Chapter 5 Decoding True Feelings

## Chapter 5: Decoding True Feelings

For three days following the shareholders' meeting, Melvin and Daisy maintained a frigid détente. They shared the penthouse but spoke only when absolutely necessary, two chess masters reassessing their boards after an unexpected move.

The corporate world buzzed with rumors. Business journals published breathless accounts of "The Shaw Coup," painting Daisy as either a ruthless corporate raider or a brilliant strategist, depending on their editorial slant. No one knew about their marriage contract—to the outside world, this was simply a wife claiming her power in a male-dominated industry.

On the fourth morning, Daisy arrived at her newly assigned executive office at Shaw Industries to find a velvet box on her desk. Inside was her wedding ring—the one she'd sold to fund her takeover. A note accompanied it, written in Melvin's precise handwriting: "A CEO should look the part. Board meeting, 2 PM."

She slipped the ring back on, noting that it felt heavier now, weighted with new significance. This wasn't a peace offering—it was a statement. Melvin Shaw wasn't surrendering; he was regrouping.

Daisy spent the morning reviewing acquisition reports, familiarizing herself with the empire she now partially controlled. At precisely 1:45 PM, her assistant knocked on her door.

"Mrs. Shaw? Mr. Chen is here to see you. He says it's urgent."

Thomas Chen entered, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "We have a situation. The Peterson acquisition—Mr. Shaw has called for a special vote to redirect funds away from that project and into a new venture."

"He can't do that," Daisy frowned. "The Peterson deal is central to our expansion strategy."

"Technically, as CEO, he can propose the reallocation. With the board divided..." Chen trailed off, the implication clear. Despite her majority shareholding, Melvin still commanded significant loyalty among board members.

"I see." Daisy checked her watch. "Thank you for the warning, Thomas."

She arrived at the boardroom five minutes early, finding only Harrison Wells present, reviewing documents.

"Ah, Daisy." He smiled warmly. "Quite the exciting week you've given us old men. Haven't seen this much boardroom drama since the hostile takeovers of the eighties."

"I prefer to think of it as a correction, not a takeover," she replied, taking her seat. "Where is everyone?"

"Meeting's been moved to Conference Room C. Didn't Melvin's assistant inform you?"

Daisy's instincts flared. "No. She didn't."

Conference Room C was in the east wing—a solid five-minute walk. A deliberate delay tactic. Melvin was ensuring she'd arrive late to her first major board meeting as controlling shareholder. Elementary power play, but effective.

"I'll escort you," Wells offered, gathering his papers. "Been meaning to discuss the foundation gala results anyway."

They made their way through the corridors, Wells chatting amiably about donation figures. As they approached Conference Room C, Daisy heard raised voices from inside—an argument in progress.

"—completely irresponsible!" A female voice—Rebecca Winters from the finance committee. "The Peterson technology is critical to our five-year plan."

"The market has shifted." Melvin's voice, cool and controlled. "Our analytics suggest the Peterson patents will be obsolete within eighteen months. This alternative investment offers superior returns."

Daisy paused outside the door, signaling Wells to wait. Information was power, and she needed every advantage.

"But the integration with Woolridge Electronics—" another voice began.

"Is proceeding according to plan," Melvin interrupted. "My personal situation with Mrs. Shaw has no bearing on business decisions. Now, shall we vote before she arrives to derail the discussion with emotional arguments?"

Daisy's fingers tightened around the portfolio she carried. So that was his strategy—paint her as emotional, unprofessional, driven by personal vendetta rather than business acumen.

She took a deep breath, composed her features, and pushed open the door.

The conversation ceased immediately as twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her. Melvin stood at the head of the table, presentation remote in hand, looking unsurprised by her entrance.

"Mrs. Shaw," he acknowledged coolly. "We were just discussing the Peterson acquisition."

"So I heard." She moved to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table. "Fascinating how concerns about patent viability emerged only after I secured majority control."

A few uncomfortable glances were exchanged among board members. Melvin's expression remained impassive.

"Market intelligence evolves daily," he replied. "The analysis was completed yesterday."

