Location: Blackwood International – Next Morning, 9:00 A.M.
Hartley walked through the main lobby of Blackwood International like she owned it.
Not because she did.
But because she'd survived Declan, Camilla, media backlash, and a death threat on her brother. At this point, what were a few judgmental stares?
Today, she wasn't wearing neutrals.
White silk blouse. Crimson lipstick. Hair pulled into a fierce bun.
Declan's wife in the title. Queen in spirit.
She stepped into Declan's executive conference room—mid-board meeting—like she had every right to be there.
Every man at the table turned. Including him.
"Mrs. Westcott," the CFO said, surprised. "You're not scheduled for this meeting."
She smiled. "I know. That's why I'm here."
Declan raised an eyebrow, a curious flicker in his usually unreadable expression.
"I'm here," Hartley said, placing her phone down, "because someone leaked internal security footage to the media."
The room went still.
Her voice turned cold. "A video of me visiting Leo at Blackwood Medical went viral last night. Labeled: 'Declan's Secret Charity Case.'"
Gasps. Shuffling. The COO choked on his coffee.
Hartley continued. "That footage came from your servers. Your security. Your staff."
Declan leaned forward. "Did you trace the leak?"
"Yes," she said. "I did."
Hartley turned to the screen and hit play.
A still image popped up: Camilla LaRue, smiling directly into the security camera.
She had used her old credentials to breach the system.
And the footage had been transferred to an IP address registered under LaRue Technologies.
The board erupted.
"You let her in again?" someone barked at Declan.
"She still had access?" another gasped.
Hartley held up a hand. "She did. Until I revoked it—personally."
Everyone stared.
"I called Blackwood Security this morning and issued a lockdown on all old corporate access points. All prior guests, including ex-employees and ex-fiancées, are now blacklisted."
Silence.
Then: "You did that?"
Declan sat back, unreadable.
"I also called in a PR team," Hartley added. "By 2:00 p.m., the story will shift to a fake tabloid angle: 'Ruthless Billionaire CEO Protects Sick Child from Leaking Ex-Lover'. Public sympathy will follow."
She turned to Declan.
"You're welcome."
The entire room turned to him.
Declan said nothing for five long seconds.
Then: "Clear the room."
Everyone stood—fast.
When the doors shut behind them, he rose from his seat slowly. Quietly. Eyes locked on her.
"You took over my board meeting."
"Yes."
"You took control of my media team."
"Yes."
"You locked out Camilla from my empire."
She smiled. "Also yes."
A pause.
Then—
"Marry me. For real."
Hartley blinked. "What?"
He stepped closer. "I don't care about the contract anymore. I want to make this real."
She backed away half a step, her heart thudding like a hammer. "Why?"
"Because you did what no one's ever done," he said, his voice low. "You protected me. You fought for me—even when I didn't deserve it."
"You didn't."
"I know."
He reached for her hand, gently, not possessively. "You're not the pawn anymore. You're the queen."
"I don't want a crown, Declan," she whispered. "I want safety. Peace. For Leo. For myself."
"Then let me give it to you."
"You already have control over my life. You don't get to ask for my heart too."
His eyes darkened. "You think I haven't already taken it?"
—----
Later That Night – The Internet Meltdown
By 6:00 p.m., the media storm hit.
News outlets screamed:
> "Westcott's Wife Handles PR Like a CEO—Is Damien Losing Control?"
"Camilla LaRue's Corporate Invasion Exposed"
"Mysterious Mrs. Westcott Shuts Down Billion-Dollar Security Breach"
Public opinion did a 180.
Twitter adored Hartley now.
> "Ok she's not a gold digger, she's a savage."
"She served 'quiet wife' then flipped the table."
"Petition to make Hartley Westcott the new CEO?"
Meanwhile, LaRue Tech stocks dropped 6% in an hour.
That Night – Declan's Bedroom
He stood in the mirror, unbuttoning his shirt when Hartley entered.
She was barefoot. Soft robe. Hair messy.
And this time, it was her who didn't knock.
"I thought you might be gloating," he said.
"Maybe I am."
He turned. "Then say it."
She walked up to him. Close. Closer. "You were wrong."
"About?"
"Me. I'm not weak. I'm not breakable. I'm not a pawn."
"I know."
"You said you didn't do love. That you destroy the things you touch."
"I meant it."
"Then let me be the first thing you don't destroy."
Their eyes met.
This time, it wasn't a demand.
It was a plea.
Declan stepped forw
ard, cupping her face. "I've never begged for anything in my life."
She whispered, "Then start."
He kissed her.
And this time, it wasn't rage or strategy.
It was everything.