Chapter 70 – Alex Loses Control
The boardroom had never felt this small.
Alex sat at the head of the long glass table, hands folded neatly, posture immaculate. To anyone watching, he was calm—collected, in command as always. The Wilson Group logo glowed behind him, polished and imposing, a reminder of the empire he had built and defended for years without faltering.
Inside, something simmered.
"Let's not pretend yesterday's interview solved everything," one of the board members said, adjusting his glasses. "Public sentiment is volatile. Investors want reassurance."
Alex's gaze didn't waver. "They received it."
"With respect," another voice chimed in, sharper, "they received a performance."
A murmur of agreement followed.
Alex's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"The scandal brought attention," the first speaker continued. "Attention invites scrutiny. And scrutiny demands stability. Which brings us back to the same concern."
Alex already knew what they were circling.
"Your marriage," the woman at the far end said coolly. "Specifically, its authenticity."
Alex leaned back slightly. "My personal life is not a metric for corporate success."
"It is when your image is tied to the brand," she replied. "The public sees Wilson Group and Alexander Wilson as one entity."
Another member leaned forward. "Frankly, your wife is doing more damage control than your entire PR department."
The words hit harder than intended.
Alex's fingers curled slowly against the table.
"She's not an employee," he said. "Choose your words carefully."
A beat of silence followed.
"We're simply suggesting," the chairman interjected smoothly, "that leaning into the marriage may be… beneficial. Public appearances. Joint statements. Even—"
"No," Alex cut in.
Heads turned.
The chairman blinked. "No?"
"I will not turn my marriage into a spectacle," Alex said, voice controlled but edged with steel. "You asked for stability. You have it. Do not ask for ownership."
The woman frowned. "You forget who answers to whom."
That did it.
Alex stood.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor, the sound sharp enough to make several members flinch. He planted his palms on the table, leaning forward, eyes cold and unwavering.
"I answer to results," he said. "And my results have kept this company profitable through market crashes, internal scandals, and your poor risk assessments."
Silence. Thick. Shocked.
"If any of you believe my authority depends on my wife smiling for cameras," he continued, "then you have profoundly misunderstood both me and the structure of this company."
The chairman cleared his throat. "Sit down, Alex."
"No."
The word landed like a slap.
"I will not be managed through my marriage," Alex said. "And I will not allow my wife to be used as leverage."
A pause.
"She agreed to this arrangement," someone muttered.
Alex's eyes snapped toward the speaker. "She agreed to a contract. Not exploitation."
The room went still.
The chairman exhaled slowly. "You're emotionally compromised."
Alex straightened fully. "No. I'm finally clear."
He gathered his files, movements precise despite the tension coiled in his chest.
"This meeting is over," he said. "Send your concerns in writing. I'll address what's relevant."
He left the boardroom without waiting for approval.
Hours later, the penthouse felt quieter than usual.
Amber was in the living room, laptop open, pretending to read through emails she hadn't absorbed in the last ten minutes. She sensed him before she saw him—the shift in the air, the weight of his presence heavier than usual.
Alex loosened his tie as he walked in, jaw tight, shoulders rigid.
"Rough day?" she asked lightly.
He stopped. Looked at her.
Then something in him gave.
"They tried to use you," he said bluntly.
Amber closed her laptop slowly. "I figured."
"They implied you were a tool," he continued, voice low. "A means to stabilize the company."
Her expression didn't change. "That's the risk of proximity to power."
"They don't get to decide that."
She studied him carefully now. "You're angry."
"Yes."
"Not like you."
"No," he agreed. "Not like me."
She rose from the couch. "What happened?"
He hesitated—then spoke, the words stripped of polish.
"I reminded them that I won't sacrifice you to protect my position."
Amber's breath caught, just slightly.
"That's a dangerous stance," she said quietly. "For someone who values control."
"I don't value control," he replied. "I value boundaries."
"And you crossed one today."
"Yes."
She stepped closer. "Why?"
Alex met her gaze, something raw flickering beneath his composure.
"Because the idea of you being reduced to strategy—" He stopped, exhaled sharply. "—was unacceptable."
Amber swallowed.
"That's not very contractual of you," she murmured.
"No," he said. "It isn't."
The silence that followed was charged, heavy with implications neither of them were ready to name.
Amber broke it first. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
The honesty in his voice startled her more than anger ever could.
"Careful," she warned softly. "Wanting things is how this gets complicated."
"I'm aware."
They stood there, closer than necessary, neither retreating.
Outside, the city buzzed on, unaware that something fundamental had shifted inside the penthouse.
Alex had lost control in the boardroom.
But here—standing in front of Amber Gareth—he realized the truth was far more dangerous.
He hadn't lost it.
He'd given it up.