OF THORNS AND BOARDROOMS
1555 Words
The board called an emergency vote.
Bella sat alone in the south cottage, watching the rain batter the windows, a half-finished cup of tea growing cold beside her.
Damian had gone to face them without hesitation—but she couldn’t shake the dread pooling in her chest.
A knock interrupted her spiraling thoughts. Elise.
“They’re voting on whether to strip Damian of control,” she said breathlessly. “Clarissa brought up his ‘conflict of interest’—your relationship. She says it jeopardizes the estate’s future.”
Bella’s heart pounded. “And what’s the rest of the board saying?”
“Split,” Elise whispered. “But Clarissa has influence. Old ties.”
Bella stood abruptly. “I’m going.”
“You can’t. They won’t let you in.”
“Then I’ll wait at the door.”
⸻
Outside the conference room, Bella stood soaked in the marble hallway, refusing to move. Staff passed, watching, whispering, but she didn’t care.
Finally, the doors opened.
Damian stepped out, tie loosened, face unreadable.
She rushed to him. “What happened?”
“They voted. Clarissa failed to gain majority.”
Bella exhaled in relief.
“But she’s not giving up,” he added grimly. “She’s filing for an independent audit. She’s trying to paint me as reckless. She wants the estate.”
“She can’t take it.”
“She’ll try.”
Bella placed her hand over his. “Then we won’t let her.”
He looked at her with something fierce and unwavering.
“No,” he said. “We won’t.”
⸻
That evening, Bella found Clarissa in the rose conservatory. Alone. Predictable.
“You’re not welcome here anymore,” Bella said, voice steady.
Clarissa turned slowly, a thin smile curling her lips. “You think because you’re wearing his affection like a second skin that you have power here?”
“I don’t need power,” Bella said. “I have truth. And you don’t.”
Clarissa stepped closer. “You’ll never be more than what you were—barefoot and begging.”
Bella smiled.
“And yet, somehow, I still have everything you want.”
Clarissa’s hand twitched, but she didn’t reply. She left with sharp heels echoing through the corridor.
Bella stood tall, her chest rising with something new.
Not fear.
Fire.
Bella paced the floor of the cottage’s living room, the day’s news weighing heavily on her shoulders. Rain tapped against the windows, a steady rhythm that did little to calm her nerves.
Damian had been summoned to an emergency board meeting that morning. Clarissa had called it—under the guise of “preserving the estate’s integrity.”
But everyone knew what it really was: a power grab.
Bella stood at the edge of the window, hands wrapped around a cup of untouched tea, watching as black cars arrived at the front of the estate house. Men in tailored suits and women with manicured contempt stepped out beneath umbrellas, their heels clicking against stone.
The board had arrived.
Elise came in quietly, shaking off her coat.
“Don’t go out there,” she warned softly.
“I wasn’t going to,” Bella said, voice taut.
Elise sat on the arm of the couch. “They’re circling like sharks. Clarissa’s already whispered to three members before they even stepped through the front doors.”
“She wants to paint me as a liability.”
“She’s trying to paint him as weak,” Elise corrected. “And using you to do it.”
Bella exhaled, her jaw tightening. “It’s still about status. Control. Nothing more.”
“It’s about fear,” Elise said. “She’s terrified of losing the last bit of control she has over Damian. You’ve unseated her without even meaning to.”
Bella gave a hollow laugh. “Funny. I never asked to be powerful.”
“And yet, here you are,” Elise said, standing. “And right now? That scares them more than anything.”
⸻
Inside the estate’s conference room, Damian stood at the head of a long mahogany table. The walls were lined with oil paintings of Westwood ancestors—silent spectators to the drama unfolding beneath their golden frames.
Clarissa sat near the center, a fox-like calm across her features. She wore power like perfume—strong, manufactured, suffocating.
“Let’s begin,” she said, flipping through a folder.
“We’re here to review a potential conflict of interest,” she continued, casting a glance toward Damian. “Concerns have been raised about the estate’s future, its public image, and financial security due to… personal decisions.”
