The boardroom of Blackwood International had always been intimidating.
Long glass table. Cold leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city like a reminder of power. Maya had walked into this room before—quietly, cautiously, always aware that she didn't truly belong.
Today was different.
She stood at the far end of the table, files clutched in her hands, heart steady in a way that surprised even her.
Adrian sat at the head, composed and unreadable.
He hadn't asked her to be here.
The board had.
And they hadn't done it kindly.
"This proposal is unnecessary," Director Whitman said, folding his hands.
"Blackwood doesn't need sentimental initiatives."
Maya inhaled slowly.
"It's not sentimental," she said evenly. "It's strategic."
A few brows lifted.
Adrian's gaze sharpened.
She continued. "Employee retention has dropped twelve percent this quarter. Morale is declining. Productivity follows morale."
Another director scoffed. "You're speaking like an HR intern."
"I'm speaking like someone who actually listens," Maya replied calmly.
The room stilled.
Adrian leaned back slightly, watching her—not intervening.
Testing.
"You're here because of your marriage," another board member said bluntly. "Not your qualifications."
Maya met his eyes without flinching. "Then judge my proposal, not my last name."
Silence followed.
She opened her folder and slid documents across the table. "These numbers show how investing in employee welfare increases output within six months. This isn't charity. It's smart business."
Director Whitman frowned as he skimmed the pages.
"This will cost money," he said.
"So does turnover," Maya replied. "Replacing skilled employees costs more than retaining them."
Adrian watched her hands—steady. Watched her voice—controlled. Watched her refuse to shrink.
She wasn't fighting.
She was standing.
"And what exactly qualifies you to advise this board?" someone asked sharply.
Maya hesitated for half a second.
Then she answered. "I've worked two jobs since I was nineteen. I've watched good people burn out because companies forget they're human. You can call that experience irrelevant if you want—but it's real."
Adrian felt something shift.
This wasn't rehearsed.
This wasn't performance.
This was truth.
The chairman cleared his throat. "We'll vote."
The board murmured quietly.
Adrian didn't interfere.
He didn't need to.
After a moment, the chairman nodded. "The proposal passes. On a trial basis."
Maya exhaled slowly.
Adrian stood. "Meeting adjourned."
In the hallway, Maya finally let her shoulders drop.
"That was reckless," Adrian said, falling into step beside her.
She braced herself. "I know."
"And effective," he added.
She stopped walking. "You're not angry?"
"No," he said honestly. "I'm impressed."
The word hit harder than praise.
"I didn't want special treatment," she said quietly. "I just wanted them to listen."
"They did," he replied. "Because you made them."
He paused. "You didn't use my name."
"I didn't need to."
Adrian studied her like she was something new.
Something solid.
Later that evening, he watched her from across the penthouse as she reviewed notes, completely unaware of his gaze.
She wasn't loud.
She wasn't demanding.
But she was unbreakable in ways that mattered.
And for the first time, Adrian realized something that unsettled him deeply—
Maya didn't need him to protect her.
She could stand on her own.
And somehow…
That made him respect her more than anyone he'd ever known.
Next: Chapter 15 - Sleeping Beside You
He saw her quiet courage in that room—and for the first time, Adrian realized Maya was stronger than all his defenses.
Tonight | 11:30 PM – 12:30 AM