Emily's POV
The weight of Lily's new uniform bag pulled at my shoulder as I pushed through the mansion's front door, grateful to finally be home after the chaos of rush-hour traffic. The navy blazer and plaid skirt looked so beautiful and expensive, but seeing Lily's face light up when the tailor measured her had made every moment of the fitting worthwhile.
I was halfway across the hallway, already imagining Lily's excited squeals when she saw the uniform, when raised voices stopped me in my tracks.
"...can't keep stalling, Victor. The board won't wait any longer."
Charles Bennett's voice, usually so controlled and professional, carried an edge of desperation I'd never heard before. It came from Victor's study.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I should walk away. Should give them privacy for whatever business discussion they were having. But something in Charles's tone got me rooted to the spot.
"One week," Victor repeated, his voice flat, emotionless. "Well. That's unfortunate timing."
"Unfortunate?" Charles's laugh was bitter. "Victor, this is a disaster. The board isn't bluffing anymore. They're not sending warnings or making threats. They've called the vote. Do you understand what that means? In seven days, you could lose everything you've built. Everything."
The silence that followed felt heavy enough to suffocate.
"I'm aware of the implications, Charles." Victor's voice carried the dangerous quiet of a man barely holding onto his control. "What exactly do you expect me to do about it?"
"Show them you're still the man who built this empire. Show them you're capable, stable, present. Because right now? Right now they see a you as someone who's abandoned his responsibilities. A man so lost in grief and disability that he can't even show his face at the office."
"Careful." The warning in Victor's tone made my skin prickle. "You're beginning to sound like them."
"Maybe they have a point." Charles said carefully. The Shanghai deal fell through last month because you refused to fly out for negotiations. The Goldstein merger collapsed because their CEO wanted to meet with you personallyl. We've lost two major investors in the past six months because they don't believe you're mentally fit to lead anymore."
"I am fit to lead."
"Then prove it!" Charles's voice cracked with frustration. "Because a marriage certificate isn't enough, Victor. Not anymore. They want to see you. They want stability, yes, but they also want presence. They want the Victor Hawthorne who commanded rooms, who closed billion-dollar deals with a handshake, who made grown men nervous with a single glance. They want assurance that man still exists somewhere under all this... this isolation."
"That man doesn't exist anymore, Charles. That man could walk. That man didn't wake up every morning and have to haul himself into a wheelchair just to maintain some semblance of dignity."
The raw pain in his words made my throat tighten. My fingers clenched around the uniform bag hard enough that the plastic crinkled softly.
Then show them a new man," Charles said, his voice gentler now. "Show them a man who's adapted, who's found new strength, despite everything he's lost."
My heart hammered against my ribs. I pressed myself against the wall beside the study door, barely breathing, knowing I should announce my presence but unable to make myself move.
"We need to accelerate the timeline," Victor said finally, his voice eerily calm now. "More public events. Charity galas, maybe even a magazine interview. We need to flood them with evidence that I'm not just married but happily married. That I'm mentally sound, engaged with the world, ready to lead."
"Exactly." Relief colored Charles's response. "The gala in two days is a start, but we'll need more. Regular appearances. Coordinated photo opportunities. I can reach out to my contacts at several publications…"
"Schedule whatever appearances you think necessary. Emily will cooperate. That's what she's here for, after all."
The casual dismissal in that statement…that's what she's here for…felt like a slap.
"There's also the matter of your love story," Charles continued. "People will ask how you met, when you knew she was the one, how you proposed. We need those details locked down, consistent, believable. I'll need to sit with both of you and craft something that…"
My stomach twisted into knots. This was it, the moment where our arrangement transformed from a private contract into a public performance. Where we'd have to sell our fake love story to the world, knowing one slip could destroy everything.
I heard footsteps approaching the door and barely had time to step back before Charles emerged, nearly colliding with me in the hallway.
"Mrs. Hawthorne!" His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with concern as he took in my pale face. "How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough," I admitted, my voice barely steady.
Charles glanced back toward the study, then at me, conflict warring across his features. "Emily, I…"
"I know." I cut him off, not wanting to hear whatever apology or explanation he was preparing. "I heard everything. The vote, the timeline, all of it."
He studied my face for a long moment, as if trying to gauge how much damage this eavesdropping had done. "I need to get something from my car. Some documents Victor and I will need. Can you... would you mind waiting? There are things we should discuss. All three of us."
Charles smiled as he headed toward the front entrance. I watched him go, then turned to face the study door, steeling myself for what came next.
Emily?" Victor's voice cut through the study door. "I know you're standing out there. You might as well come in."
My breath caught, as heat flooded my cheeks as I realized he must have heard my voice. For a moment, I considered pretending I hadn't heard him, walking away with whatever dignity I could salvage.
But that would only make things worse.
I opened the door, stepping into the study with the uniform bag still clutched in my hand like a shield.
"I was just returning from picking up Lily's uniform," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. I'll just…"
"It's fine." He finally turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "You would have found out soon enough anyway.
The sound of Charles's footsteps echoed in the hallway, and moments later he entered carrying a leather portfolio. He glanced between Victor and me, reading the tension in the room with practiced ease.
"Good, you're both here," he said, settling into one of the chairs facing Victor's desk. He gestured for me to take the other, and I sank into it gratefully, my legs suddenly weak. "We need to craft your love story. Every detail, from the beginning. And it needs to be believable."
Charles pulled out a legal pad and pen, poised like a journalist ready to take notes. "Let's start with how you met. Obviously, we can't say Emily was working as your caregiver, that opens too many questions about the timeline and creates an uncomfortable power dynamic. So. Victor, you hired Emily as a... what? Consultant? Event planner?"
