Our Wedding Was Ruined and I Found a Husband 36

Laila’s POV 

Something felt off the moment I crossed the threshold into the building. 

Same cold tiled floors. Same bold fluorescents casting their harsh glow throughout the building. But the atmosphere? That had curdled into something tense, something hostile, something that made my skin crawl. 

Three days. It had only been three days since I’d last been at work. Apparently, that was enough time for my entire professional life to implode. 

Conversations died mid–sentence when I passed. People suddenly found their monitors fascinating. Not one person uttered as much as a hello. 

Yeah, something was definitely wrong. 

Claire intercepted me before I reached my office. She practically materialized out of nowhere. My receptionist looked ghostly pale, worry carving deep lines around her mouth. 

“We need to talk.” Her whisper came out urgent, almost panicked. “Now. Behind closed doors.” 

I didn’t question it. I followed her inside and locked the door. 

“What’s happening?” 

Her hands twisted together in that telltale gesture she only pulled out for catastrophically bad news. 

“Sheila’s been orchestrating meetings. Secret ones with other board members.” Claire gulped air. “She’s been building a case. Against you.” 

My stomach plummeted. “What kind of case?” 

“Everything’s documented. Missed deadlines during Ava’s illness, the stalled Riverside deal, how our competitors keep gaining market share.” She paused, and I knew worse was coming. “She’s claiming you’ve been… compromised.” 

Each word weighed heavy on me. By the end, it felt like Claire had sat a ton of bricks on my chest. 

“I haven’t been compromised,” I shot back. But I had to admit, my voice sounded weak. Unconvincing even to my own ears. 

“I know that. Sheila’s twisting the narrative, though. She says you’ve lost focus. That personal drama is bleeding into your professional judgment.” Claire’s face softened with sympathy. “Direct quotes.” 

Personal drama. Sure. Because watching your daughter nearly die is just some inconvenient distraction you should handle more efficiently. 

“Theres an emergency meeting,” Claire continued, her voice dropping lower. “Twenty minutes. The management team convened it. Sheila’s spearheading the whole thing.” 

Naturally. Her timing was impeccable, I’d give her that. 

I dropped into my chair, surveying the contract mountain burying my desk. Work I’d been frantically juggling 

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while managing Ava’s medical nightmare, running on maybe three hours of sleep, forgetting to eat. 

“How bad?” 

Claire’s hesitation spoke volumes. More than words ever could. 

“Some staff are questioning your dedication. Clients have been phoning in, demanding reassurances about leadership continuity.” She studied the floor. “It’s pretty bad.” 

Leadership continuity. Corporate euphemism for: Is our CEO having a total meltdown? 

Maybe I was, it was difficult to know anymore. 

“Alright.” I forced my spine straight, channeling steel into my tone. “Let’s handle this.” 

The conference room was packed when I entered. Twelve faces rotated toward me in unison. A few looked sympathetic. Most had arranged their features into practiced neutrality. 

Sheila occupied the far end. Immaculate. Self–assured. Looking infinitely more composed than I’d managed in 

weeks. 

“Vanessa. So good to see you. We appreciate you joining.” Her voice oozed manufactured concern. “We’ve been discussing the company’s recent… difficulties.” 

“Difficulties,” I echoed, flat as roadkill. 

“Precisely.” She shuffled documents with calculated theatricality. “Several pressing matters have surfaced. The Riverside contract is three weeks overdue. We’ve hemorrhaged two major clients to competitors. Proposal response times have decelerated substantially.” 

She laid out each failure like a prosecutor presenting damning evidence to a jury. 

“My daughter had a medical crisis,” I said, wrestling my voice into something resembling calm. “Surely everyone here grasps that family takes precedence.” 

“Absolutely. Nobody’s disputing your maternal priorities.” Sheila’s smile was all teeth, no warmth. “We’re disputing whether you can juggle both roles effectively.” 

The implication hung there. Suffocating. 

“What exactly are you proposing?” 

“Perhaps stepping back would serve you better. Concentrate on Ava’s recovery.” She leaned in fractionally.” Allow someone else to shoulder daily operations here.” 

Someone else meaning her. 

“That’s unnecessary. I’m completely capable-” 

“Are you?” Sheila sliced through my protest. “The data suggests otherwise.” 

She triggered a presentation. Charts and graphs illustrating declining performance indicators, projects hemorrhaging schedule time, revenue forecasts missing projections. 

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All from these past three weeks. Since Ava first collapsed. 

“These are temporary blips,” I argued. But conviction had abandoned my voice entirely. 

“Temporary?” David Howard interjected—a board member who’d never championed my leadership. “Vanessa, we’re troubled. This organization has consumed your focus for years. Recently though…” 

He left the sentence incomplete. The implication finished itself perfectly. 

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