Damian remained still, his face unreadable.
“We’re not here to discuss my personal life,” he said evenly. “We’re here to discuss results. Performance. Leadership.”
“Your leadership is under question because of your personal life,” she said coolly. “The staff is in turmoil. Public opinion is split. Investors have voiced unease.”
“And yet profits are up twelve percent, our sustainability initiative launched two months ahead of schedule, and our donor partnerships are stronger than ever,” Damian replied.
Clarissa’s lips tightened. “Sentiment doesn’t drive legacy.”
“No,” Damian said. “But humanity does. And if legacy means crushing people to maintain an illusion, then maybe we should rethink what we’re preserving.”
A few board members shifted in their seats.
Clarissa straightened, latching on to a new weapon. “What happens when your relationship ends, Damian? Have you thought about that?”
He met her gaze. “Yes. I’ve thought about it every day. Which is why I chose to love someone who would never use power as leverage.”
“And if the media disagrees?”
“Let them.”
A silence fell. Then Clarissa spoke again, this time to the room.
“I motion for a vote of no confidence. All in favor?”
One hand rose. Then another. Two more hesitated. A pause.
Damian’s eyes flicked to the door.
Bella wasn’t inside.
But she was near.
⸻
Bella stood just outside, her ear against the thick wood. Elise had followed her down the hall, holding her arm.
“You’ll get in trouble,” Elise whispered. “You’re not board. You’re not even staff anymore.”
Bella pulled away gently. “Then I’m just a woman protecting the man she loves.”
Inside, she heard voices raised, then quieted. Papers shuffled. A pause.
The doors opened abruptly. Damian stepped out.
Bella’s heart stuttered.
“Are you—?”
“We’re safe,” he said. “By one vote.”
Her chest loosened. “Clarissa?”
“Furious. But she’s filing for an independent audit now. She’s not done.”
Bella searched his face. “Do you regret it? Us?”
His eyes softened.
“No,” he said. “I regret waiting so long to fight for you.”
He reached for her hand and held it in front of everyone as the remaining board members filtered past, most of them pretending not to notice, a few offering tight nods.
Elise approached from behind. “They’ll keep pushing.”
“We’ll push harder,” Bella said.
She hadn’t meant to sound like a partner.
But no one challenged it.
⸻
That evening, the conservatory smelled of lavender and old roses.
Bella found Clarissa there—just as she suspected she would. Alone. Always planning.
“You’ve had a busy day,” Bella said, walking in slowly.
Clarissa turned with a smirk. “How very brave of you to show your face.”
“I’m not hiding anymore.”
“Still pretending this is a fairytale?” Clarissa asked. “That the help gets the mansion and the prince?”
“No,” Bella said. “I’m living it. Because he chose me.”
Clarissa walked closer. “He pities you. And when that fades—what will you be? Another footnote? Another mistake?”
Bella held her ground.
“No. I’ll still be me. Someone who’s never used power to belittle others. Someone who built love with honesty, not leverage.”
Clarissa’s expression cracked—just for a second.
“You’ve had your time here,” Bella added. “And you used it to dominate and destroy. But this place is changing.”
Clarissa scoffed. “And you think you’re that change?”
“I don’t need to be,” Bella said softly. “Love is.”
⸻
Hours later, Damian returned to the cottage. Bella had lit candles, music playing low in the background, something simple and warm in the oven.
“Smells like garlic and… forgiveness,” he teased.
She laughed. “Close. It’s lasagna.”
He walked to her, cupping her waist gently.
“I want to ask you something,” he said.
She stilled.
“Not that,” he added quickly. “Not yet.”
She smiled, heart racing.
“I want you to stand beside me at the next estate event. Officially. Publicly. No more whispers.”
She looked into his eyes. “Then I’ll need a dress that silences everyone.”
He grinned. “I’ll have my assistant clear the city.”
And they stood there, in the heart of their shared storm, feeling—finally—what peace could look like.
Together.
- Writer