"Convenient." Daisy opened her portfolio. "Before we vote, I'd like to present some additional data."

For the next twenty minutes, she systematically dismantled Melvin's arguments, citing market projections, integration synergies, and competitive analyses. Her Harvard Business training served her well—she was thorough, precise, and unemotional, denying him the narrative he'd tried to establish.

When the vote finally came, it was nine to four in favor of continuing the Peterson acquisition. Melvin accepted the defeat with a tight nod, but Daisy caught the calculating look in his eyes. This skirmish was over, but the war continued.

As the meeting adjourned, Melvin approached her. "Impressive performance," he said quietly. "Though I wonder how you knew exactly which points to counter."

"Perhaps I just know how you think," she replied, gathering her materials.

"Perhaps." His gaze flicked to the ring on her finger. "We should discuss next steps at home. Privately."

The word 'home' hung between them—a reminder of their strange arrangement, the artificial intimacy they maintained despite the corporate battlefield they occupied.

"I have meetings until seven," she said. "I'll see you then."

---

When Daisy arrived at the penthouse that evening, the silence was deafening. No sign of Melvin in the living room or kitchen. His office door stood ajar, but the room was empty.

She found him in the bedroom, methodically packing a suitcase.

"Going somewhere?" she asked from the doorway, keeping her tone neutral.

"Four days in Chicago. The Midwest expansion requires personal attention." He didn't look up from his packing. "Unless the new majority shareholder objects?"

"The majority shareholder understands business necessities." Daisy moved to the closet, changing out of her work clothes into more comfortable attire. "The board seemed pleased with today's outcome."

"The board is fickle. Today they sided with you. Tomorrow..." He shrugged, finally meeting her gaze. "This arrangement is becoming untenable."

There it was—the first acknowledgment that their careful equilibrium had been shattered.

"Are you suggesting we dissolve our contract?" she asked carefully.

Something flickered across his face—hesitation? Regret? "I'm suggesting we reassess. The original parameters have clearly changed."

Daisy considered his words. Dissolving the contract now would mean walking away with her family's company secure and her position established—an objectively successful outcome. Yet something held her back from agreeing.

"We still have seven months remaining," she pointed out. "Unless you're proposing an early termination penalty?"

"I'm proposing a conversation," he replied. "When I return from Chicago. For now, enjoy your victory, Mrs. Shaw."

He closed his suitcase with a definitive click and moved past her toward the door.

"Melvin." Her voice stopped him. "The maid service video. How did you know what I was planning?"

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I didn't. That was a preemptive production—insurance, as you'd call it. I had it created the day after you made me sign that ridiculous addendum."

Of course he had. Melvin Shaw always had contingency plans.

After he left, Daisy wandered through the penthouse, oddly unsettled by his absence. Their marriage might be a business arrangement, but some part of her had grown accustomed to his presence—the sound of his typing late at night, the scent of his cologne in the bathroom, even the careful distance he maintained on his side of the bed.

In his office, his computer screen glowed with forgotten life. Normally, Melvin was meticulous about security—locking his workstation was second nature to him. This uncharacteristic oversight suggested his mind had been elsewhere.

Daisy hesitated only briefly before sitting in his chair. The screen showed an open audio player, paused mid-playback. The file name caught her attention immediately: "Daisy_Night1.mp3."

Her recording. From their first night together.

She pressed play, hearing her own movements, the rustle of bedsheets, then Melvin's sleep-talking:

"Maisie... please... forgive me..."

But the recording continued beyond what she remembered:

"Forgive me for using Daisy... for this arrangement... never meant to... Maisie, I can't do what you asked... can't pretend anymore..."

Daisy's breath caught. There was more:

"...I've already fallen for my contract wife."

She stopped the playback, heart hammering in her chest. This had to be some kind of trick, another layer of Melvin's manipulations. Yet the anguish in his sleep-murmured confession sounded genuine.

Quickly, she searched his computer, finding a folder labeled "Recordings" with dozens of audio files—all from nights when he had supposedly been talking in his sleep. She played another at random:

"...admire her brilliance... way she challenges me... never met anyone who..."

