Chapter 39

FREYA'S POV

I stayed quiet as the meeting finally wound down—the silence felt heavier than any argument ever could. Papers rustled, chairs scrubbed across the floor, and breaths let out like they’d just crossed a finish line. Although in here, the final buzzer meant only one thing: be ready for the next challenge.

Brandon was the first to rise. I slid out of my chair and stood too, smoothing the crease in my skirt without really noticing the fabric. He moved past colleagues with a confident, measured stride toward the massive double doors. I followed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The room felt charged one moment longer, like it needed to exhale.

At the threshold, Brandon paused. He looked down at me—just for a second, but that was all it took. That look said everything: Come on. It was time.

He led the way out, and before I even registered the shift in space, we were met by two bubbling faces: Gerald and Kyle, standing just beyond the doors like sentries guarding a prize. The noise of journalists and overconfident investors waiting beyond the boardroom was replaced by an opposite air of patience. As if this subdued gathering had been waiting for something—or someone—like us.

When we reached them, Gerald stepped forward. His gait was exactly what you’d expect: solid, not flashy, but magnetic in that way only people who instinctively command attention know how to be. He raised his hand in a formal half-wave.

“Freya,” he said, voice low and warm. He nodded to me, but the warmth in his eyes was plain. “Good to see you again.”

Something lodged in my chest—relief, pride, connection, maybe all three. We hadn’t known each other long, but in those board meetings and behind-the-scenes discussions, I’d watched him watch me the way the notes at a housewarming quietly collect in the corners—unnoticed until you suddenly realize they were always there.

“Good morning,” I replied, and for a moment my voice sounded fuller than I’d expected.

Brandon placed a hand on my upper arm. “Dad, this is Freya—my wife.

Gerald glanced at him, then back to me, and nodded again. “My pleasure.” Then he directed us both to his side. “Kyle and I were just going over some recent correspondence.” He tapped the folder in his hand. “Word is, things have shifted upward—we’ll be seeing a bit more of each other.”

I took that as polite encouragement. Even if my pulse jumped in my chest, at least I wasn’t freezing in my place.

“Glad to hear it,” Brandon said. Then he took a breath and turned to Gerald. “You’re the first person I wanted to see.”

Gerald’s smile was brief but satisfied.

Before the moment drifted away, Bryan appeared beside Rachelle—like clockwork, the self-proclaimed golden couple always arrived together. They gave the most choreographed wave possible, the one that said, Look, we’re partners who are completely unaffected.

Gerald acknowledged them with ease. “Bryan, Rachelle.” His voice was casual as if he’d just bumped into them at a local cafe. “Good to see you both.”

Rachelle gave the kind of practiced smile Gerald had liked for so long. Bryan bowed his head slightly, too smooth. “Gerald.”

One thing you learn quickly around them: posturing is like oxygen. They breathe it in.

Brandon cleared his throat. “Dad, I thought we’d head out. Are you ready?”

Gerald nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you out.”

We formed a slow-moving line: Gerald and Kyle in front, then Brandon with me stepping slightly behind, then Bryan and Rachelle. We drifted through the corridor, passing murmured room numbers. Eventually, we spilled out into the cool light beyond the boardroom doors, the noise of everyday operations rushing in again.

As Brandon and I passed Gerald, he paused and looked over at me again—the way a sculptor might study an artwork just placed on the wall.

“Looking radiant,” he said. “You’re doing very well here.”

My breath caught. And that—his approval—was exactly what it felt like.

We circled around and halted by the elevator lobby. I caught Brandon’s curious expression as he tucked his phone away. He shot me a glance.

Once we were alone, I said, “Who tipped Dad off?”

He chuckled softly. “That was Kyle. Without a doubt.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He looked thoughtful, tapping his phone in his back pocket. “Kyle was done pretending. Alexander and Bryan have both been slacking off—keeping the leftover scraps of responsibility, stepping into luxury roles without earnestly earning them. Kyle saw it early. He tried to ask them to pick it up but they brushed it off.”

It all made sense now. The sudden buzz of productivity. The hush ringing through the boardroom. Gerald had flown in—on what looked suspiciously like very good intel.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Kyle emailed him?”

“He did.” Brandon’s smile was mildly proud. “It could’ve been a mess—calling out executives like that. But Kyle took the route they couldn’t evade: private communication to the Chairman. Gerald Lefevre forwards it—no ceremony. Just watches.”

I shook my head. “That sort of power…he doesn’t just wield it stealthily.”

He shrugged. “That’s the problem with having a boardroom full of men who assume the world owes them deference. Kyle reminds everyone—working isn’t optional.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m impressed. That much weight, behind the scenes, redistributed.”

Brandon brushed away a loose hair. “It’s refreshing. And terrifying.”

I watched him closely—how he carried himself. The firm line of his jaw, the calm accessibility in his posture. These were the moments when the delicate facade fell away—the grip Brandon really carried as CEO.

“And Alexander? What about Dad’s impression of him?”

Brandon paused, then said dryly, “He was standing perfectly straight when Dad walked in. Heart in his throat.”

I burst out laughing before I could stop myself. It was obscene. Watching grown men outmaneuver power dynamics.

“Thank you for shielding me through that,” I said softly. “But just in case: don’t let them think you’re leaning more toward them than me.”

He took my hand then, folding his warm palm against mine gently. “Never.”

We stepped into the elevator. It arrived in a gentle hiss, doors opening neatly.

As we entered, I said quietly, “Kyle, I’ll make this board a different place.”

Brandon pressed the button for our floor. “He already is.”

I looked up at him, studying the way the rising light caught the warm planes of his face. Narrow cheekbones, taut mouth forgiven by eyes that spoke vulnerability more often than he’d admit.

“I’m proud of him,” I murmured.

“Me too.”

The elevator doors slid shut. We stood close in the dim hum, lights shifting overhead—carrying a world of whispers, secrets, and expectations.

Tonight, though, the noise in here was pulse-quiet. Just him and me exchanging small thoughts, uncategorized but real.

We stepped out at our floor. The air felt lighter—less charged with unspoken tension. The world outside the boardroom shifted. Reality resumed.

I took a quiet breath. “Promise me something?”

“Name it.”

He turned to me, thumb brushing my palm. “Let’s never go by the rules they hand down for us.” I tried to keep my voice calm, but it came out fierce. Protective.

He smiled, gently amused. “You’re good at setting our own.”

We walked together through the quiet hall, down to the lobby. Step by step, I let that tension peel away. With him at my side, I didn’t have to pretend. I could just be Freya—whatever that meant today.

And for the first time, I felt like us—a team with our own rules, our own scuffles, our own silent revolutions.