Boardroom Battle
The next morning, Lydia woke to the harsh reality that surviving a gala was only the beginning. Alexander Vale, cold and unyielding as ever, had prepared another trial: her first boardroom appearance.
She stared at the sleek, black business attire laid out for her. A tailored blazer, pencil skirt, and heels that made her feel like a statue about to topple. This is going to be worse than last night, she muttered. At least the gala had champagne to hide behind.
Before she could psych herself out further, a soft knock came at the door.
"Miss Hart," said the assistant, voice flat. "Mr. Vale is ready for your arrival. The meeting begins in thirty minutes. Transportation has been arranged."
Lydia groaned and tried to breathe evenly. Thirty minutes was barely enough to mentally prepare, let alone navigate the labyrinth of corporate protocols she had no experience in. She stuffed her nerves into her stomach, straightened her blazer, and followed the assistant.
---
The elevator ride was silent, the kind of silence that made her pulse thrum like a drum. Alexander stood with perfect posture, eyes fixed ahead. She tried to sneak a glance at him. Cold. Unflinching. Intimidating. How is one man allowed to be this terrifying?
The elevator doors opened to a room filled with floor-to-ceiling windows, sunlight illuminating the polished oak conference table. A dozen people in business attire were already seated, murmuring politely.
Alexander gestured toward an empty chair beside him. "Sit."
Lydia did, carefully placing her bag under the table. Every movement felt like walking a tightrope, every blink a possible misstep.
"Miss Hart," Alexander said, voice low and authoritative. "This is a corporate meeting. You are here to observe, learn, and comply. Speak only when instructed. Understood?"
"Yes… sir," she replied, nodding quickly.
---
The meeting began. Numbers, graphs, strategies, and corporate jargon flew over her head like bullets. Lydia nodded along, pretending to understand, while mentally calculating how fast she could escape this nightmare without causing a scandal.
Then it happened.
A client asked a question about a minor project, and in a panic, Lydia raised her hand. Don't. Don't. Don't… But it was too late. Her voice rang out, slightly shaky but audible:
"I… I think the budget allocation might… maybe be improved if—"
Silence. All eyes turned toward her. Every eyebrow arched, every mouth tightened. And Alexander… stared. Cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.
"Miss Hart," he said slowly, his tone a scalpel. "This is not your domain. You are to observe. Do not speak unless spoken to."
Lydia's face burned hotter than the city sun outside. She nodded rapidly. Lesson learned. Never, ever speak in a room full of billionaires without explicit permission.
---
The meeting continued, but Lydia's nerves were shot. Every chart, every strategy point, every nod from Alexander reminded her of her precarious position. She was not just the illegitimate daughter of an elite family—she was on probation under the strictest CEO in the country.
Then, a whispered comment reached her ear. "Isn't she… well… you know, the child of a mistress?"
Lydia froze. Her pulse skipped a beat. She looked around. Nobody seemed shocked—most were polite enough to pretend they hadn't heard—but the weight of the words settled on her like a storm cloud.
Alexander noticed. Of course, he noticed. His gaze locked on hers, sharp and unforgiving. "Miss Hart," he said, voice low and dangerous, "control yourself. This is a professional environment."
"Yes… sir," she whispered, biting back the urge to defend herself.
---
By mid-afternoon, Lydia was exhausted. Her posture stiff, her brain fried from jargon and tension, she barely registered the world around her. Alexander, however, remained impeccably poised, coldly reviewing charts and silently judging.
A minor disaster struck when Lydia tried to reach for her notebook—sliding it across the polished table accidentally, sending pens clattering across the floor.
Heads turned. Murmurs started.
Alexander's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Miss Hart. Collect the items. Quietly. Immediately."
"Yes… sir," Lydia muttered, crouching to gather the pens. Her hands trembled. This is unbearable.
When she finally sat back, Alexander's cold gaze swept over her once more. "You are learning. Slowly. Keep in mind, failure here is not tolerated."
Lydia swallowed hard, feeling the chill of that warning seep into her bones. Slowly? I feel like I'm failing every second.
---
The meeting adjourned, and Lydia fled toward the exit like a prizefighter retreating from the ring. Alexander followed, silent and imposing, as if the world bent around him.
"You survived your first corporate encounter," he said, voice flat. "Barely."
Lydia's glare could have burned a hole through steel. "Barely? I didn't even touch anything important!"
"Your presence was a distraction," he said, calm and cold, "and distractions are costly. Remember that."
She clenched her fists. Distraction? I nearly survived without fainting. How is that a failure?
Alexander's sharp eyes met hers. "Do not test me, Miss Hart. Compliance is mandatory. Failure has consequences."
Lydia nodded mutely, realizing there was no arguing. Not here. Not now.
---
By evening, Lydia returned to the penthouse, mentally and physically drained. She slumped onto the sofa, replaying the day's events: the whispered comments, the accidental pen disaster, Alexander's piercing gaze.
Her phone buzzed. Another social media post had appeared, sharing rumors about her family status and her "role" in the Vale household. The comments ranged from curiosity to thinly veiled ridicule.
She groaned, burying her face in her hands. This is impossible. I can't survive this social and corporate nightmare.
But even in her despair, a small spark of determination flickered. She would not be broken—not completely. She would navigate this cold, strict, and punishing environment, and she would survive.
Because failure was not an option.
---
Cliffhanger: That night, as Lydia tried to sleep, Alexander appeared at the balcony silently, his silhouette outlined against the city lights. He had been observing the social media posts all evening. His cold mind calculated one thing: Miss Hart must learn, or the consequences will be applied… personally.