He hesitated. “Tomorrow? Margaret… what’s happened?”
“Nathan hit Emily,” she said flatly. “And informed her she wasn’t ‘classy’ enough for a CEO’s wife.”
Silence. Then Anthony’s tone turned icy. “Understood. I’ll prepare everything.”
By sunrise, the storm had cleared, leaving New York glittering under cold sunlight.
Nathan stepped out of his luxury car, adjusting his silk tie in the tower’s mirrored doors. He felt untouchable. New title. New power. No more “ordinary” wife weighing him down.
He imagined Emily crying somewhere and smirked. “A king needs a queen, not a nobody.”
The moment he entered the lobby, his assistant rushed over. “Sir… the Board is waiting. Emergency session.”
He assumed they were preparing to honor him.
He swaggered to the executive floor, pushed open the boardroom doors—
And froze.
The Board sat silent. No smiles. No congratulations.
At the head of the table sat an elderly woman in a grey cardigan.
Margaret.
James stood beside her, arms crossed, looking at Nathan like something stuck to his shoe.
“What are you doing here?” Nathan barked. “Security! Remove this old woman! This is a board meeting, not bingo night!”
“Sit down,” Anthony said sharply.
Nathan refused—until he heard Anthony address her: “Madam Chairwoman, the floor is yours.”
Chairwoman?
Margaret rose, voice like steel.
“You never bothered to learn company history, Nathan. I didn’t marry the founder. I am the founder. I own 60% of the voting stock. I placed you in your position because I believed you loved my daughter. That was my mistake.”
She tore a document in half.
“You’re fired. Effective immediately. And blacklisted. You’ll never work in this industry again.”
Nathan began to crumble. “Margaret, please! Think of the scandal!”
“Oh, I am,” she said, sliding him a folder containing photos of Emily’s injuries. “The police outside are here for you.”
Officers escorted him out as he begged and sobbed.
The king had no throne.
After dismissing the board, Margaret returned home, where Emily waited at the kitchen table. As she set down a bowl of soup, Emily whispered, “Did you… talk to him?”
“He won’t trouble you again,” Margaret replied.
“He thinks he’s powerful,” Emily murmured.
Margaret smiled faintly. “Let him think whatever he wants in his cell. He forgot who built the throne he sat on.”
Emily ate her soup, finally safe—guarded by a mother who had always been the true ruler.
