Chapter 9 The Ninety-ninth Dawn
# Chapter 9: The Ninety-ninth Dawn
The morning light filtered through the tree house window, painting golden stripes across the wooden floor where Wynne and Magnus sat sharing a protein bar—the only food in his emergency kit. The storm had passed during the night, leaving a washed-clean world and the gentle drip of rainwater from surrounding branches.
"Search and rescue should be checking the roads by now," Wynne said, breaking the comfortable silence that had enveloped them since dawn. "We should probably start hiking down."
Magnus nodded, though neither made a move to leave. The night had passed in conversation rather than sleep—hours of shared stories, confessions, and quiet moments where words weren't necessary. They'd maintained a careful physical distance despite the small space, both seeming to understand that whatever was developing between them deserved more dignified beginnings than a rain-soaked tree house.
"Before we go," Magnus said, reaching into his jacket, "there's something I need to do."
Wynne watched as he withdrew a small bundle of papers—the torn and reassembled proposal fragments from his shredder, now further crumpled from their journey up the mountain.
"You brought those with you?" she asked, surprised.
"I've carried them everywhere since Mrs. Chen reconstructed them." He smoothed the papers with careful fingers. "Not because I planned to use them, but because they represented something important—the first time in my life I'd admitted to myself what I truly wanted."
Magnus shifted to face her directly, his expression more open than she'd ever seen it. She noticed with a start that he wore the same charcoal suit he'd worn the day they first met—though it was now rumpled and stained from the mountain trek.
"I had planned something elaborate," he continued. "Version ninety-nine included helicopter transportation, a specific temperature-controlled environment, and a string quartet."
"Of course it did," Wynne said with a small smile.
"But I'm beginning to understand that sometimes the perfect moment isn't the one you plan." He looked around the simple tree house. "Sometimes it's just the right moment because it's real."
He held out the tattered papers. "These are just fragments of what I wanted to say. I've rewritten this speech ninety-nine times, and it's never been right. So instead of trying for perfection, I'm just going to speak the truth."
Wynne's heart quickened as Magnus set the papers aside and took her hands in his.
"I've spent my life building walls to keep people at a safe distance. I created a company in my image—efficient, controlled, emotionally detached. Then you walked in and challenged everything I thought I knew about myself." His voice was steady but intimate. "You made me question whether safety was worth the cost of solitude."
He released one of her hands to reach into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. "This isn't part of a contract or business arrangement. There are no clauses or conditions. Just a question I never thought I'd ask anyone."
Wynne's breath caught as he opened the box to reveal a ring—elegant but not ostentatious, a sapphire surrounded by small diamonds.
"Wynne Valdez, would you consider building a life with me? Not as part of a performance or strategic partnership, but as the extraordinary woman who somehow broke through every defense I constructed."
The simplicity of his words—so different from the elaborate language she'd seen in his proposal drafts—touched her deeply. This wasn't CEO Magnus speaking, but the man beneath all those carefully constructed layers.
Before she could respond, the sound of her phone buzzing broke the moment. Service had returned to the mountain.
"You should check that," Magnus said. "It might be emergency services."
Wynne reluctantly reached for her phone, finding not rescue coordinates but an email from her lawyer. She scanned it quickly, then looked up at Magnus with wide eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's a contract," she said, turning the phone toward him. "From me. Or rather, from my lawyer. Apparently I had her draft it last week."
Magnus looked confused as he took the phone. "You created a contract?"
"A 'corporate anti-acquisition agreement,'" she confirmed, watching his expression as he read. "I had her prepare it after the paper roses incident, when I started to realize what was happening between us."
"This is..." Magnus looked up, bewildered. "This is a relationship contract. But from your side."
"Keep reading."
He returned to the document, a smile slowly spreading across his face as he reached the key provisions:
- Neither party may be acquired without mutual consent
- Emotional investments protected against hostile takeover
- Minimum 50-year commitment with automatic renewal options
- Clause 13: "Heart rate exceeding 120 BPM in proximity to the other party triggers automatic contract extension"
"You beat me to it," he said finally, looking up with wonder. "You created a proposal contract."
"I didn't send it," she clarified. "I wasn't ready then. But yes, I drafted terms for what a real relationship between us might look like."
Magnus set the phone down carefully. "And now? Are you ready to sign such an agreement?"
Wynne reached for the ring box he still held. "I think I'm ready for something more permanent than a contract." She removed the ring, examining its delicate craftsmanship. "But I have one condition."
"Name it."
