Chapter 9
910 Words
Ryan’s POV
The boardroom smelled of polished wood, stale coffee, and panic.
Ryan stood at the head of the table, jacket off, sleeves rolled, trying to project control he no longer felt.
Around him sat six board members, two department heads, Daniel the CFO, and a legal adviser who had gone suspiciously quiet the moment the meeting began.
Three empty chairs remained where investors had once liked to sit in person.
Now they were absent.
A statement in itself.
“Let’s stop behaving like this is a crisis,” Ryan said sharply. “We’ve had investors wobble before.”
Daniel slid a folder across the table.
“We’ve never had three in one morning.”
Ryan didn’t touch it.
“They’ll come back.”
“Not if they were told not to.”
Ryan’s gaze snapped up. “By who?”
No one answered.
They didn’t need to.
Moretti.
The name had followed him all day like a shadow.
Bank review at nine.
Expansion credit line frozen at ten.
Legal separation papers by eleven.
And now this.
Ryan placed both palms on the table.
“This company is not dependent on one family.”
“No,” Daniel said carefully. “But confidence is.”
Ryan wanted to throttle him.
Instead, he straightened.
“We issue a statement. Business as usual.”
The legal adviser finally spoke.
“There’s another issue.”
Ryan turned slowly.
“What issue?”
The man cleared his throat.
“Certain journalists have begun making enquiries regarding your marriage.”
Of course they had.
Money circles fed on blood faster than tabloids.
“What exactly do they know?”
“That your wife has returned to the Moretti estate.”
Murmurs moved around the room.
Ryan felt heat crawl up his neck.
“She is still my wife.”
“For now,” Daniel muttered.
Ryan slammed a hand on the table.
“Enough.”
Silence dropped instantly.
He looked at each of them.
People who had praised him six months ago.
People who copied his opinions, laughed at his jokes, admired his rise.
Now they watched him like weakened prey.
“I built this company,” he said coldly.
“No,” came a voice from the doorway. “You branded it.”
Every head turned.
Chloe stood there in cream trousers and heels, handbag on her arm like she belonged.
Ryan’s stomach dropped.
“What are you doing here?”
She smiled brightly at the room.
“I thought Ryan might need support.”
No one moved.
No one welcomed her.
Because everyone here knew enough already.
“Out,” Ryan said.
Chloe blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Now.”
She stepped inside instead.
“I left meetings for you.”
“This is not your place.”
Her expression sharpened.
“I was at your place all night.”
The room went completely still.
Ryan felt actual hatred.
“Get out,” he said through clenched teeth.
Daniel looked down at the table, pretending to study papers.
Coward.
Chloe laughed once, brittle and loud.
“Fine. But don’t call me later pretending I matter again.”
She turned and walked out, heels striking the floor like gunshots.
The door closed.
No one spoke.
Ryan adjusted his cuff as if nothing had happened.
“Where were we?”
The oldest board member, Mr. Keating, folded his hands.
“We were discussing leadership confidence.”
Ryan stared.
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Keating met his eyes steadily.
“You’ve brought personal scandal into a vulnerable financial moment. That creates risk.”
“You’re questioning me because of gossip?”
“I’m questioning you because three investors withdrew before lunch.”
Another board member spoke quietly.
“And because the Moretti name is now attached to your divorce.”
Ryan laughed in disbelief.
“So everyone panics because my wife’s father is rich?”
“No,” Daniel said. “Because he’s powerful.”
The distinction landed like a slap.
Ryan grabbed the folder Daniel had pushed earlier and opened it.
Projected losses.
Liquidity concerns.
Lender restrictions.
Potential reputational damage.
He skimmed faster, pulse rising.
“This is exaggerated.”
“It’s conservative,” Daniel replied.
Ryan closed the file.
“I’ll handle Moretti.”
“How?” Keating asked.
Ryan said nothing.
Because he didn’t know.
He had gone to the estate, apologised, pleaded, signed papers like a schoolboy under supervision.
And Isabella had looked at him as if he no longer existed.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
He answered sharply. “What?”
A calm male voice replied.
“Mr. Cole. Adrian Vale.”
Ryan’s spine stiffened.
Vale Holdings. Private equity shark. Ruthless reputation. Too wealthy to need manners.
“What do you want?”
“A courtesy call.”
“I’m busy.”
“I know. That’s why I’ll be brief.”
Ryan gripped the phone tighter.
“Say it.”
“I’m attending the Moretti Foundation Gala this month.”
“So?”
“So is Isabella.”
Ryan’s jaw locked.
“And?”
“And she won’t be arriving alone.”
The line went dead.
Ryan stared at the screen.
Across the room, the board waited.
He slowly lowered the phone.
Daniel frowned. “Problem?”
Ryan looked at the projections again.
At the faces around him.
At the company he’d thought untouchable.
Then said the only honest thing he’d said all day.
“Yes.”
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