Smoke Without Fire

The silence in the foyer was unbearable.

Clara stood frozen beside the staircase, the echo of Damien's words still ringing in her ears.

Julian had not spoken since reading the article. He stood like a man carved from marble, his jaw locked, eyes fixed on the phone in his hand.

Clara's breath felt shallow. "They got into your files. How? Who would do this?"

Julian finally moved, handing Damien back his phone without a word. His voice, when it came, was low and deadly calm.

"There are only three people with access to that internal drive. Damien. Myself. And Marcus Lang."

Damien raised a brow. "You think Marcus would go that far?"

Julian's gaze was unreadable. "He's been waiting for a crack in the armor. Now he has it."

Clara stepped forward, her arms crossed tight. "What does this mean? For you? For the company?"

Julian's expression flickered then steadied. "It means the board will convene. They will demand answers. And if Marcus spins this right… he could call for a vote of no confidence."

Clara's stomach dropped. "They'd push you out?"

"They'll try."

Damien cleared his throat. "I'll start backtracking the leaks. This wasn't some clumsy tabloid hack. Someone inside wants to burn the house down."

Julian nodded once, then looked to Clara. His voice softened.

"You don't have to come to the press meeting. I'll handle it."

But Clara shook her head, fire sparking in her chest.

"No. They dragged me into this without asking. They plastered my name across their headlines. I'm not hiding. Not this time."

Julian stared at her for a beat longer. There was something in his eyes — part disbelief, part awe.

He didn't say thank you.

He simply reached out and took her hand.

And together, they turned toward the storm waiting outside their gates.

By the time they arrived at Blackwell Tower, the plaza was a chaos of flashing lights and raised voices.

Reporters clustered at the steps like a swarm, their microphones thrust forward, shouting questions as security guards tried to hold the line. Clara tightened her grip on Julian's hand.

Inside the car, everything had felt controlled. Outside, it was a spectacle.

Julian stepped out first, shielding her body with his. Cameras exploded in bursts. Clara followed, chin high despite the tremble in her spine. She had faced rejection letters, hospital bills, and loneliness—but this was different. This was public dissection.

"Mr. Blackwell, is it true your wife was paid to marry you?"

"Clara, are you even pregnant?"

"Do you know the allegations against your husband?"

Julian said nothing. He guided Clara through the crowd with calm, unrelenting force. She caught glimpses of faces—strangers already forming opinions about her, about them.

Inside the lobby, Damien was already waiting. He looked up from his phone, eyes scanning Julian's face.

"It's everywhere now. Financial blogs. Social media. One post claims the marriage was a tactic to secure sympathy before a shareholder vote."

Clara swallowed. "That's… absurd."

Julian didn't answer.

A sharp voice interrupted them.

"Mr. Blackwell," said Evelyn.

His mother stood near the elevators in a gray silk suit, elegant and cold as ever. Her lips were pursed tight.

"I told you this would happen," she said. "You made yourself vulnerable."

Julian barely blinked. "You came to gloat?"

"I came because this affects our name. Our legacy."

Clara stepped forward before she could stop herself. "Your son is not the legacy. He's a person."

Evelyn looked at her, gaze cool. "You should let him speak for himself."

"I don't need him to. But I'll stand beside him while he does."

Julian's eyes flicked between the two women. For the first time, something softened around his mouth.

He took Clara's hand again and faced his mother fully.

"Clara is not the problem," he said quietly. "But you might be."

Evelyn's silence was louder than any answer.

The elevator doors opened behind her, and the three of them stepped in—Julian, Clara, and Damien—heading up to face the boardroom storm.

The doors closed with a soft click.

Outside, the shouting only grew louder.

The boardroom at Blackwell Capital was colder than Clara remembered.

Twelve men and women lined the long walnut table. Some were familiar names she had heard in passing, others looked at her like she was a problem to be solved. In front of each seat was a folder, a bottle of still water, and a curated silence that felt like judgment.

Julian walked in first, his posture sharp, expression unreadable. Clara followed half a step behind, eyes steady even as her pulse skipped.

Damien remained by the door, nodding once at the head of internal counsel. A screen flickered on behind the chairman's seat, already displaying headlines: Blackwell CEO's Surprise Bride Raises Red Flags.

Vivienne Ashcroft's name was printed on the bottom corner of one article.

Clara sat beside Julian, only for a moment. Then she leaned toward him.

"I can wait outside if this is too much."

Julian shook his head once. "You stay."

The chairman cleared his throat. "Mr. Blackwell. Mrs. Blackwell. We've called this session in response to the escalating situation involving the media and the integrity of this firm's leadership."

Julian folded his hands calmly. "There has been no breach of integrity."

A few members exchanged looks.

"The public perception of your personal life is becoming a liability," someone said from across the table. "There are concerns this marriage is a strategic front."

Clara felt every eye turn to her.

Julian's jaw tensed. "You are not here to interrogate my wife."

"This affects the board," another man added. "Especially if there are whispers of a buyout being floated by Vincent Hale."

The name hit like a shot of ice.

Julian's gaze narrowed. "That is unconfirmed."

"Even rumors can shake investor confidence," the chairman said. "Your father built this firm on discipline. You would do well to remember that."

Julian's voice dropped. "I am not my father."

Silence followed. Then Evelyn Blackwell's heels clicked across the floor as she entered.

Clara's heart skipped. She had not known Julian's mother would be at this meeting.

"I asked Evelyn to attend," the chairman explained. "As founding partner and former board advisor, her insights are invaluable."

Julian looked at his mother with the weight of years between them.

"Are you here to judge me too?" he asked.

Evelyn tilted her head. "I'm here to see if you can stand your ground when it matters."

Another board member raised a folder. "There's more. Someone has been feeding tabloids confidential information. Possibly internal."

Clara's fingers curled in her lap.

"Then find them," Julian said. "But do not mistake my wife's presence as a scandal. She is not a distraction. She is the only reason I am still at this table."

A hush fell.

Clara turned to him, eyes wide. He did not look at her. But his hand, hidden beneath the table, reached for hers and squeezed once.

That was how they sat, side by side, as the storm began to break.

And just before the chairman closed the session, a junior assistant rushed into the room with a pale face and a trembling tablet.

"There's a leak," he whispered to Damien. "Something big. It's spreading."

Clara turned toward the screen just as it updated with a new headline:

Julian Blackwell's secret inheritance clause exposed.

The boardroom erupted.

And Clara realized this was only the beginning.