The glass walls of Blackwell Capital's top floor were so pristine they mirrored the skyline like a still lake. But inside the boardroom, the atmosphere was anything but calm.
Julian adjusted his cufflink, silent as always, while Damien clicked through the financial slides. The quarterly update was solid. Profits were up. Investments were clean. There was no reason to object.
And yet—there it was. A cough. A deliberate pause. And then, Marcus Lang.
"Before we conclude," Marcus said, folding his hands, "I'd like to raise a reputational concern."
Julian didn't move, but the room shifted. Heads turned subtly toward Marcus, the faintest flicker of curiosity igniting.
Damien stopped mid-slide. "Is this regarding portfolio risk?"
"No," Marcus replied smoothly. "This is about optics."
He turned toward Julian with a rehearsed calm. "The gala. The tabloid fallout. The blog coverage of Clara Wynter."
Julian's jaw tensed, but he didn't speak.
Marcus continued. "I understand she's your wife. But the board has received inquiries from investors concerned about distractions. Negative press. Speculation about her background."
There it was. Said with a smile, like he was offering Julian a gentle warning rather than a blade to the gut.
"She's not a distraction," Julian replied, voice clipped.
"With respect, Julian, perception is power. A CEO's spouse becomes part of the company's public image."
"You're lecturing me on image?" Julian's voice was low now, cold enough to silence even the glass.
Marcus smiled thinly. "I'm suggesting that transparency matters. So does control. Rumors of instability—marrying in secret, surprise pregnancy—these things cause unease."
Julian leaned back, fingers steepled. "And what do you suggest I do? Annul the marriage to appease blog readers?"
"I'm suggesting," Marcus said, carefully, "that the company issue a clear statement. One that frames this… union as strategic. Controlled. Perhaps temporary."
Julian's eyes narrowed. "A PR marriage?"
Marcus shrugged. "It's already how some see it."
Silence blanketed the room. Even Damien's knuckles went white around his pen.
Then Julian stood.
"You're overstepping, Marcus."
"I'm protecting shareholder interest."
"You're protecting your own ambition," Julian said evenly. "Don't mistake the two."
Marcus's smirk faltered, just a little.
"I will not exploit my wife for damage control," Julian said, voice calm but final. "And I will not reduce this marriage to a strategy on paper. That's not your place."
He turned to the room. "Any other objections?"
No one spoke. No one even breathed.
Julian nodded once. "Then this meeting is over."
He walked out without another word. Damien followed, shooting Marcus a deadly glare as he passed.
—
Downstairs, Clara stood in the lobby, arms folded around a package of proofs for Julian's next campaign shoot. She had no idea what had just happened upstairs.
But when the elevator pinged and Julian stepped out, face unreadable and posture rigid, she straightened.
"Hey," she said gently. "I was just—"
"We're leaving," he said.
She blinked. "Now?"
"Yes."
He reached for her hand without thinking, fingers curling around hers.
The security guard at the desk looked up. Someone nearby pulled out a phone. Clara heard the whisper before it even formed fully.
That's her.
She's the one.
The one from the blog.
The one in the headlines.
Julian didn't flinch. He didn't slow down. If anything, he pulled her closer, hand firm around hers.
Once in the car, Clara exhaled. "Julian. What happened?"
He didn't answer immediately.
"The board," he said finally. "They suggested I frame our marriage as temporary."
Clara stilled.
"What?"
"They want me to make it look like a PR move. Something for appearances."
"And you?"
Julian looked at her then. Really looked.
"I told them no."
A long beat passed.
"Why?" she asked softly.
He didn't reply at first. His fingers tightened slightly on the leather seat. His voice, when it came, was quieter than usual.
"Because I'm not going to let them define what this is."
Clara swallowed. Her heart beat a little faster.
"This?" she asked.
Julian looked out the window. The city blurred past them, lights flickering like stars through water.
"This," he said again, voice rough. "Whatever it becomes."
When they returned to the penthouse, Clara didn't say much.
The city felt louder than usual. Sirens echoed in the distance, tires hissed over wet roads, and faint horns sounded like drawn-out sighs from another world. But inside, silence pressed in on all sides, thick and tense.
Julian loosened his tie in one fluid motion and walked toward his study. Clara followed behind slowly, stopping just outside the doorway.
"You're angry," she said. Her voice wasn't accusing, just quiet. Observant.
Julian didn't turn around. His hands hovered over the drawer of his desk.
"I'm used to boardroom politics," he replied, each word measured and even.
"That wasn't politics. That was personal," Clara said, stepping closer.
Julian opened the drawer. Inside was a notebook, a set of pens, and a single white envelope. He stared at it for a second longer than necessary, then closed the drawer without touching anything.
"I grew up in a house where every move was deliberate," he said. "Nothing was done out of affection. Only advantage."
He still didn't meet her eyes.
"My father used power like currency. My mother used silence like armor. They didn't love each other. They barely tolerated each other. That was enough for them."
Clara waited. When he finally looked at her, his eyes were unreadable.
"I told myself I'd never live that way. I thought I'd avoid it by staying detached. Cold. Untouched."
She blinked. "Then why did you marry me like that? With a contract. With terms."
Julian exhaled and walked past her toward the windows. He stood with his back to her, staring out into the night.
"Because I panicked."
Clara's breath caught. That was the last thing she expected him to say.
"I thought I could contain the damage," he continued. "That if I made it official, I could protect you from the press. From my family. From... me."
She stepped closer. The dim light carved the shape of his profile, sharp and tired.
"So what now?" she asked.
"I'll fix it. But not by doing what Marcus wants." His jaw tightened. "You shouldn't be here while this mess unfolds. It might get worse before it calms down."
Her expression shifted.
"You want me to leave?"
"I want you safe."
Clara crossed her arms. "And what will you tell them? That your wife ran off because she couldn't handle a little pressure?"
Julian turned toward her. "I'll tell them my wife is stronger than they are. And that she isn't going anywhere."
For a moment, she didn't speak. Then she nodded.
"I'll go to Harper's for a few days. But only because I want to choose when and where I rest."
"I know."
"And not because I'm giving up on this."
Julian's eyes softened. "I know that too."
Later, at Harper's apartment, things weren't nearly as quiet.
Clara barely had her shoes off before Harper rounded the corner and waved her phone like a weapon.
"What the hell happened?"
Clara collapsed onto the couch. "Which part?"
"The part where you're trending online, or the part where reporters are emailing me like I'm your publicist? Your name is in neon across the internet. Apparently you're either a liar, a gold-digger, or a hero, depending on which article you click first."
Clara groaned into a pillow. "I didn't even do anything."
"That's the problem," Harper said. "You didn't play the game. You didn't throw a statement. You didn't storm out. And Julian? He went full ice-king mode in front of his board."
Clara lifted her head. "He defended me."
Harper stopped pacing.
"Come again?"
Clara sat up. "They wanted him to spin our marriage as a strategic move. Something to undo later."
"And he said no?"
"Without blinking."
Harper lowered herself into the armchair, stunned.
"Okay. That is not what I expected from Mr. Marry-by-contract."
Back at the penthouse, Julian was standing alone in his study again. He opened the drawer one more time and took out the white envelope.
He unfolded the note he had written weeks ago during a night he couldn't sleep. The words were messy. Hesitant. Not something he would ever say aloud.
Clara,
I don't know what this is between us, but I don't want to lose it.
I don't want to lose you.
I've never said that to anyone before.
Please stay.
Julian stared at the words for a long moment. Then he folded the note again and returned it to its place.
Not yet.
But maybe soon.