Noah left her office feeling like he was walking on air and falling off a cliff simultaneously. The entire floor watched him get into the elevator. He didn’t care. His phone rang before he reached his desk. Unknown number. Against his better judgment, he answered. Enjoy the show. Richard’s voice was poison. You think you won? You didn’t.
That press conference just proved everything. That she’s using her position to protect you. That this whole thing is personal, not professional. The evidence says otherwise. Evidence can be explained away. But you know what can’t? Public opinion. the court of public perception. And right now, you look like a gold digger who seduced the boss to settle a grudge. Congratulations, Carter.
You just destroyed both your reputations. We’ll see. Yes, we will. Richard’s laugh was cold. I’ve been doing this a long time. I know how these things end, and this this ends with you broken and forgotten and her stepping down in disgrace. Enjoy the next few weeks. They’re all you have left. The line went dead.
Noah stood there, phone in hand, Richard’s words echoing in his head. But underneath the fear was something else, something solid. Victoria had said she loved him. She’d chosen him publicly, knowing what it would cost. Emma liked her. They were building something real. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe this would end badly.
Maybe the board would force Victoria out. Maybe Noah would lose his job. Maybe everything would fall apart. But maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe for once the truth would actually matter. Maybe standing up for yourself didn’t always end in disaster. Maybe love was worth the risk. Noah went back to his desk and got to work. He had four years of stolen ideas to reclaim.
A daughter to pick up from school. A woman he loved waiting to have dinner. A future that was terrifying and uncertain and his. Whatever came next, they’d face it together. And that was enough. The weeks that followed, Victoria’s press conference felt like living inside a pressure cooker. The investigation ground forward with bureaucratic slowness.
While the rest of the world moved at lightning speed, media coverage exploded. Business journals ran think pieces about workplace ethics. Social media had opinions, loud, contradictory, relentless. Some called Victoria brave for being transparent. Others called her reckless, unprofessional, a CEO, letting personal feelings compromise her judgment.
Noah tried to ignore it, tried to focus on work, on Emma, on the evidence that kept mounting against Richard, but it was everywhere. Colleagues forwarded him articles, some supportive, most not. Emma’s school friends repeated things their parents said. The grocery store clerk recognized him from a photo that had gone viral and asked for a selfie.
This is surreal, Noah told Victoria over the phone one night, 3 weeks into the investigation. Yesterday, someone stopped me at the gas station and told me I was destroying feminism by making a successful woman look weak. What did you say? Nothing. What do you say to that? Victoria laughed tiredly. I got accused of setting back female CEOs 50 years because I couldn’t separate personal and professional.
also of being a feminist icon for refusing to hide my relationship. Apparently, I’m both the problem and the solution, depending on who’s talking. How are you holding up? Honestly, some days I’m fine. Some days I want to throw my phone into the ocean and move to a cabin in Montana. She paused. The board met yesterday. Emergency session.
Noah’s stomach dropped. And they voted to keep me on for now. 8 to four this time. I gained three votes. That’s good, right? It means they’re seeing the evidence, realizing this isn’t about us. It’s about Richard. But Noah, those four dissenting votes aren’t going away. They want me gone. They’re just waiting for an excuse. So, we don’t give them one.
We’re trying, but every day there’s something new, some blog post or tweet or opinion piece about how inappropriate this all is. It’s exhausting. Noah heard the strain in her voice, the cracks in the armor she usually wore so well. When’s the last time you slept? I don’t know. Tuesday, Victoria. I’m fine. You’re not fine. Neither am I.
We’re both running on fumes and adrenaline, and this can’t be sustainable. She was quiet for a moment. What are you suggesting? I don’t know. Maybe we take a breath. Maybe we stop trying to control everything and just let the investigation finish. We did what we could. The evidence speaks for itself. The rest is out of our hands.
I hate that. I know. Me, too. But we can’t keep living like this. Emma asked me yesterday why I’m always on the phone. Why I look sad all the time. I don’t want her growing up watching me fight invisible battles every single day. You’re right. Victoria sighed. You’re absolutely right. I’m coming over. I need to see you both.
Remind myself what I’m fighting for. She arrived an hour later, still in her workclo, looking rung out. Emma was already in her pajamas, working on a drawing at the kitchen table. She looked up when Victoria walked in. “You look tired,” Emma said bluntly. Victoria laughed. “I am tired.” “Daddy’s tired, too. You’re both working too hard.
” “Probably,” Emma held up her drawing. “Look, I made a picture of a Stegosaurus family. That’s the mom. That’s the dad. That’s the baby.” Victoria sat down beside her, studying the crayon drawing. Seriously, the baby’s my favorite. Look at those little plates on its back. They’re called skoots, and they’re not little. They just look little because he’s a baby. When he grows up, they’ll be huge.
