THE BOARD MEETING PREP

My phone rings at 10pm while I'm drowning in spreadsheets.

Dominic's name flashes on the screen. I answer, pressing it to my ear with my shoulder while I finish typing a note.

"I need you to present tomorrow."

My fingers freeze on the keyboard. "What?"

"The board meeting. You're presenting the restructuring plan." His voice is matter-of-fact, like he's asking me to pass the salt instead of throwing me into a boardroom full of sharks.

"You want me to present? To the board? Are you insane?"

"Possibly. But I'm also right." Papers rustle on his end. "You know this material better than anyone, including me. And it sends a message. Shows we're united. That my wife isn't just decorative."

My stomach flips. "What if they hate me? What if they think I'm just the trophy wife playing businesswoman?"

"Then you prove them wrong. You're good at that."

The confidence in his voice does nothing to calm my racing heart. "Dominic, I've never presented to a board before. I've never presented to anyone before."

Silence on the other end. Then, "I'll be home in an hour. We'll run through it."

"It's ten o'clock."

"So we'll run through it at eleven." A pause. "Unless you're giving up?"

The challenge in his tone sparks something stubborn in my chest. "I'm not giving up."

"Good. See you soon."

He hangs up before I can argue.

I stare at my laptop screen, at the presentation I've been building for two days. Thirty slides. Millions of dollars in recommendations. The future of his company.

No pressure.

I'm in Dominic's study when he arrives, having moved there for the bigger monitor. The presentation is open, my notes scattered across his desk like evidence of my panic.

The door opens at eleven-thirty. He walks in still wearing his suit, tie loosened, looking exhausted. His eyes find mine immediately.

"Ready?"

"No." My voice shakes. "I'm terrified."

"Good. Terror means you care." He shrugs off his jacket, draping it over a chair. "Start from the beginning. Pretend I'm the board."

I pull up the first slide, my hands trembling on the keyboard. "Laurent Industries faces significant challenges in the current quarter. Revenue is down eighteen percent, operational costs are up forty percent, and three of our six divisions are operating at a loss."

"Stop."

I look at him. He's leaning against his desk, arms crossed.

"You're apologizing with your voice," he says. "Like you're sorry the company is failing. You're not responsible for the failure. You're here to fix it."

"I don't know how to not apologize. It's kind of my default setting."

His mouth almost curves into a smile. "I've noticed. But tomorrow, you need to be someone else. Someone who knows she's the smartest person in the room."

"I'm not the smartest person in the room."

"Yes, you are. You just don't believe it yet." He moves to stand behind me, close enough that I can smell cedar and coffee. "Again. Stronger this time."

I restart. This time, I force confidence into my voice. "Laurent Industries faces significant challenges."

"Better. Keep going."

I work through the slides. Revenue analysis. Cost breakdowns. The shipping route disaster in the Pacific division. Every time I stumble or apologize or look down, he stops me. Make me do it again.

"Eye contact," he instructs. "Don't stare at the screen. Look at me."

I meet his eyes. They're focused, intense, but not cold. There's something else there. Encouragement, maybe.

"The restructuring plan requires bold action," I continue. "Consolidating R&D departments, refinancing real estate holdings, and divesting the smallest division entirely."

"What if someone challenges you?" he asks. "What if Marcus Chen says you don't understand the manufacturing process?"

"Then I'll show him the data. Six months of production reports proving we're ordering materials we don't need."

"And if Victor asks why we should trust your recommendations?"

My chin lifts. "Because I'm I.H. Sterling, and my projections have a ninety-two percent accuracy rate."

Dominic's eyes light up. "There. That's the woman who needs to walk into that boardroom."

We ran through it three more times. Each time, I get stronger. More confident. The words stop feeling foreign in my mouth.

By the fourth run-through, I'm not reading from notes anymore. I know this presentation backwards and forwards. I believe in it.

"Perfect," Dominic says when I finish. He's closer now, standing beside me instead of across the desk. "You're ready."

"You really think so?"

"I know so." His hand lands on my shoulder, warm through my sweater. "You've got this, Iris."

The touch sends electricity down my spine. I'm suddenly aware of how late it is, how alone we are, how his thumb is tracing small circles against my collarbone.

"We should take a break," he says, but doesn't move his hand.

"Okay."

Mrs. Chen left coffee in a thermos. Dominic pours two cups while I sink into the leather chair by his desk. My legs feel like jelly.

He hands me a cup and sits in the chair beside mine instead of behind his desk. Casual. Almost intimate.

"Tell me about before," he says. "Why weren't you using your talent? Your I.H. Sterling work was freelance, done under a pseudonym. Why?"

I wrap my hands around the warm cup. "I tried. Right after graduation. Applied to dozens of firms. But nobody wanted to hire me."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm Marcus Hartley's daughter." The bitterness in my voice surprises me. "They all thought I was playing at work. That I'd quit when I got bored or pregnant or when Daddy gave me a trust fund."

"Did you correct them?"

"How? By telling them I was the spare daughter who'd never see a trust fund? That my father barely knew my name?" I take a sip of coffee, the heat burning my tongue. "I tried freelancing instead. Built a reputation under a pseudonym so people would judge my work, not my last name."

Dominic's quiet for a moment. "I know what it's like to be underestimated."

"You? The brilliant CEO?"

"I was twenty-four when I took over. The board fought me on everything. Said I was too young, too inexperienced. That I'd destroy what my father built." His jaw tightens. "They wanted to bring in an outside CEO. Make me a figurehead."

"What did you do?"

"Prove them wrong. Every single day for six years." He looks at me. "Just like you're going to do tomorrow."

Something shifts between us. Understanding, maybe. We're both fighting to be seen as more than what people assume.

"I won't underestimate you again," he says quietly.

"You already have. Multiple times."

"Then let me rephrase. I won't make that mistake moving forward." His gray eyes hold mine. "You're brilliant, Iris. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

The words settle into my chest, warm and unexpected. Nobody's ever called me brilliant before. Smart, maybe. Useful. But never brilliant.

"Thank you," I whisper.

We sit there in comfortable silence, drinking coffee, until my eyes start to blur with exhaustion.

"It's late," Dominic says, standing. "You should sleep. Big day tomorrow."

I follow him to the hallway, my body heavy with fatigue and nerves. He walks me to my bedroom door, an oddly formal gesture that makes my heart race.

"Thank you," I say again. "For believing I can do this."

"I don't believe you can do this." His voice is soft. "I know you can."

His hand comes up, hovering near my face. For a second, I think he's going to touch me. Cup my jaw the way he did at the altar. But he catches himself, fingers curling into a fist.

He steps back, putting distance between us.

"Get some rest," he says. "Tomorrow changes everything."

Then he's walking away, his footsteps fading down the hallway.

I slip into my room and close the door, leaning against it as my heart hammers. Tomorrow I face the board. Tomorrow I will prove I belong here. Tomorrow I will stop being invisible.

But tonight, all I can think about is the way Dominic's hand hovered near my face, the way he looked at me like I was something precious.

Dangerous thoughts for a fake marriage.

Dangerous feelings for a man who doesn't believe in love.