Chapter 9 Scars of the Past

# Chapter 9: Scars of the Past

The shareholder meeting ends with thunderous applause as I'm officially named CEO of Blake Industries—no longer interim, no longer temporary, but acknowledged as the rightful leader of the company I helped build from the shadows. Flashbulbs pop as I shake hands with Harrison Wells, the board chairman who once viewed me with suspicion but now introduces me as "the visionary who will lead Blake Industries into a new era of ethical prosperity."

Alaric watches from the front row, pride evident in his smile. Beside him sits Rebecca, who has become not just my assistant but my trusted confidante. The room is filled with faces both familiar and new—executives who stayed loyal during the transition, investors who believed in my leadership, media eager to document the rise of a woman once hidden in the background of corporate America.

There is one face noticeably absent—Corwin's. Despite his threats the previous week, he hasn't made any public moves against me. His silence is more unsettling than his confrontation had been.

After the formalities conclude, after the interviews and photographs, after the champagne toast with the board, Alaric and I escape to the sanctuary of my—officially my—office.

"Congratulations, CEO Foster," he says, closing the door behind us. "No 'interim' necessary now."

I sink into my chair, exhaustion suddenly catching up with me. "It doesn't feel real yet."

"It's real," he assures me, perching on the edge of my desk. "You earned this, Marcelline. Not through manipulation or connections, but through sheer competence and determination."

His words warm me, but anxiety still lingers beneath the surface. "Corwin is too quiet. He's planning something."

Alaric sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Probably. But whatever it is, we'll handle it together. Tonight, though, we celebrate."

He produces a small velvet box from his pocket, and my heart stutters. "Alaric—"

"Not a proposal," he clarifies quickly, with a small smile. "Not yet, anyway. But a promise."

Inside the box lies a delicate platinum bracelet, a single diamond catching the afternoon light. It's elegant without being ostentatious, meaningful without being overbearing—so different from the showy jewelry Corwin once gifted me to mark his territory.

"It's beautiful," I whisper as he fastens it around my wrist.

"A reminder," he says, his thumb brushing over my pulse point, "that you're not in anyone's shadow anymore. You shine by your own light now."

The evening unfolds like a dream—dinner at a small, exclusive restaurant where the chef creates dishes just for us, a walk through Central Park as summer gives way to early autumn, and finally, Alaric's penthouse, where celebration becomes something more intimate, more profound.

Later, tangled in his sheets, my head resting on his chest, I find myself speaking of things I rarely allow myself to remember.

"I was twenty-two when I met Corwin," I begin, feeling Alaric's arm tighten around me. "Fresh out of business school, idealistic, ambitious. He was thirty-four, already successful, charismatic. He made me feel special, chosen."

Alaric remains silent, giving me space to continue.

"The first time he asked me to do something questionable—alter some numbers on a report to make a division look more profitable than it was—I refused. He didn't get angry. Instead, he explained how the jobs of hundreds of employees depended on that division securing more funding. How sometimes, small ethical compromises served a greater good."

I trace patterns on Alaric's chest, remembering. "Each compromise got a little bigger, each justification a little thinner. By the time I realized what was happening, I was complicit in too many schemes to walk away cleanly."

"He trapped you," Alaric says softly.

"I trapped myself," I correct him. "I wanted to believe I was special to him. That our secret relationship was romantic rather than convenient. That someday he'd acknowledge me publicly."

Alaric shifts, propping himself up to look at me directly. "You were young, and he was manipulative. Don't take on guilt that belongs to him."

I meet his gaze, seeing nothing but acceptance there. "The worst part wasn't the lies or the hiding. It was losing myself so gradually I didn't notice until I was unrecognizable. The woman who had principles, who had dreams beyond being someone's secret—she disappeared."

"Not disappeared," he counters, brushing hair from my face with gentle fingers. "Just buried. She fought her way back."

The tenderness in his touch nearly undoes me. With Corwin, vulnerability was always dangerous—a weakness to be exploited. With Alaric, it feels like strength, a bond forged through honest revelation.

"What about you?" I ask. "You never talk about your life before Victoria's death."

Pain flickers across his features—an old wound, scarred over but never fully healed. "I was different then. More trusting, less calculating. Victoria was..." He pauses, searching for words. "She was light personified. Brilliant, funny, kind. The opposite of her brother in many ways."

I listen as he describes their relationship, how they met in a literature class neither of them needed for their degrees, how they bonded over a shared love of poetry that surprised and delighted them both, how Corwin initially seemed supportive until he realized Alaric's family lacked the social standing he deemed necessary.

"When she died," Alaric continues, his voice lower now, "something broke in me. Not just grief, but a fundamental belief in fairness, in justice. Corwin used his family's influence to paint me as responsible, to suggest I was on the phone distracting her when she crashed."

"Were you?" I ask gently.

