Chapter 88 — Boardroom War
The Wilson Group boardroom had always felt cold.
But today—
It felt like a battlefield.
Amber noticed it the second the doors opened.
Not temperature.
Not décor.
Energy.
The long obsidian table stretched across the room like a line drawn in blood. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city below, clouds hanging low and heavy like the sky itself expected violence.
Twelve seats.
Twelve men and women.
All watching.
All waiting.
Not for Alex.
For her.
She could feel it.
The judgment.
The silent calculations.
The quiet disapproval.
To them, she wasn't Amber Gareth.
She wasn't a woman.
She wasn't even human.
She was a risk assessment.
A variable.
A threat to profit margins.
Alex stepped in first.
And like always—
The air shifted.
Chairs straightened.
Spines stiffened.
Voices died mid-whisper.
Power wasn't about shouting.
It was about presence.
And Alex Wilson had presence in excess.
Amber followed half a step behind.
Not because she was submissive.
But because they'd agreed.
Let Alex lead in the boardroom.
Let her strike when necessary.
Division of war duties.
The door shut behind them with a quiet click.
The chairman, Mr. Halberg, adjusted his glasses.
Seventies.
Grey hair.
Smile that never reached his eyes.
Corporate snake.
"Mr. Wilson," he began smoothly. "Thank you for attending on short notice."
Alex didn't sit.
Didn't greet.
Didn't nod.
"Say what you called me for," he said.
No pleasantries.
Amber almost smirked.
God, he was terrifying when he wanted to be.
Halberg's gaze slid to her.
Lingering.
Evaluating.
"And you must be Miss Gareth."
She smiled politely.
The fake one.
The one that cut.
"Yes. The supposed apocalypse of your stock prices. Nice to meet you."
A few board members shifted uncomfortably.
Good.
Let them squirm.
Halberg cleared his throat. "We prefer professionalism here."
Amber tilted her head. "Then perhaps don't discuss my existence like a lawsuit."
Alex didn't look at her.
But she felt it.
That subtle approval.
Then he finally sat.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like a king taking his throne.
Only then did everyone else sit.
Halberg folded his hands. "We'll get straight to it. Since this relationship became public, Wilson Group shares have fluctuated negatively by four percent."
Amber blinked.
Four percent?
That was it?
These people were acting like the world ended.
"Investor confidence is shaken," another member added.
"A CEO entering a romantic entanglement without disclosure signals instability."
"Especially with an… unknown party."
Amber's eyes narrowed.
Unknown?
She'd built her own empire before they even knew her name.
Alex's voice cut through the room.
"Choose your next words carefully."
The warning wasn't loud.
But it froze the speaker instantly.
Halberg pressed on. "We're not questioning your judgment, Alex. We're questioning the optics."
"Optics don't build profits," Alex replied.
"Perception does."
"Results do."
"You're being emotional."
That word hung in the air.
Amber saw it.
The mistake.
The moment they lost.
Alex didn't react visibly.
Which meant someone was about to die professionally.
"I've increased company valuation by forty-two percent in three years," he said calmly. "Closed two international acquisitions. Eliminated debt. Doubled investor returns."
Silence.
"If that's emotional," he continued, "perhaps you should all try it."
Amber almost laughed.
Savage.
Halberg exhaled slowly. "Be that as it may… the board has concerns about the permanence of this situation."
"There's nothing permanent," a woman added. "Relationships fail. Divorce damages reputation. We can't attach the company's future to—"
"To what?" Amber cut in.
All eyes snapped to her.
She leaned forward slightly.
Voice calm.
Deadly polite.
"To a woman? To love? Or to something you can't control?"
No one answered.
Of course not.
Cowards.
Halberg steepled his fingers. "Miss Gareth, this isn't personal."
She smiled. "It's extremely personal."
Alex's hand brushed hers under the table.
Subtle.
Grounding.
Halberg continued, "If this relationship is merely temporary, we advise you end it quietly. If it's serious… we require formal clarification."
Amber frowned. "Clarification?"
"Engagement. Marriage timeline. Legal stability. Something concrete for shareholders."
Her brain stalled.
Wait.
They weren't asking them to break up.
They were—
Forcing permanence.
Because permanence meant predictability.
And corporations loved predictability.
Alex spoke before she could.
"Then you'll get it."
Her head snapped toward him.
Wait.
What?
Halberg blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You want stability," Alex said evenly. "You want clarity. You want certainty."
"Yes."
"Fine."
He stood.
Slow.
Controlled.
Every eye tracked him.
"When I choose something," he continued, "I don't reverse it. I don't abandon it. And I don't negotiate it."
His gaze swept the room.
Cold.
Unshaken.
"I chose her."
Amber's heart stumbled.
He didn't look at her.
Didn't need to.
"I'm not ending anything. I'm formalizing it."
Murmurs erupted.
"Formalizing?"
"You mean—?"
"Yes," Alex said.
Dead calm.
"We'll announce our engagement."
The room exploded.
Questions. Protests. Shock.
Amber couldn't even hear them.
Engagement.
The word echoed.
Too big.
Too real.
This wasn't part of the contract.
This wasn't strategy anymore.
This was—
Her.
Him.
Forever-type words.
Her pulse hammered.
She grabbed his sleeve subtly.
"Alex," she whispered, "we didn't discuss this."
His voice stayed low.
Only for her.
"I know."
"That's not how decisions work."
"With everyone else, yes."
His eyes met hers.
Soft.
Certain.
"With you… I don't want permission."
Her breath caught.
"You scare me," she muttered.
"Good," he replied quietly. "You scare me too."
Because fear meant it mattered.
Because indifference would've been safer.
Because love—
Love was always the scariest risk.
Halberg slammed a folder down. "If you're making this official, we'll need contracts, dates, public statements—"
"You'll get them," Alex said.
Then, colder:
"But understand something clearly."
The entire room stilled.
"You don't control my personal life."
Silence.
"You don't choose who I love."
Silence.
"And you don't threaten what's mine."
Mine.
The word hit Amber harder than anything else.
Possessive.
Certain.
Not ownership.
Protection.
Final.
"If any of you attempt to pressure or undermine her again," he finished, "I will personally remove you from this board."
No one doubted him.
Not for a second.
Because Alex Wilson didn't bluff.
He executed.
The meeting ended not with agreement—
But surrender.
As they walked out, Amber's head spun.
Engagement.
Public.
Permanent.
Real.
She grabbed his arm the second they hit the hallway.
"Alex, are you insane?"
"Yes."
"At least you're honest."
"I meant every word."
"That's not the problem!"
He stopped walking.
Turned.
Close.
Too close.
"Then what is?"
Her voice dropped.
Barely there.
"…What if I'm the one who can't stay?"
Silence.
Not anger.
Not disappointment.
Just understanding.
And somehow—
That was worse.
He brushed his thumb lightly over her wrist.
Gentle.
Steady.
"If you leave," he said quietly, "it'll be your choice."
Her chest tightened.
"But I'm not giving the world a reason to take you from me first."
And God help her—
That might've been the first time anyone had ever chosen her without conditions.
Without benefits.
Without fear.
Just—
Chosen.
And Amber Gareth didn't know whether to run.
Or finally stop running for once.