Our Wedding Was Ruined and I Found a Husband 37

Self–doubt crashed over me in waves. Maybe they had a point. Maybe I genuinely couldn’t sustain this anymore. 

Then a memory surfaced, crystalline and painful in its vividness. 

Meeting Vanessa at that grimy dive bar where I’d been scraping by. Six years back now. Heavily pregnant, I’d been desperate for ANY employment that would overlook my condition. 

She’d been perched alone at the bar. Pale, skeletal thin, radiating that hollow aura that screamed terminal illness. 

“You look like you need a friend,” she’d said. 

We talked for hours. Two women having hit rock bottom, discovering unexpected kinship in their shared hopelessness. 

After Ava’s traumatic delivery–when complications nearly killed me–Vanessa showed up. Hospital visits. Thoughtful gifts. Comfort when I had literally nobody. 

Then her diagnosis arrived. Terminal cancer. Months remaining, maybe. Both of us in the hospital at the same time, me recovering and her declining. 

“I’m running out of time,” she’d whispered, her hand fragile and cold in mine. “And I’ve got a serious problem. My family… they’re predators. They’ll dismantle everything I’ve created the instant I’m gone. My business, everything I fought to build, I can’t just let it be destroyed.” 

“How can I help?” 

“Assume my identity.” Her eyes locked onto mine with frightening intensity. “My sisters need protection. The company needs strength. You can do this.” 

I’d assumed medication was making her delirious. But she’d been utterly, terrifyingly lucid. 

“We’re similar enough. Same height, frame, coloring. With appropriate styling, they won’t question anything.” She squeezed my hand weakly. “You’ve got innate talent for reading people, for negotiation. I’ve seen you managing difficult customers, mediating conflicts–you’re better at this than you realize.” 

She spent her last few months teaching me everything she knew. Business tactics. Client dynamics. Corporate politics navigation. 

“Promise me,” she’d rasped on her deathbed. “Promise you’ll demonstrate more strength than I managed. Don’t let them win.” 

I’d promised. 

And now I was failing her spectacularly. 

“The management team has a proposition,” Sheila announced, dragging me back to the present. “We believe it’s optimal if you resign as CEO. We’ll restructure your position into something less intensive.” 

“You want my resignation.” 

“We want you prioritizing your daughter,” she corrected with practiced smoothness. “And permitting someone 

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Chapter 37 

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with greater availability to lead.” 

The room watched. Waiting to witness my collapse. 

Part of me wanted to surrender. To release this crushing burden and simply be Ava’s mother. 

But another part–the part that had promised Vanessa–absolutely refused. 

“No,” I said. 

Sheila’s eyebrows rocketed upward. “Pardon?” 

“No. I’m not resigning.” I rose slowly, locking eyes with each individual person. “I understand these concerns. Recent weeks have been brutal. But I constructed this company from nothing. I secured every significant contract we possess. And I’m not abandoning ship because of one turbulent period.” 

“This exceeds one turbulent period-‘ 

“Give me a deadline.” I severed Sheila’s protest cleanly. “One month. If I can’t reverse trajectory, secure fresh contracts, demonstrate the company’s stability–then I’ll resign voluntarily.” 

Absolute silence. 

David Howard leaned forward, interest sparking. “That’s audacious.” 

“It’s fair. One month proving I’m still competent. If I fail, I walk. No resistance.” 

Sheila’s expression went carefully neutral. But I observed calculations spinning behind her eyes. 

“And if you succeed?” she pressed. 

“Then these conversations end. I remain CEO. Everyone returns to work.” 

More silence. Board members traded weighted glances. 

Eventually, David nodded. “One month. Reasonable.” 

“Agreed,” another board member echoed. Then another. 

Until only Sheila remained. 

“Fine,” she ground out. “One month.” 

I held her stare, refusing to blink first. 

“Meeting concluded,” I declared. 

People filed out. Some wearing sympathetic masks. Others broadcasting doubt plainly. 

Claire lingered. “That took guts,” she murmured. 

Guts or spectacular stupidity. Sometimes the two were indistinguishable. 

After everyone left, I collapsed into my chair. I dropped my head into my hands. 

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One month. Thirty days to salvage everything I’d constructed. Everything Vanessa had entrusted me with. 

The weight crushed down. Absolutely suffocating. 

My phone vibrated, a text from the hospital. Ava’s surgery was scheduled. Two weeks out. 

Perfect timing. Precisely when I needed complete work focus, my daughter would be going under the knife. 

I couldn’t manage both. I couldn’t be the flawless mother and the flawless CEO. 

But I had to try anyway. 

For Ava. For Vanessa’s memory. For that promise. 

I stood gradually. Straightened my shoulders. Forced steel into my backbone. 

One month. I could manage this. 

I had to manage this. 

Because failure meant losing absolutely everything that mattered. 

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