessica continued, choosing her words carefully.
"Several members attempted to propose a temporary reduction in Hilary's public role."
Hilary's stomach dropped.
Gerard didn't react.
"And?" he prompted.
Jessica swallowed.
"They withdrew the proposal."
Relief rushed through Hilary.
"Why?" she asked.
Jessica hesitated.
"Because," she said quietly, "Mr. Vale reminded them that Hilary is not an asset to be adjusted."
Hilary's eyes burned.
"What did he call me?" she whispered.
Jessica smiled faintly.
"His wife."
Gerard stood then, adjusting his cuffs with controlled precision.
"There will be no further discussion about Hilary's capabilities," he said. "Not today. Not ever."
Jessica nodded.
"There's… one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Bianca requested reassignment."
Hilary froze.
Gerard's gaze sharpened.
"On what grounds?"
"She cited 'personal discomfort' working under the current atmosphere."
A pause.
Then Gerard smiled.
It wasn't warm.
"Denied," he said.
Jessica blinked.
"Sir?"
"She stays," Gerard said evenly. "Under observation."
Jessica nodded, understanding immediately.
"I'll make arrangements."
When she left, the room fell quiet again.
Hilary hugged herself lightly.
"She knows you're protecting me," she said. "She'll try something else."
"I'm counting on it," Gerard replied.
She looked at him.
"Aren't you afraid?"
He shook his head.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because predators only strike when they think no one's watching."
She inhaled slowly.
"And now?"
"Now," he said, turning back to her, "they know exactly where I stand."
Her voice softened.
"In front of me?"
He smiled faintly.
"Always."
She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his chest.
The scent grounded her.
Cedar.
Paper.
Coffee.
Right.
Outside the room, Bianca stood in the corridor, tablet clutched tightly in her hand.
Her reassignment denied.
Her access limited.
Her leash shortened.
She smiled thinly.
Protection, she thought.
How romantic.
How fragile.
And she understood something then—
The man didn't just love his wife.
He was willing to burn everything for her.
That made Hilary dangerous.
And Bianca never walked away from danger.