And another:

"...divorce papers ready... when contract ends... can't bear to watch her walk away..."

Each file contained similar fragments—unconscious confessions of feelings he never displayed while awake. Feelings for her.

But if these were genuine, why the elaborate charade with Maisie? Why test her jealousy if he was the one developing attachments?

Unless...

Daisy opened his email, searching for communications with Maisie. Nothing in his inbox, but in his archive folder, she found their earliest exchanges from before the marriage:

【Melvin, this is insane even for you. You want me to pretend to be your ex-girlfriend to make your CONTRACT WIFE jealous? To test if she might have feelings for you? Have you considered, I don't know, ASKING HER?】

Melvin's reply was equally revealing:

【Asking defeats the purpose. The contract explicitly forbids emotional attachment. If she admits to feelings, she risks losing everything. I need to know if the clause should be renegotiated before renewal discussions begin.】

Renewal discussions. He had been planning to extend their arrangement.

Daisy leaned back in the chair, mind racing. Melvin hadn't been testing her loyalty—he'd been testing her feelings. Because he had developed feelings himself and needed to know if she shared them before proposing a real marriage to replace their contractual one.

The door to the penthouse opened, startling her. Melvin's voice called out: "Forgot my presentation files. Be gone in a minute."

Daisy quickly closed the email and audio player, but in her haste, she knocked over a stack of papers on his desk. By the time Melvin appeared in the doorway, she was gathering them from the floor, her discovery plainly evident in her frozen posture.

For a long moment, neither spoke. Melvin's gaze moved from Daisy to the computer screen—now showing his desktop background—and back to her face.

"How much did you hear?" he finally asked, his voice unnaturally calm.

Daisy straightened, still clutching the fallen papers. "Enough."

He nodded once, his expression unreadable. "I see."

"You recorded me recording you," she said, the pieces falling into place. "That first night. You wanted me to hear you talking about Maisie."

"A calculated risk." He moved into the room, maintaining distance between them. "I needed to know if you'd be curious enough to investigate."

"And the jealousy tests with Maisie? The loyalty folders?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Also part of the assessment."

"Assessment of what, exactly?" She needed to hear him say it.

Instead of answering, Melvin reached past her and tapped a key on his keyboard, bringing up a different audio file. He pressed play.

Daisy's voice emerged from the speakers: "I don't care what the contract says... I can't help what I'm feeling... even if he never knows..."

Her own sleep-talking, recorded without her knowledge. Her own unconscious confession.

"You bugged my side of the bed," she realized, heat rising to her face.

"After discovering you recording me, yes." His voice remained neutral, but his eyes watched her intensely. "Equal surveillance seemed fair."

Daisy closed her eyes briefly, mortification washing through her. "So what now? We both violated Clause 2. We both recorded evidence. Mutually assured destruction?"

"Or mutual renegotiation." Melvin moved closer, close enough that she could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful control in his posture. "Daisy, I—"

The sharp ring of his phone interrupted whatever he had been about to say. He glanced at the screen and his expression hardened.

"I have to take this. Chicago team, emergency situation." The business mask slipped back into place as he answered the call, stepping out of the office.

Daisy remained where she was, mind reeling from revelations and interrupted confessions. By the time Melvin returned, she had composed herself, standing with professional distance between them.

"I need to leave immediately," he said, all business again. "Flight in ninety minutes."

"Of course." She matched his tone. "We can continue this discussion when you return."

He hesitated, clearly wrestling with something unsaid. Finally, he simply nodded. "When I return."

After he left—again—Daisy sank into his chair, overwhelmed by the complexity of their situation. The contract that had been meant to keep emotions at bay had somehow fostered them instead. The clause forbidding love had paradoxically created the perfect conditions for it to develop.

Now they both knew. But neither had actually admitted it aloud, in the clear light of day, without the plausible deniability of sleep-talking or recorded whispers.

"Now I'm your biggest shareholder," she said to the empty room, a bittersweet smile touching her lips. "Can you live with that, Mr. Shaw?"