By Wednesday morning, the city was already humming, the skyline bathed in the glow of a fresh day. Velmora never truly slept, but there was a particular tension in the air today that felt personal. As the car pulled up in front of the Aldridge Industries building—a sleek marvel of steel and mirrored glass—I smoothed down the front of my suit and exhaled slowly.
Sarah glanced at me from the seat beside me. "You've got this."
I nodded, but my stomach didn't agree.
The joint board meeting was an inevitable checkpoint in the long list of obligations this merger had tossed in our path. Two families. Two companies. One impossible arrangement.
The elevator ride to the executive floor was quiet, save for the muted hum of machinery and the ticking of my own thoughts. When the doors opened, I was greeted by polished smiles and too many handshakes.
"Mrs. Aldridge," one of the senior partners from Aldridge Industries said. "Or should we say, Mrs. Cater-Aldridge?"
I forced a diplomatic smile. "Celine is fine."
The boardroom was glass-walled, giving the illusion of transparency in a place where every move was calculated. Blake was already seated at the head of the table, looking as crisp and unreadable as ever in his navy suit. He didn't stand when I entered, but his eyes flicked up briefly. A nod. Nothing more.
I took the seat opposite him, just slightly off-center—equal, but not aligned.
The meeting began with numbers. Earnings forecasts. Market growth analysis. Strategic collaboration models.
I kept my answers sharp and minimal. Let the room think what they wanted about my presence. I wasn't here to charm them. I was here to show them I belonged.
At some point, Blake spoke directly to me. "Cater Innovations' AI division has shown interesting growth. The board would like to understand your direction post-merger."
I met his gaze. "Autonomy, not assimilation. Innovation thrives when it isn't micromanaged."
He tilted his head slightly, as if that answer pleased him—or challenged him. I couldn't tell which.
The room moved on. The rest of the session passed like walking a tightrope. But when it ended, I hadn't fallen. That was victory enough.
Afterward, as I stepped out into the corridor, I caught Sarah's subtle thumbs-up from near the elevator. She knew me well enough not to speak. I didn't trust my voice yet.
Blake approached before I could leave.
"My mother mentioned she's expecting you Friday."
I turned, already exhausted by the weight of his voice. "Yes. I know."
"She's excited."
I gave him a cool look. "Is that your way of telling me I can't cancel?"
He shrugged. "I'm just giving you a heads up."
Before I could reply, he added, "You did well in there. They respect strength."
"I didn't do it for their respect."
A flicker passed across his features. Not a smile. Not quite. But something.
"I know," he said. Then he walked away.
—
By the time I returned to my office, I was emotionally spent. I sat at my desk for several minutes just breathing, staring out at the glass and stone of the city below.
Sarah entered quietly and handed me a small envelope. "This was left for you at reception."
I frowned. "From who?"
"No name. But it's Aldridge stationery."
I opened it carefully. Inside was a simple handwritten note:
'Some things are only unbearable when we face them alone. You didn't today. – E.'
Evelyn.
I set the note down gently. I didn't know what to feel.
Later that evening, I stood in front of the brooch on my vanity. Still unworn. Still waiting.
For what, though?
For me to decide what it meant?
Or for me to become someone who wanted to wear it?
The only thing I knew for sure was that everything was shifting. Me. Blake. The foundation we both kept trying to stand on alone.
And maybe, just maybe, the only way forward wasn't through resistance—but through understanding.