The board dinner was held in a private dining room overlooking the city—glass walls, muted lights, and people who wore power like perfume.
Alexander's hand rested lightly at my back as we entered.
Not tight.
Not distant.
Deliberate.
Every conversation paused.
"Alexander," one of the men said warmly. "So this is your wife."
"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "Elara."
Not Mrs. Blackwood.
My name.
Something in my chest eased.
We took our seats at the long table. Eyes flicked toward me openly now—measuring, judging, cataloging.
"So," a woman across from me said politely, "you and Alexander married quite suddenly."
Alexander reached for his wine.
I answered first.
"When you know," I said calmly, "you don't wait."
A flicker of surprise crossed several faces.
Alexander glanced at me, then smiled—slow and controlled.
"Well said," he added.
Dinner continued, conversations flowing around deals and future plans. I listened more than I spoke, choosing my moments carefully.
Then one of the older board members leaned forward.
"Vivian has expressed concerns," he said bluntly. "About your marriage."
The air tightened.
Alexander's posture stiffened.
"With respect," he said, "Vivian has no standing here."
"She was once considered family," the man pressed.
"Was," Alexander replied sharply.
All eyes turned to me.
"And you, Elara?" the woman asked. "How are you adjusting?"
I met her gaze evenly. "I married Alexander, not his past."
Silence followed.
Then, to my surprise, someone laughed.
"Well," the woman said, lifting her glass, "that answers that."
Alexander's fingers brushed my wrist under the table—brief, grounding.
Thank you, the gesture said.
Halfway through dessert, the door opened.
I felt it before I saw her.
Vivian.
She entered like she belonged there, red dress immaculate, confidence unwavering.
"I apologize for the interruption," she said smoothly. "I was invited."
Several board members shifted uncomfortably.
Alexander stood immediately.
"You weren't," he said coldly.
Vivian's gaze slid to me. "Relax. I just wanted to see if the rumors were true."
She looked back at Alexander. "You really did replace me."
Something inside me hardened.
"I wasn't replaced," I said evenly. "You were left."
The room went still.
Alexander turned to look at me.
Vivian's smile faltered—just for a second.
"That's brave," she said. "Let's see how long it lasts."
"That's enough," Alexander snapped.
He moved to stand beside me, his arm coming around my shoulders—not for the audience.
For me.
"My wife is not temporary," he said clearly. "And this marriage is not up for debate."
The words echoed.
Vivian studied him, searching for hesitation.
She found none.
Her expression cooled. "Then I wish you luck," she said softly. "You'll need it."
She turned and left.
The door closed.
No one spoke.
Alexander looked down at me. "Are you alright?"
I nodded. "Are you?"
He exhaled slowly. "You shouldn't have had to face that."
"I'm not weak," I replied. "And I'm not running."
His gaze held mine, something shifting behind his eyes.
Dinner ended soon after.
In the elevator ride home, the silence was heavy—but different now.
"You stood up for me," I said quietly.
He met my eyes in the reflection. "You stood up for yourself."
The elevator doors opened.
As we stepped into the penthouse, Alexander didn't let go of my hand immediately.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"For what?"
"For staying."
My heart skipped.
Under the same spotlight, something had changed.
And neither of us could pretend otherwise.