Updated Dec 11, 2025 • ~7 min read
HANNAH
Connor’s text sat on my phone like a grenade.
I have a proposition.
I knew what that meant. More blackmail. More demands. More proof that this nightmare would never end.
“Don’t respond,” Oliver said when I showed him. “Don’t engage. I’m handling this.”
“How?”
“I don’t know yet. But I will.”
Except Oliver couldn’t handle it. Because Thursday afternoon, Connor made good on his threat.
The photos showed up online. Not the tabloids—something worse. A gossip blog called “Corporate Secrets” that specialized in exposing scandals. Anonymous tips. Unverifiable sources. Plausible deniability.
But the photos were real.
Oliver King, engaged billionaire CEO, entering his assistant’s apartment building. Time-stamped. Dated. Impossible to deny.
The blog post was titled: “King’s Secret: CEO Cheating With Employee?”
Within an hour, it had ten thousand shares.
By noon, it was on every major gossip site.
By three PM, reporters were calling the office.
“No comment,” I told the fifth one. My hands shook as I hung up.
Oliver’s door opened. He looked exhausted. Furious.
“Conference room. Now. Bring Tristan.”
I found Tristan in his office. “Oliver needs you.”
“Is this about the photos?”
Word traveled fast.
“Yes.”
We walked to the conference room together. Oliver was already there, on his phone, arguing with someone.
“I don’t care what the board thinks. I’m handling it… No, I’m not issuing a statement… Because it’s no one’s business… Fine. Schedule the meeting. Tomorrow morning.”
He hung up. Looked at us. “The board wants my resignation.”
My stomach dropped. “What?”
“They think I’ve compromised the company. Created a liability. They want me gone.”
“They can’t do that,” Tristan said. “You own controlling shares.”
“Not until I’m married. Until my birthday, they can vote me out with a two-thirds majority. Which they have.”
This was my fault. All of it. The photos, the scandal, Oliver losing everything.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t.” Oliver moved to me. “This is not your fault. This is Connor being a vindictive asshole and the board being cowards.”
“But if you’d never met me—”
“Then I’d be marrying Vivian for a company I don’t even want.” He cupped my face. “I don’t regret you, Hannah. I regret that you’re being dragged through this.”
“What do we do?”
“We stick to the plan. Get married Friday. I satisfy the will, keep my shares, and tell the board to go to hell.”
“And if they vote you out before Friday?”
Silence. Heavy. Terrifying.
“Then I lose the company,” Oliver said quietly. “But I still have you.”
OLIVER
The board meeting Friday morning was exactly as terrible as I expected.
Twelve faces, all grim. All judging. My father’s old colleagues, the men who’d helped build King Industries from nothing.
Now they wanted me gone.
“The photos are damaging,” Richard Ashton, Vivian’s father, said. “Your personal life has become a professional liability.”
“My personal life is my business.”
“Not when it affects our stock price. Not when clients are questioning your judgment. Not when you’re engaged to one woman and photographed entering another’s apartment at night.” He leaned forward. “We need stability, Oliver. Not scandal.”
“I’m providing stability. I’m getting married today. Satisfying the terms of my father’s will. Maintaining control of the company as he intended.”
“To your assistant?” Another board member, Franklin Gates. “The woman in those photos?”
“Yes.”
Murmurs around the table. Disbelief. Disgust. Judgment.
“That’s not appropriate,” someone said.
“It’s a conflict of interest,” said another.
“It’s none of your business,” I said. Voice sharp. Final. “I’m marrying Hannah Whitman today. I’ll satisfy the will. I’ll maintain my shares. And you’ll all go back to making money. That’s how this works.”
“Unless we vote you out first,” Richard said quietly. “Which we can do. Today. Right now. Two-thirds majority.”
My blood went cold. “You wouldn’t.”
“Try us.”
A threat. Clear. Unambiguous.
Choose the company or choose Hannah. Prove your loyalty or lose everything.
I looked around the table. At the men my father had trusted. The men who’d known me since I was a child. The men who now looked at me like I was a stranger.
“If you force me to choose,” I said quietly, “I’ll choose her. Every time.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
Maybe. Probably.
But I’d rather be a fool who chose love than a success who died alone.
“Schedule the vote,” I said. “Let’s get this over with.”
HANNAH
I was at my desk when Tristan appeared, looking panicked.
“The board’s voting. Now. They’re going to remove Oliver if he doesn’t back down.”
My heart stopped. “What does that mean?”
“It means he has to choose. Marry you and lose the company. Or keep the company and lose you.”
No. No, this wasn’t happening.
“He can’t lose the company. Not for me.”
“That’s what he’s choosing.”
“Then I have to stop him.”
I ran. Down the hall, toward the conference room. Burst through the doors without knocking.
Twelve faces turned to me. Oliver stood at the head of the table, looking shell-shocked.
“Hannah—” he started.
“Don’t do this,” I said. “Don’t throw away everything for me.”
“We’ve had this conversation—”
“And I’m ending it.” I looked at the board. At Richard Ashton, who’d threatened Oliver. At the men who held my future in their hands. “I quit. Effective immediately. I’m no longer his employee. No more conflict of interest.”
“Hannah, no—”
“Yes.” I turned to him. “You’re not losing this company because of me. I won’t let you.”
“That doesn’t solve the problem,” Richard said. “The photos still exist. The scandal still exists. He still chose you over his fiancée.”
“Then I’ll fix it.” I didn’t know how. Didn’t know what I was promising. But I’d figure it out. “Just—give him until his birthday. One more week. Let him fulfill the will. Then decide.”
The board members looked at each other. Calculating. Considering.
“One week,” Richard said finally. “But if there’s any more scandal, any more photos, anything that damages this company—we vote. Understood?”
“Understood.”
I walked out before Oliver could stop me.
OLIVER
I found her in the stairwell, sitting on the steps, head in her hands.
“That was stupid.”
She looked up. “You’re welcome.”
“You didn’t have to quit.”
“Yes, I did. They were going to vote you out, Oliver. I couldn’t—” Her voice broke. “I couldn’t let you lose everything because of me.”
I sat beside her. Pulled her close. “So now what? We can’t get married if you don’t work here. The will requires I’m married by my birthday. That’s in six days.”
“So we wait. After your birthday, after you have the company secured, then we get married.”
“And if the board votes me out before then?”
“They won’t. Not if I stay away. Not if there’s no more scandal.”
“Stay away?” I pulled back. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we need distance. For six days. No contact. No photos. Nothing Connor or the board can use against you.”
“Hannah—”
“Please.” She cupped my face. “Please let me do this. Let me protect you the way you’ve been protecting me.”
“I don’t want distance. I want you.”
“And you’ll have me. In six days. After your birthday. After the company is legally yours.” She kissed me. Soft. Final. “But until then, we stay apart.”
“This is wrong—”
“This is smart. Which is why you’re going to agree.”
She was right. I hated it, but she was right.
Six days. I could survive six days without her.
Except the next six days felt like six years.
No calls. No texts. No contact.
Hannah moved out of her apartment—said Connor knew where she lived, wasn’t safe. Stayed with Elise. Refused to tell me where.
And I went through the motions. Worked. Slept. Pretended my life made sense without her in it.
The gossip died down. The board backed off. Everything stabilized.
But I was miserable.
Five days until my birthday. Five days until I could legally marry Hannah and tell the world to go to hell.
I just had to make it five more days.
Then Connor sent another text.
Miss me? Let’s talk. I have photos you’ll want to see. Photos of Hannah. Recent ones. Interested? – C
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