The boardroom smelled like cold money.
Polished wood.
Glass walls.
Air conditioning tuned just a little too low—sharp enough to keep emotions in check.
Hilary stood just outside the door, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag.
She could hear them.
Low voices.
Controlled laughter.
The subtle scrape of chairs.
A room full of people who believed they owned the future.
Gerard stepped closer to her side, not touching her yet.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Hilary nodded.
She wasn't ready.
But she was never ready anymore.
"Remember," Gerard said, lowering his voice even further, "you don't have to say much. I'll handle the visuals."
The word *visuals* stabbed gently at her chest.
She inhaled.
"Yes," she said. "I know."
The door opened.
Sound rushed out first.
Conversation stopped in staggered beats.
Hilary felt it—the shift. The way attention moved like a spotlight she couldn't see but could *feel* on her skin.
She walked in.
Her heels clicked evenly. Muscle memory. Training. Years of walking into rooms like this as a queen, not a liability.
She smiled.
She always smiled.
"Good morning," Gerard said smoothly. "Thank you for accommodating us on short notice."
Chairs moved.
Someone gestured.
"Please," a male voice said. "Sit."
Hilary followed Gerard's subtle movements. Half a step here. Pause. Turn. Chair.
She sat.
The table was cold beneath her fingertips.
She focused on scent.
Gerard—warm cedar, familiar leather, the faint trace of coffee he'd forgotten to finish.
Other scents overlapped.
Citrus. Musk. Expensive cologne layered with ambition.
Too many.
A woman spoke first.
"Hillary—"
Hilary's breath caught.
Gerard's knee pressed gently against hers under the table.
"She's right here," he said calmly. "You can address her directly."
A pause.
"I apologize," the woman corrected. "Hilary."
Hilary nodded, smiling again.
"I understand," she said. "It's been a busy season."
It hadn't.
It had been a disaster.
Another voice joined in—older, authoritative.
"We're concerned about your availability for the upcoming international competition."
Hilary tilted her head slightly.
"Concerned how?"
There it was.
The question sharpened.
"You've delegated several appearances," the man continued. "And you missed the tasting review last week."
Hilary opened her mouth—
And froze.
She knew the answer.
She knew the *script*.
But for a second, she couldn't place the voice.
It terrified her.
Gerard spoke immediately.
"My wife has been recovering from a minor injury," he said. "Nothing that affects her professional capabilities."
Hilary swallowed.
*Minor,* she thought.
The word tasted bitter.
The woman across the table leaned forward.
"We understand recovery," she said gently. "But the brand relies heavily on Hilary's presence. Her image."
Image.
Faces.
Recognition.
Hilary felt her palms dampen.
"I am still cooking," she said, carefully. "Daily. Personally."
"Yes," another voice said. "But can you still—"
The pause was deliberate.
"—perform under pressure?"
Silence thickened.
Hilary felt it sliding toward her like a blade.
Gerard's hand covered hers.
Warm.
Solid.
"She can," he said flatly. "And she will."
The man cleared his throat.
"With respect, Gerard, this isn't about loyalty. It's about risk."
Hilary finally spoke again.
"If you're asking whether I'm still capable of excellence," she said, her voice steady despite the pulse hammering in her ears, "the answer is yes."
She leaned forward slightly.
"I don't cook with my eyes."
A few brows lifted.
"I cook with memory," Hilary continued. "With scent. With instinct. With discipline."
She paused.
"And with results."
The room shifted.
Not convinced.
But listening.
Then—
Someone laughed softly.
Too soft.
Too close.
"Instinct is admirable," a woman's voice said. "But consistency is what investors trust."
Hilary's heart jumped.
That voice—
She knew it.
Not the face.
But the *placement*.
Too near.
She turned her head toward the sound.
Her smile faltered for half a second.
Gerard felt it.
His grip tightened.
"That's enough," he said sharply.
The room froze.
"I won't have my wife evaluated like a product," Gerard continued. "If this board has doubts, address them to me."
The chairman sighed.
"No one is attacking Hilary," he said. "But optics matter."
Hilary exhaled slowly.
Optics.
She wanted to scream.
Instead, she stood.
The movement startled them.
"I am still here," she said quietly. "Still capable. Still committed."
She bowed her head slightly.
"If you choose to doubt me, that is your right."
She straightened.
"But do not mistake adaptation for weakness."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Gerard stood beside her.
"We're done," he said.
They left before permission was given.
Outside, the hallway felt brighter.
Hilary's legs trembled only after the door closed behind them.
She leaned into Gerard instinctively.
"You did well," he murmured.
"I almost—" she stopped. "I almost didn't know who was speaking."
"I know."
"I hate that."
"I know."
She inhaled his scent deeply, grounding herself again.
"I don't want to be protected forever," she whispered.
Gerard kissed her hair.
"I don't want to live in a world where you aren't," he replied.
Neither noticed the figure still seated at the table.
Bianca.
Silent.
Observant.
Her smile was small.
And satisfied.
The elevator doors slid shut.
Only then did Hilary's knees give in.
Gerard caught her immediately, one arm firm around her waist.
"You're safe," he said, low. "You're done."
Hilary nodded, but her breath wouldn't slow.
"I could feel them," she whispered. "Watching. Measuring."
"They always do."
"No," she said, shaking her head slightly. "This was different."
She pressed her forehead lightly to his chest, inhaling deeply.
Cedar.
Leather.
Home.
"There was a voice," she murmured. "Too close. Too calm."
Gerard stiffened.
"Which one?"
"I don't know," Hilary admitted. "That's what scares me."
The elevator chimed.
When the doors opened, Bianca stood there—tablet in hand, posture perfect.
"Oh," she said lightly. "I didn't know the meeting had ended."
Hilary froze.
The scent hit her a second later.
Faint.
Clean.
Too intentional.
Bianca smiled at Gerard, then at Hilary.
"Chef," she said warmly. "If you ever need assistance preparing for the competition, I'd be happy to help."
Hilary smiled back—automatically.
"Thank you," she replied.
Bianca stepped aside to let them pass.
As the doors closed behind her, Hilary's fingers tightened around Gerard's sleeve.
"She smells… familiar," Hilary whispered.
Gerard looked back at the closing doors.
And for the first time that day, unease crept into his eyes.