Separate Lives

The sunlight through the tall windows should have been beautiful, and in her first week as Mrs. Blackwell, Sloane had believed it meant she was above all her problems. Well, that delusion lasted nine days.

Now the sunlight showed the truth, making the space between her and Nathaniel feel like a barrier.

She didn’t touch her yogurt, watching the granola turn soggy while her throat tightened with unspoken feelings.

Nathaniel sat at the opposite end, scrolling through his tablet, engrossed in financial headlines with a focus he never gave her.

The clink of her spoon against porcelain broke the silence.

“The gala coverage was favorable,” he said without looking up. “Photo of us made the business section with ‘Power Couple’ as the title.” 

Her fingers tightened on the spoon, then she forced herself to relax and placed it down carefully.

“Efficient,” she managed to say. “That’s what we needed.”

He glanced at her, noting her blue dress, neat hair, and makeup—everything perfectly in place for a corporate wife.

She wondered if he could notice the tiredness hidden beneath the concealer and the shaking in her hands after waiting outside his mistress’s apartment until two AM, trapped between going in and leaving.

Probably not. Nathaniel saw what he wanted to see and nothing more.

“I have the quarterly board meeting at nine,” she said, keeping her voice calm and professional. “The Valencia acquisition is on the agenda.”

“The one your team’s been reviewing for six months?” He set the tablet down gently. “I’ll be there. Don’t be surprised, Sloane—I’m the CEO on paper, after all.”

His casual remark stung. On paper, he was the CEO, but everyone knew he only got the position because her father’s will tied her inheritance to marriage. She had worked hard for her place; he got his with a wedding ring.

She stood too quickly. “Just don’t be late.” Tea spread over the white linen.

Her heels clicked on the marble as she walked away, leaving him without a word.

She relaxed in the empty elevator for a moment, her reflection looked fragile. She pulled herself together before the doors opened, and by the time she reached the car, she was Mrs. Blackwell again—calm and in control.

The boardroom felt dark and powerful. Seven much older men were already seated, her father’s chair at the head of the table stood empty, waiting for Nathaniel.

Her seat was beside it, close to power but not in control.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said clearly as she presented the numbers, her voice calm and confident.

She could sense their half-hearted attention, as if they were just humoring her until the real CEO showed up, exchanging quick and obvious glances between themselves.

Twenty minutes in, she turned to Valencia.

“Projections show our market share could grow by twelve percent in eighteen months. I recommend immediate approval, window closes in two weeks.”

Silas Higgins, a top executive in his late seventies, cleared his throat with a thick, wet sound.

“Expensive gamble for a company with no track record,” he added. “Your father preferred secure investments.”

Her skin flushes. “My father believed that staying still meant falling behind, and the data prove—”

“Data can tell any story,” Vincent Croft murmured as he polished his ring without looking at her.

The door swung open as Nathaniel stepped in, the atmosphere instantly changed and everyone straightened up.

“Apologies, gentlemen. Traffic was terrible.”

Nathaniel took the CEO’s chair without looking at her. “Don’t let me interrupt,” he smiled and said. “Sloane, you were presenting?”

“Valencia,” she said calmly. “They recommend approving it right away.”

Nathaniel leaned back with his hands resting on his stomach. “Valencia, yes,” he paused. “I’ve been having lunches with Leo Sharpe at Meridian Capital. He thinks a Korean startup will overtake Valencia’s core tech, so buying it now would be outdated.”

She was hurt by these words.

“Our tech team found no proof of that.” She said quietly.  “Valencia’s patents are solid—”

“Leo has reliable sources in Seoul,” Nathaniel interrupted, meeting her eyes. “We should slow down and do a sixty-day review.”

Everyone around the table agreed with a nod.

“Always better to be careful,” Higgins wheezed.

Sloane clenched her hands. “We lose our chance if we wait sixty days. The deal is good now, but later the price will rise or they find another buyer.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Then let them. We’ll find another opportunity.”

He turned away and smiled at the board. “How’s your grandson, Silas? Still trying for pro golf?”

And just like that, her project was over. After six months of research, analysis, and late-night work, her team even giving up weekends for the strongest acquisition case she’d built as COO, and he dismissed over lunch gossip from Leo Sharpe, a venture capitalist who lucked his way up.

The meeting dragged on for another forty painful minutes. Sloane sat perfectly still, wearing a professional mask while her inside screamed.

When it finally ended, the board members left, shaking Nathaniel’s hand, laughing at his jokes, and enjoying his charm. They barely even noticed her.

“Sloane.”

Higgins leaned in and whispered, “Wise caution from your husband. Maybe Mr. Blackwell should make the decisions instead of just giving advice,” he said, glancing at Nathaniel laughing with Croft by the windows. “Your father would have wanted what’s best for the company, dear. I’m sure you understand.” He added and left.

Sloane stood alone in the large boardroom, the city visible through the windows, not bothered by her small embarrassment.

She looked at the CEO’s chair Nathaniel had occupied so effortlessly, and a quiet resignation settled over her—the realization that this was her life, this performance, this cage, and no amount of skill or preparation would ever set her free.

Sloane walked out with her shoulders back and head high. She reached her office, closed the door, and stood in the clean space, the Rothko on the wall and the city below.

Her hands shook, her breath was short and sharp. 

She pressed her palms on the desk and counted one, two, three, four. She focused on breathing, not crying. She wouldn’t give them that.

Yes, she was breaking. Quietly and alone.

Then the blinds in her office rattled, though the windows were shut tight. Someone was outside, Watching! Waiting!