"No more numbered proposal versions. No more rehearsed speeches. Just us—complicated, messy, and real."
Magnus's smile was radiant as he took the ring and slipped it onto her finger. "Deal."
The sound of helicopter rotors interrupted their moment—rescue arriving to check the mountain roads. As they gathered their few belongings to begin the journey down, Magnus paused at the tree house entrance.
"For the record," he said, "my heart rate is definitely exceeding 120 right now."
"Then according to Clause 13, you're stuck with me," Wynne replied, reaching for his hand.
---
The news of Magnus Perry's engagement broke three days later, sending financial markets and social media into simultaneous frenzies. Perry Group stock jumped eleven points as analysts interpreted the development as a sign of stability for the recently turbulent company.
The board issued a carefully worded statement of congratulations, while Perry employees worldwide celebrated what many were calling the successful completion of the #WVMotionPlan. Tokyo headquarters staff commissioned a massive floral arrangement in the shape of the intertwined WV logo, while New York employees spontaneously gathered in the lobby with champagne.
Lydia orchestrated the official announcement with military precision, keeping reporters at bay while distributing a single authorized photograph of the couple—not a posed portrait but a candid moment captured as they exited the helicopter after their mountain rescue. Both looked disheveled, exhausted, and utterly content.
The Perry Group's communications department fielded hundreds of interview requests, all of which were declined with the same response: "Mr. Perry and Ms. Valdez appreciate your interest but are focusing on their personal relationship rather than public appearances at this time."
Behind closed doors, the couple took refuge in Magnus's penthouse, temporarily escaping the media circus while they navigated their sudden transition from contractual partners to engaged couple.
"The board wants me to resume CEO duties immediately," Magnus said, scrolling through messages on his tablet. "Apparently our engagement has calmed investor concerns about my 'erratic behavior.'"
Wynne looked up from her own emails. "And will you?"
"On one condition." He set aside the tablet. "That we establish clear boundaries between work and us. No more contracts governing our relationship, no more performance metrics or public appearance schedules."
"Agreed," she said. "Though we might need some guidelines for working together professionally. I'm still planning to maintain my crisis management practice."
"Of course." Magnus moved to sit beside her on the sofa. "Though given recent events, you might want to reconsider having me as a client. My crises tend toward the dramatic."
Wynne laughed, leaning against his shoulder. "Speaking of dramatic... have you seen this?"
She showed him her phone screen, displaying social media footage of Perry Group's global headquarters. The entire staff had assembled in the lobby, each person holding up a sign with a single word. Together, they formed a massive message: "PLEASE PERMANENTLY ACQUIRE OUR CEO."
Magnus stared at the screen. "They're... asking you to marry me?"
"In corporate-speak, yes." Wynne couldn't hide her amusement. "Apparently our staff have strong opinions about our relationship."
"This is highly inappropriate workplace behavior," he said, though his expression belied his stern words.
"You did rename the entire company after me," she reminded him. "I think we left 'appropriate' behind some time ago."
Magnus turned to face her fully, his expression growing serious. "Does it bother you? That our relationship has become so... public? So intertwined with the company?"
Wynne considered the question carefully. "Six months ago, it would have terrified me. The idea of my personal life being corporate property, of my relationship being subject to board approval and market analysis..." She shuddered. "But now I understand it's not about ownership or performance metrics. It's about people celebrating something genuine in a world that often feels manufactured."
"Like finding ninety-nine paper roses with messages hidden inside," Magnus suggested.
"Or practicing heartfelt speeches in empty stairwells."
"Or buying childhood homes without permission."
"That one's still a bit much," Wynne teased, poking his chest lightly.
Magnus captured her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I'm learning. Emotional regulation is still a work in progress for me."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." She leaned forward to kiss him properly. "Though perhaps we could donate my childhood home to the town? It would make a lovely library."
"Already done," he admitted. "The paperwork was filed yesterday."
Wynne shook her head in wonder. "You continue to surprise me, Magnus Perry."
"I hope to do so for at least the next fifty years," he replied, referencing her contract's minimum commitment term. "Though I believe my heart rate indicates we're looking at an automatic extension well beyond that."
Outside the penthouse windows, New York City continued its relentless pace. Inside, two people who had begun their journey with a golden clause explicitly prohibiting emotional attachment now found themselves planning a future entirely built upon it.
Somewhere in a Perry Group storage room, their original contract—with its precise terms and professional boundaries—gathered dust, a relic of two people who had believed they could contain their connection within carefully drafted parameters.
They had been spectacularly, wonderfully wrong.