"Yes," he admits, the confession clearly painful. "But not the way he claimed. She called me, upset after another argument with him about our relationship. I was trying to calm her down, to convince her to pull over until she felt steadier. Then I heard the crash, the screeching tires, her scream..." He stops, the memory still raw. "The police investigation cleared me of wrongdoing, but Corwin made sure everyone in our social circle believed his version."

I press a kiss to his shoulder, offering comfort the only way I know how. "And that's when you decided to destroy him?"

"Not immediately," he says. "First I just wanted to survive, to rebuild my career despite his attempts to blacklist me. The revenge came later, when I realized he was doing to others what he'd done to me—using people, discarding them, destroying lives without consequence."

We fall silent then, each lost in memories of the scars Corwin Blake has left on our lives. Outside, rain begins to fall, pattering against the windows of Alaric's bedroom, creating a cocoon of intimacy around us.

"Do you think we would have found each other without him?" I ask eventually. "In some other life, where he didn't connect us through pain?"

Alaric considers this, his hand stroking lazy patterns on my back. "I'd like to think so. Some connections feel inevitable, don't they? Like separate rivers destined to join regardless of the landscape."

The poetry in his words makes me smile. This is the Alaric few people see—the man who reads Keats for pleasure, who can discuss Renaissance art as easily as market fluctuations, whose analytical mind houses an unexpected romantic soul.

Morning comes too quickly, sunlight replacing rain, reality intruding on our private world. My phone buzzes with messages from Rebecca—urgent board issues requiring immediate attention. Alaric's calendar similarly fills with commitments neither of us can ignore.

"Real life beckons," he says ruefully as we dress, the intimate bubble of the night before giving way to professional personas.

"Unfortunately." I check my appearance in his bathroom mirror, ensuring no trace of vulnerability remains visible. Today I need to be CEO Foster, not Marcelline who shared her deepest insecurities in the darkness.

Alaric appears behind me, hands settling on my shoulders as he meets my eyes in the reflection. "Don't do that," he says quietly.

"Do what?"

"Armor yourself against me. I've seen all of you now, Marcelline—the CEO and the woman, the strength and the scars. I love both equally."

His words penetrate the walls I've instinctively begun rebuilding. "Old habits," I admit. "With Corwin, showing weakness was never safe."

"I'm not Corwin." His voice is firm, his gaze steady. "And you're not the same woman who let him define her worth."

Before I can respond, his phone rings—the specialized tone he's assigned to his head of security. His expression changes instantly as he answers, tension replacing tenderness.

"When?" he asks, his free hand finding mine, gripping tightly. "Are you certain? Yes, immediately. Double the detail on Ms. Foster as well."

He ends the call, his face grim. "Corwin's made his move. The SEC has dropped most of the charges against him in exchange for evidence implicating Elysia. He'll be back in the office today."

The news hits like a physical blow. "How is that possible? The board's restraining order—"

"Has been lifted as part of the deal. He won't have operational control, but as majority shareholder, he can't be barred from the premises." Alaric's jaw tightens. "This is what he was planning. A deal with the federal prosecutors, trading Elysia's head for his freedom."

I feel sick, remembering Corwin's threats from the previous week. "He said I'd face consequences I couldn't imagine."

"He's trying to intimidate you," Alaric says, pulling me close. "Don't let him."

"I won't," I promise, though fear curls cold in my stomach. Not fear of losing my position—the board and shareholders are firmly behind me now—but fear of what other weapons Corwin might deploy, what other secrets he might reveal.

As we prepare to leave Alaric's penthouse, a text arrives from Rebecca: *Corwin arrived 10 minutes ago. Went straight to the executive floor. Security monitoring but can't legally remove him.*

Alaric reads the message over my shoulder, his arm tightening around my waist. "Whatever happens today, remember you're not facing him alone anymore. You have me, the board, a company full of employees who respect you."

I turn in his arms, meeting his gaze directly. "I know. And that's what terrifies him most—that I'm no longer isolated, no longer dependent on his approval or protection."

The kiss we share then is different from our earlier embraces—not desperate or passionate, but a promise, a covenant between equals facing a common threat.

As we step into the elevator that will carry us down to the waiting car, to the confrontation that awaits at Blake Industries, Alaric takes my hand. "You once told me you were the goddess of revenge," he says with a small smile. "Ready to demonstrate that to Corwin again?"

I straighten my shoulders, feeling strength flow through me—not the brittle façade I once maintained, but genuine confidence built on achievement and support.

"The goddess of revenge," I agree, squeezing his hand. "But also something he never allowed me to be—the architect of my own destiny."

The elevator doors close, carrying us toward whatever storm Corwin has prepared. But unlike before, I no longer fear the tempest. I've weathered worse and emerged stronger. The scars of my past aren't weaknesses to be hidden but badges of survival, proof of a resilience Corwin Blake never anticipated when he made me his silent slave.

And now, that silence has been broken forever.