He clicked his pen, looking at us expectantly. Neither Victor nor I spoke.
"Personal assistant," Victor said after a moment's consideration. "Six months ago. To help manage my household affairs and schedule."
"Perfect." Charles scribbled notes. "And when did the relationship become romantic?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. I stared at my hands folded in my lap, unable to look at either man.
"Three months in," Victor said, his voice devoid of emotion. "We'd been working closely together. I was drawn to her competence, her warmth with my staff. One evening, after a particularly long day, we shared dinner and... the conversation turned personal."
Charles nodded, writing furiously. "And the first date? Where did you do? Where did you take her?"
Victor's jaw tightened. I could see him struggling with this, with the vulnerability of fabricating intimacy. "We stayed here. At the mansion. I'm not exactly equipped for public dates."
"Ok." Charles nodded firmly. "We will figure that out later."
"What about the proposal?" Charles continued, twirling his pen between his fingers. "That's going to be a big one. Everyone loves a good proposal story.
"Here," Victor said, his voice low. "In the gardens. At night, under the stars. I had Jenkins set up lights, made it private and special. I told Emily I knew our relationship was unconventional, that I wasn't the man I used to be, but that she made me want to be better. Asked if she'd do me the honor of becoming my wife."
The words were beautiful. Perfect. And completely, utterly false.
"Beautiful," Charles murmured. "And Emily's response?"
Both men looked at me. I forced myself to meet Victor's gaze, searching for any hint of the emotion his fictional proposal described. I found only calculation.
"I said yes," I whispered. "Because I couldn't imagine my life without him either."
The lie tasted like ash.
Charles continued, extracting details about favorite memories, inside jokes, pet names we supposedly used. Victor participated with less concern.
"Charles looked up from his note, satisfaction evident on his face. "I'll have this typed up formally, with talking points for each of you to memorize. You'll need to be able to recite these details consistently, answer questions spontaneously without contradicting each other."
"Understood," Victor said.
Charles gathered his notes, tucking them back into the portfolio. "I'll work on scheduling additional appearances after the gala. We need to saturate the public consciousness with images of Victor and Emily Hawthorne as a devoted couple."
He stood, preparing to leave, then paused. "Victor, there's one more thing we should discuss. About the company."
"What about it?" Victor's tone had gone flat again.
"The partners and investors want to see you there. At the office. At meetings. Not just for the vote, but regularly. They need to know you're not running the company from behind a desk in your mansion like some hermit."
"I attend meetings remotely. Video conferences. Conference calls. I'm perfectly accessible."
"It's not the same." Charles's voice gentled, but remained firm. "They want physical presence. The certainty that you're engaged, involved, capable of handling the demands of leadership. A remote CEO, especially one who's been absent for so long, raises questions about commitment and stability."
"I'm in a wheelchair, Charles." Victor's words were clipped, barely controlled anger simmering beneath them. "Office accessibility is complicated. The movement and navigating that building, of…"
"Are manageable," I interrupted.
Both men turned to stare at me. I'd been silent during most of the exchange, letting them discuss business matters I had no expertise in. But this, this I understood.
Emily…" Victor's warning tone was clear.
"No." I stood up, away from my position, my hands no longer fidgeting but steady at my sides. "No, you need to hear this. Being in a wheelchair doesn't make you less capable of running your company. The only thing limiting you is your own refusal to be seen."
"You have no idea what you're talking about." Victor's voice had gone dangerously quiet.
"Don't I?" I moved closer to his desk. "I spent six months as your caregiver, Victor. I've watched you conduct business remotely. I've seen how you strategize, how you analyze problems, how you make positive decisions. Your mind hasn't changed.
"A one time president of this great nation was in a wheelchair," I continued, knowing I was pushing boundaries but unable to stop. "He led an entire country. He didn't let disability stop him from being one of the most powerful men in the world
"That's enough…"
"Emily." Charles's voice carried a warning, but I ignored him.
"You want the board to see stability?" I directed my words at Victor, whose face had gone pale with barely suppressed fury. "Show them. Get in your car, go to your office, wheel yourself into that boardroom and remind them exactly why you are their CEO.
The silence that followed my outburst was absolute. I could hear my own heartbeat, rapid and loud in my ears, could feel the adrenaline making my hands shake slightly. I'd gone too far.
Victor's hands gripped his wheelchair arms so tightly his knuckles had gone white. His dark eyes bored into mine with an intensity that should have made me step back, should have made me apologize and retreat.
But I held my ground.
"That's not your decision to make," he said coldly.
"No," I agreed. "It's yours. But I'm making a suggestion. Because sitting here in this mansion, hiding from the world, avoiding the very thing that gave your life meaning…that's not protecting yourself, Victor. That's letting the accident win. That's letting your disability define you instead of just being one aspect of who you are."
Charles cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Emily makes some valid points…"
"Don't." Victor held up a hand without taking his eyes off me. "Don't you start as well, Charles. I don't want to hear it."
"But Victor…"
"I said I don't want to hear it." The command in his voice was absolute.
Charles closed his mouth, exchanged a helpless glance with me, then gathered his portfolio. "I'll leave you two to discuss this. Emily, I'll email you those talking points by this evening. Both of you need to have them memorized by tomorrow."
He left quickly, the door closing with a soft click that seemed unnaturally loud in the tense silence.
Victor and I faced each other across his desk, the air between us charged with unspoken words and complicated emotions.
I picked up Lily's uniform bag and scurried off, before I say anything else I'd regret.