Chapter 20
969 Words
The boardroom felt colder than usual not in temperature but in tone. The air was sharp, laced with controlled tension. Every glance and every shuffle of paper felt intentional and calculated.
I walked in alone. No Rafael. Not yet.
The board sat in their usual formation buttoned-up diplomacy and tight-lipped expressions. Even the assistant who usually smiled at me kept her eyes on the floor.
Good. Let them be uncomfortable. Because I wasn’t here to calm them.
—
“Ms. Villarosa,” Chairman Yao greeted me in his signature flat tone, “we appreciate you coming in.”
I took my seat at the table, my spine straight. “You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
A few cleared their throats; one smirked. But no one laughed.
“Let’s get to it, shall we?”
—
They started softly.
“We’ve always admired your drive…”
“You’ve brought impressive returns…”
“We acknowledge your recent efforts despite… difficult circumstances.”
Then the real reason surfaced.
“We’ve discussed a temporary realignment of your programs,” said one board member—Del Rosario, I think. “A strategic transition of leadership during this… sensitive time.”
“To what?” I asked, my voice low. “To remind me who’s in charge?”
Silence.
“Your message at the gala,” he continued, “while… passionate… caused waves. Some of our oldest investors are expressing concern.”
“And those investors,” I said, “are they concerned about my work—or my womb?”
No one responded.
Because they knew the answer.
“We’re trying to protect the legacy,” Chairman Yao offered.
“I am the legacy,” I replied.
Before anyone could speak again, the door opened.
Rafael walked in.
And everything paused.
He looked powerful in a clean-cut suit, his expression calm. But beneath that calm, I could see the storm.
He nodded at the chairman, then at me.
“Apologies for being late.”
He took the empty seat at the end of the table.
And then? He didn’t stay silent.
“I’ve reviewed the proposal,” he said clearly. “And I don’t support it.”
You could hear the record scratch in their expressions.
Del Rosario leaned forward. “Mr. Sarmiento, this isn’t a personal matter—”
“Yes, it is,” Rafael cut in. “It’s both.”
His eyes flicked to mine, then back to them.
“We talk about legacy, but what we mean is control. "What Zyra has achieved in the past fiscal year alone is something most of us couldn’t do in five.
Someone scoffed quietly.
Rafael didn’t flinch.
“She’s not a liability; she’s the only reason some of our public goodwill exists.”
Now I was the one staring.
Because this wasn’t rehearsed.
This was real.
“And if the issue is her pregnancy,” Rafael continued, “then let’s be honest—that’s not a policy issue." That’s bias.”
Dead quiet.
“I’m not here to play politics. I’m here to build something that outlives all of us. And right now, that means backing the one person who’s been doing the damn work.”
He turned to me then and said:
“I’m with her. Publicly. Privately. Professionally.”
It was the first time I saw the board genuinely rattled.
They expected Rafael to distance himself—to prioritize his surname, his father, the empire that raised him.
Instead, he picked me.
And I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to cry or set the room on fire in celebration.
I straightened in my chair.
“I won’t be stepping down. Not temporarily. Not quietly. If you choose to remove me, you’ll do it publicly. Loudly. And you’ll have to explain to the press and our global partners why the only woman on this board was pushed out during the peak of her results—while pregnant.”
Chairman Yao shifted in his seat.
“Or,” I added, “you can back me now and avoid becoming a case study in every DEI seminar across Asia.”
Still no response.
So I sealed it.
“As of this morning, three of our largest youth initiative partners have committed to private renewal under my leadership. If I go, they go.”
And I dropped the letters of confirmation on the table like a mic.
The next ten minutes were tense.
Legal advisors whispered, and one member excused herself for a call. Chairman Yao rubbed his temples.
And Rafael?
He just sat back, watching and waiting with the same expression he had that night. He told me I wasn’t a brat; I was just scared of not being seen.
He saw me then. He saw me now.
Finally, the chairman looked up.
“We’ll reconvene next quarter. Ms. Villarosa remains interim director, with full authority over her existing programs.”
No apology. No concession.
But no removal.
That was enough.
When the meeting adjourned, I didn’t rush out. I gathered my things calmly, letting them squirm in their chairs.
Rafael waited until we were the last two in the room.
Then he said, “I meant what I said.”
“I know.”
“I want to be beside you.”
“You already are.”
He stepped closer and touched my wrist gently.
“I’ll talk to my father.”
I smiled. “Good. I hope he’s ready to be disappointed.”
As we stepped out into the hallway, the assistant finally looked up.
This time, she smiled.
Because she knew.
Something shifted today.
Not just in the vote.
But in the air.
In the way power moved.
For the first time, they weren’t just afraid of losing control.
They were afraid of me.
And they should be.
- Writer
