"Pops said I have to get married before he hands it to me," Ilana slouched lazily against the counter, resting her head against her hand. Maurice walked towards her giving a little laugh as he dropped the glass of wine in front of her.
"And you don't want to get married?" He asked after he took a sit diagonally facing her.
She tilted her head to look at him. The disgusted face already there on her unique features, "You know I don't."
"Then hire someone to be your husband," he suggested as he took a sip of his juice.
"Ugh, do I have to?" She groaned and rolled her eyes before starting back at the sparkling wine in front of her.
"Um, of course…It's easier" Maurice said, "Unless you want something real." He finished.
She sighed and helped her glass at a go then stood to her feet. "I'm going home," she stated.
"Home where your spiteful family lives or…the penthouse?" Maurice asked with a teasing smile.
She glanced over her shoulder, her exit effortless, liquid grace in every step.
****
The night air bit at her as she slid into the back of her car. She pressed a button on the console and lifted the phone to her ear.
"Taylor," Ilana said, voice dropping into that cool, polished register reserved for business.
"Yes, Miss Kierson?" her assistant's tone was brisk but warm.
Ilana leaned her head back, exhaling through her nose. "Compress my schedule for tomorrow, if anyone asks for me after I leave? Tell 'em I'm busy."
A pause. "Even your father?"
Ilana sneered — humorless. "Especially my father."
Taylor hesitated before asking, "And if the press calls?"
"Let them blow up the phones, I'm busy!" She groaned then clicked her wrist, signalling for the driver to start moving.
The ride back was long and brooding. Ilana leaned against the window pane. City lights spilling across the glass while her gaze trailed over the hustle and bustle of everyone's everyday life.
A digital billboard flashed overhead, the face of the latest golden boy plastered twenty stories high. His scandal was everywhere — tabloids, blogs, gossip shows. The press was eating it alive.
Apparently he'd been caught in a storm of "moral conflict" — stories about how he treated women.
But Ilana knew better. The press will wrote what sells, but not the truth
A cruel truth you'll learn the hard way in that industry.
"Wonder how his team drags him out of that mess," she muttered to herself.
****
She toed her Choos' off with tired grace and swept her feet; partly limping from cramps across the cold tiles, making her way to her bedroom. To undress, to freshen up and maybe get some rest.
As she settled in the soft foams of peace in her bed space, her phone vibrated on the bedside drawer, dragging her out of her imaginary sanctuary.
She raised the device up to her ear and held it in place with her shoulder. Her eyes rolling at the caller ID before she picked.
"Good evening pops, I thought you'd be in bed by now," her voice softened as she spoke into the phone while she was setting underneath her duvet.
"I was already going to bed. I just wanted to remind you of our earlier discussion, nothing alarming," her grandfather's raspy voice rang through.
"I'm working on it, I'll get you results soon. Don't worry, pops." She reassured him in a soothing voice, fiddling with the pot plant beside her.
"Goodnight peaches." He said and the dial tone was what she heard next.
She exhaled and sunk her head into her pillow, recounting memories of her day in her mind till she found herself drowning into the faint lo-fi music in the background and her estrogen levels dropped till her heartbeat came to rhythm.
****
The next morning came in a blur, coffee cups stacked, paperworks flying all while she kept her poise and continued to look glamorous.
Ilana sat tall on a swivel chairat the head of the table, before the board. Fully immersed in her role as the CEO even though it's not fully hers yet.
Investors sneered and snickered, directors gossiped.
None of them believed Ilana could land a boyfriend within that given timeframe, let alone get married.
Each one of them had a smug look on their face, ready to vote Ilana off the board of directors.
Some painted her as cold, unyielding, impossible to love. Others smirked behind their hands with the old refrain: She's a woman anyway. She belongs in the kitchen.
Propaganda, dated and rotten — but it clung to their minds like mold.
Stupid fools!
"I don't want to have to remind you who you're all sitting before…" her cold voice silenced the clamor and side murmur as all attention turned to her.
"I'm still in charge — with or without a title. You shouldn't need reminding to listen." Her gaze swept the table, still and sharp.
"Unless, of course, you'd prefer to be kicked out."
A ripple of unease ran through the room.
"Stop being ridiculous. You're only the acting president. You don't own it all—" The protest slipped from her father's mouth, low and bitter.
"Mr. Kierson," she cut in, voice slicing clean, "remind yourself to stay quiet while I speak."
The weight of it pressed him back into his chair. Humiliation flickered across his face, but he didn't argue. He couldn't — not when her favor with the patriarch had already cemented her authority.
Power was different from power. And Ilana had made that clear from the very beginning.
She straightened, the silence bending to her will.
"I'm here this morning to propose a deal."
The board erupted again in whispers and side glances, scrambling to guess her next move.
"I'm very aware many of you have heard about the promise I made to the patriarch—my grandfather about getting married." She began—her voice delibrate, addressing the massive elephant in the room.
The one that had been kept aside and poked in with side comments and knowing glances.
"If I secure a marriage within the agreed timeframe, the first thing I'll do is restructure this board. Dead weight will be removed— and I think a few of you know exactly who I mean."
Her gaze slid, sharp and unkind, toward her father and a cluster of smug shareholders.
"However, if I fail to meet that condition, ten percent of my shares will be released into the market. You'll have the numbers to vote me out and crown yourselves a new CEO."
A wave of unsettling silence swept across the room, leaving them all wondering if she actually meant what she was saying.
"Do I make myself clear?" Her voice cut sharp through the room— a reminder that she was done talking.
The murmurs erupted instantly, some begrudgingly nodding along, others already calculating in the shadows.
Then one director rose, voicing the thought that had been simmering across the table. "Even if you release ten percent into the market, you'll still retain twenty. That still makes you the largest shareholder."
Ilana let out a humorless laugh, low and cutting. "Precisely. Which means, even at my weakest, I'll still outrank you."
That shut them up.
The room went still again, her words landing heavier than any threat.
She stood tall from her seat and walked out—the clinking sound of her heels against the hard polished floor leaving an ominous weight in their minds.