Corpor Wife 9

Celene’s POV…

They weren’t ready for me. The board meeting started ten minutes ago, and not one person had spoken without glancing at Fernand first. Like they were waiting for him to jump in and correct me. Take the lead. Pull the leash.

He didn’t. I stood at the head of the table, hands flat against the polished wood, the city skyline burning behind me through the glass wall. My voice didn’t rise. It didn’t shake. It commanded.

“We will restructure the regional divisions by the end of the quarter. Streamline three redundant roles at VP level. And put a freeze on international expansion until compliance is cleaned up in Southeast Asia.”

A pause. Then: “If we want to protect this empire, we stop bleeding money trying to impress headlines.”

There were nods. Some are reluctant. Some grudging. One man even scribbled something like he was afraid not to.

But then, of course, he spoke. Rhys. Sitting three chairs down, leaning back like he had something important to contribute.

“Right,” he said, slow, cool. “The woman who’s been here for ten minutes wants to restructure an entire legacy brand.” I turned to him, sharp and deliberate.

He smiled. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell me, Celene, was that in the playbook Fernand gave you, or is this part of the revenge arc?” The room went still. Even Damon glanced up from his notes.

I didn’t blink. “You know what’s funny, Rhys?”

His smirk twitched. “I doubt it.”

“You sat at this table for three years, married to the woman who brought you coffee and kept her mouth shut. Now she speaks and suddenly you’re scared.”

He laughed once. Bitter. “No, I’m just not a fan of watching people pretend they’re built for a seat they didn’t earn.”

“Right. Because you were born for it?” I shot back. “You mean the guy who fumbled a brand deal with EonTech because he was too busy screwing the investor’s daughter?” Gasps. Actual, satisfying gasps. Rhys’s smile dropped.

He stood slowly. “You want to start this here?”

“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I want to finish it here.”

The air between us snapped. Accidentally, I saw Rhys’s amused stare like I did something great. What was that? Tss. Tension crackled like static, every eye in the room bouncing between us like a tennis match no one paid for. But I didn’t raise my voice. I didn’t have to.

“Anyone else have questions about whether I’m qualified?” I said, addressing the room without looking away from him.

“Or should we move forward with saving the company, your ego almost drowned?” Silence. Rhys sat back down. Tight-lipped. Jaw clenched. Completely wrecked. I didn’t even feel satisfaction. I felt purpose.

The meeting ended.

Chairs scraped, conversations started low, hesitant, like no one was sure if they were allowed to speak freely now. I turned to leave. But I wasn’t even halfway down the corridor before I felt him.

Damon Ashcroft. Trailing behind me like a shadow you can’t shake. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t slow down. But the sound of his steps, measured, intentional, caught up fast.

“You always blow up meetings like that?” he asked dryly.

“Only when someone tries to minimize me in front of a legacy board,” I replied without looking back. He fell into step beside me, quiet for a beat. Then: “Interesting entrance. Bold, even. But bold doesn’t mean earned.”

I stopped. Slowly turned. “You have something to say, Ashcroft, or are you just here to deliver vague alpha threats?”

He didn’t smile. “I don’t know what game you’re playing. But don’t expect me to protect you when it burns down.”

I tilted my head. “Good. I don’t need you to.” His expression didn’t change, but his stance shifted, barely.

“I’ve spent years building the trust you just walked into,” he said, eyes cold. “So forgive me if I don’t clap when you turn the room into a stage.”

“Maybe they needed to be woken up,” I said. “Maybe you did too.”

“Just be careful,” he warned. “This place devours untested egos.”

“And you think I’m untested?” I stepped in. “Try surviving a marriage with Rhys Carrington, then tell me about battlefields.”

That hit. His jaw ticked. But he didn’t flinch.

“I don’t trust you,” he said after a pause.

“Trust makes people sloppy,” I replied. “I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make decisions.”

We stared each other down, neither of us blinking, neither willing to step back. Not enemies. Not allies. Just two storms waiting for the first crack of thunder.

Then I turned, not waiting for a response. But I felt his eyes on me the whole way down the hall. Not impressed, not threatened. Just watching. Like a puzzle he didn’t trust, but knew he’d eventually have to solve.

My heels echoed through the hallway, sharp, clean, final. I could still feel the board’s eyes on my back like they were still watching me. It was a nerve wracking experience but guess what? I pulled it off.

While walking, I feel someone is following me. Heavy, determined footsteps, just a little too quick. Just a little too loud. But I didn’t turn and stop. I just smirked to myself and kept walking. I led the stalker through the corridor that twisted off the main hall, the one no one used unless they were trying to get somewhere private. Or get away.

I walked like I didn’t notice. Like I wasn’t baiting him. And he followed, just like I knew he would. I waited until the hallway narrowed, until there were no witnesses, no excuses. Then I stopped. Slow. Smooth. Deliberate. Let him crash into the moment. And he did.

“Celene,” Rhys said, his voice low and shaken. “Tell me this is a joke. Are you really Fernand’s daughter? Or is this just… some elaborate game to get back at me?”

I turned to face him slowly, one eyebrow lifting with deliberate ease, a faint smile playing on my lips like a secret only I knew.

“Wow. Full name and everything,” I said lightly. “Look at you—suddenly so formal.”

I took a step toward him, smooth and unhurried. “So what is it, Rhys? Do you want me now because I’ve got a last name that makes people nervous?”

He didn’t speak. His mouth moved, but no sound followed. And I didn’t wait for him to catch up.

Another step closed the space between us. I leaned in, close enough to feel the sharp intake of his breath as my body brushed his—familiar, dangerous. My voice dropped, barely above a whisper, the kind that curled just beneath his jaw.

“Do I finally matter now,” I said, “now that I’m not your quiet little ex-wife with no name?”

His hand twitched. And his eyes, God, his eyes were wrecked.

The temptation was written all over him. His jaw clenched, chest heaving like he didn’t know whether to back off or pull me in. And for a second? I almost let him. We were a breath apart. One tilt of the mouth and we’d be back where it all started. But then? The smirk slid off my face like silk. And the warmth in my voice iced over.

I leaned in, lips nearly brushing his, and said flatly, “You don’t get to want me now.”

I stepped back, fast and sharp.

“You had me,” I said, voice low but laced with fire. “You left me. And you replaced me with easy. And now you want credit for realizing—too late—that I was the real thing?”

“Celene—”

“No.” I cut him off, sharp and immediate. “Don’t ‘Celene’ me. You don’t get to say my name like it still fits in your mouth.”

He flinched. Just slightly. But I saw it.

This time, when I stepped closer, there was no seduction in it—only fire. The kind that scorched. The kind that dared him to speak again.

“You know what I was to you?” I whispered. “A mirror. One that showed you exactly how small you were. And you hated it.”

He swallowed hard, but said nothing. Couldn’t. I tilted my head just enough for him to take in everything, how I stood, how I dressed, how I no longer bent to make him comfortable. He saw it now. Polished. Powerful. Untouchable.

“You lost the right to call me anything.”

I turned on my heel, the sound of my heels slicing through the silence like a final cut. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I already knew exactly what I was leaving behind.

He stood there—frozen. Breathless. Wrecked.

Once, I would’ve died for him to chase me.

Now? He couldn’t even keep up.