CONTRACT MARRIAGE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN — THE SIEGE OF BOARDROOM

The lobby of Blackwood International was a fortress of glass and flashing cameras. Reporters shouted questions that bounced off the marble walls, their lenses reflecting the sharp, jagged edges of a scandal that had gripped the world.

Julian didn’t flinch. He walked through the gauntlet with his head high, his hand anchored firmly in mine. He wasn't wearing the "Ice King" mask anymore; he was wearing the expression of a man who had already lost everything and realized he was finally free.

"They won't let you in, Elena," Julian murmured as we reached the private elevator. "The board bylaws state only family and shareholders—"

"I am family, Julian," I said, showing him the gold band on my finger. "And as of three minutes ago, I am a shareholder."

He stopped, his hand hovering over the biometric scanner. "What?"

"I called Marco Moretti from the car," I whispered. "He’s been buying up distressed Blackwood stock all morning as the price plummeted. He just transferred five percent to my name. It’s a gift... for the 'budget bride.'"

A ghost of a smile touched Julian's lips—the first real smile I had seen in days. "You’re dangerous, Elena Vance."

"I learned from the best," I countered.

The elevator doors opened to the top floor. The boardroom was a cavern of dark mahogany and judgment. At the head of the table sat Arthur Blackwood, looking like a king on a crumbling throne. To his right was Genevieve, her face a mask of smug satisfaction as she looked at a printed agenda that likely ended with Julian’s professional execution.

The room went silent as we walked in.

"Julian," Arthur rasped, his voice cold enough to frost the windows. "You have a lot of nerve showing your face here after that... video. And you brought the girl. Is she here to sign the settlement papers?"

"She's here to take her seat, Arthur," Julian said, pulling out a chair for me directly opposite Genevieve. "Elena is now a voting member of this board. And we aren't here to settle. We’re here to discuss the 2004 Vance acquisition."

The color drained from Arthur’s face. Genevieve’s smirk faltered.

"That's ancient history," Genevieve snapped, her voice high and tight. "We are here to discuss Julian’s breach of moral conduct. The contract, the lies—"

"Let's talk about lies, Genevieve," I interrupted, leaning forward. I pulled the leather ledger from my bag and slid it across the table. It stopped right in front of Arthur. "Let’s talk about the 'accident' that killed Miriam Blackwood. And let’s talk about the shell companies Arthur used to bankrupt my father while his own daughter-in-law tried to stop him."

The board members—men and women who had spent decades fearing Arthur—began to whisper. The ledger was open to the page with Miriam's handwriting.

"This is a fabrication!" Arthur roared, slamming his cane against the floor. "A desperate attempt by a gold-digger to distract from her own husband’s treachery!"

"Is it?" Julian stepped behind my chair, his hands resting on my shoulders. "Because the Morettis have the bank records to match those entries, Grandfather. They’re being delivered to the SEC as we speak. You didn't just build this company; you built a crime scene. And you used me as the final coat of paint."

Julian looked around the room, his voice steady and echoing. "I am resigning as CEO of Blackwood International. Effective immediately."

A gasp rippled through the room. Genevieve leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with greed. "Then I suppose the board should move to appoint—"

"But," Julian cut her off, his eyes locking onto hers, "as the majority shareholder alongside my wife and the Moretti group, I move for a total liquidation of Arthur Blackwood’s personal assets to compensate the families he defrauded. Starting with the Vance estate."

Arthur’s face turned a terrifying shade of purple. He tried to stand, but his hands shook too violently.

"You would destroy your own legacy?" Arthur hissed. "For her?"

Julian looked down at me, and for the first time in that room of cold steel and glass, there was something warm. Something real.

"No, Arthur," Julian said. "I’m destroying your legacy. I’m finally building my own."

He leaned down and kissed me—not for the cameras, not for the board, but for us. And as we walked out of that boardroom, leaving the giants to tear each other apart, I realized the $10 million was the cheapest thing Julian had ever offered me.

He had given me the truth. And in return, I had given him a reason to live without a contract.